#And we can be warm and safe and build a nice soft nest in the rubble and ash of this world

[jinx-blackout-84]

Goodnight guys <3

I love you and I hope your night is full of rest. I hope it sits over your shoulders like water, I hope your blankets are warm and inviting and I hope your mind is quiet and tired. I hope it smells like lavender and warm flannels when you fall asleep. I hope you can hear a poem rattling in the back of your mind and I hope it tells you that I love you. I love you because you are sunlight and you keep all of the constellations in those little flecks in your eyes. You are possibility and a universe and flesh and song and love. You are love and I love you. But most of all, I hope that you can set down the weight of being everything and nothing. I hope you can drop the weight of existing that weighs down on your shoulders and I hope you can rest in a night made of collages and green plastic glow-in-the-dark stars that hang above your head to remind you of warmth and peace. I hope your night is serene and I hope the night wraps around you like a hug. I love you.

Goodnight.

[jaskiersvalley]

The Wild Hunt was coming, they were racing to seize Geralt and Ciri, and with each passing day their net got tighter. Naturally there was a lot of bickering about what to do next. Oddly though, it wasn't Geralt or Ciri getting into fights. It was Jaskier and Cahir.

"Look, you overgrown lizard, Vicovaro is safer!" Cahir spat as he huddled close to the camp fire. Something about being from Vicovaro meant he felt the cold more keenly. Some days Geralt was convinced he was going to wake to find Cahir had managed to huddle in the embers of the fire.

The only one who was likely to ever fight Cahir for a place in the remains of the fire was Jaskier, who was snapping and snarling. "Safer? Nothing is safe from the Wild Hunt! Lettenhove and Oxenfurt both offer resources beyond what a backwater swap like Vicovaro can offer. Safer my ass, bird brain."

It had been going on like that for long enough that Geralt and Ciri were exchanging more and more exasperated looks. In the end Geralt snapped.

"Nice you both think you have a say in where we go. Ciri and I are going to Kaer Morhen."

The squawking and hissing of exclamations was a bit discordant and Geralt winced. There was something about it being certain death there and dooming them all to a miserable, cold end to existence.

"At least you'll get to see the others, feathers." Jaskier muttered to Cahir.

"And you'll have your nest."

Sometimes Geralt wondered just what language those two spoke. The words were in Common but it sure as shit made zero sense. The trudge up to Kaer Morhen was cold. Winter was chasing their heels, made all the colder by the worry that the Wild Hunt was just behind them. It wasn't the warm welcome of getting home. Their bedraggled little group stumbled through the doors, worry etched on their faces. The others were around them in a heartbeat, greeting them and fussing.

There wasn't much time to plan. The temperature dropped and they all slept with their weapons and armour to hand and easy to sling on. Such preparedness was proven to be necessary. As the first rays of the sun crested the treetops, the horn of the Wild Hunt woke them. Despite knowing it was coming, firm in the fact that it was inevitable, that nobody outran the Wild Hunt, it was still a shock that they had finally arrived.

Armed to the teeth, they marched out of the keep, well aware that this was possibly the last time some of them did so. Nobody went up against the Wild Hunt and won. But they were going to try.

Battles were never long, especially not when it was such a small group fighting. Winning was never really a probable outcome. Despite their skills, their endurance, their mutations and determination, fatigue set in. It was difficult to keep an eye on each other, mostly hearing the grunts, the sharp cry as a hit went through and something hurt. Vesemir was cornered, outnumbered and overwhelmed with the others too far away to help until a cry of "regroup!" rang out. The army term had to come from Cahir and Geralt managed to drag an injured Vesemir away. They formed a circle around him, swords raised. Except the Wild Hunt showed no mercy, they waited for no man and they advanced.

"Fuck this," Cahir growled and his sword clattered to the ground. The next moment he was pulling his shirt over his head and shoving it at Lambert. "Keep it safe for me, I actually like that shirt. Quens at the ready. Scales, you know your job."

With that, Cahir charged. The others were helpless to watch was arrows thudded into Cahir's body but he pushed out through sheer force of will, slamming into the middle of the Wild Hunt. A sword glinted in the early morning light as the sun finally appeared over the trees, casting everything in a golden glow. The sword fell, skewered Cahir with unerring accuracy.

"Quen!" Jaskier screamed as the world exploded in light and heat. It lasted way too long, the quens trembled under the force of the fiery blast, even as something else was wrapped around the group to keep them safe.

There was silence.

Once by one, the group dropped their guard and watched as leathery wings opened up to reveal a charred and smoking patch where the Wild Hunt and Cahir had been. In the centre of it was a pile of ash in a lump.

"What the fuck?" Eskel was the first to speak, watching as a dragon lumbered from their group towards the pile of glowing ash.

"Jaskier?" The fact Geralt's voice broke over the name spoke volumes about his general state.

Looking over his shoulder, Jaskier let out a smoky snort. "Don't you Jaskier me, young man."

That seemed to break the tension and Lambert burst out laughing, soon joined by the others until they were all but crying. Curiously, Jaskier curled up around the ash pile, rumbling deep in his chest and blowing a small mouthful of fire at it. Some of the ash cleared to show a black mound lined by gold. Almost like an-

"Is that an egg?" Eskel stepped closer and was growled at by Jaskier until he hastily backed up.

"Unfortunately." Another burst of fire and the egg quivered.

Almost horrified, the group watched it crack, a fragment of shell falling into the nest of ash to reveal a beak. From the back Vesemir let out a groan.

"A fucking phoenix, right?"

The hum of agreement from Jaskier brought forth another medley of disbelief and outcries.

"I never wanted to be responsible for one," he rumbled darkly. "I'm not the nesting kind."

"Wait," Lambert clutched at Eskel's arm as he peered at the hatching egg. "What are you saying?"

The world's ugliest hatchling stuck its head out and screeched at Jaskier who rolled his eyes. "You watch that filthy mouth of yours. This is your doing, not mine."

"Please tell me that's not Cahir," Eskel whispered, eyes glued to the chick in horror.

Far too cheery, Jaskier nodded his huge head. "Yep. That's your boyfriend. You'd better build a nice warm fire to keep him in because I am not babysitting for you."

At the confused sound caught in Eskel's throat Vesemir finally took pity. "Dragons are nannies to phoenix families. They're one of the few creatures capable and willing to keep a chick safe while the parents do their thing."

"Don't worry," Jaskier cut in. "He'll remember how to shift in a week or two. You'll have your boyfriend back."

The soft, wet "oh thank fuck" from Eskel was buried in Lambert's neck. Much more gently, Jaskier added.

"It's over. He took care of the Wild Hunt. You're safe now."

[simpz-art-stash]

Bittersweet Dreams

work © Azelforest , do not repost, re-distribute, edit, or claim as your own, etc. ---------------<3 ---------------

Summary: A short oneshot of some father / daughter fluff. :3

Wukong gasped awake, his eyes staring up at the ceiling of his home with a fixed look of suspense as he let the silent evening sink into his panicked mind. All those flames, cornering his friends and forcing them apart, he could still distinctly hear the cries of his friends as he was swallowed by the inferno... ‘Wukong!’ ‘Monkey King!!’ ‘Brother!!!’

A faint sob escaped his shuddering breath. It took him a moment, but he had to remind himself. He was home, he was safe. Everything was all blurry in the dark but he just assumed that was because he was still coming out of his nightmare. After a moment he finally willed his eyes to blink, a grunt escaping him as he shifted and sat himself up on his couch, trying to brush away the sleep and hysteria that still plagued his inner mind. Dammit all...couldn’t he have just one night without having to go through hell? His hand instinctively flicked and the light of a nearby lantern candle lit up the couch with its dull warm glow. They’d been getting worse as of late, he chalked it up to stress. Not sure what he could ever be stressed about, his life was perfect. At least...as perfect as it could be for a king with his past. He was so tired of all this...and not because this was the third night in a row. “Daddy?” He opened his eyes and there sitting in his lap was the same golden little monkey who’s smile shined brighter than his and who’s laugh could quell any anger he’d ever found boiling at his core. “Sweetpeach…” He sighed, the ghostly veil of his past being torn away by her gentle eyes looking up at him with worry. “You were crying again..” She mumbled, reaching up to his face and rubbing away at his cheeks. He leaned into the touch, it being about the only thing keeping his focus right then. “I know..I didn’t mean to wake you.” He replied with a tired voice. “That’s okay! I like being awake at night!” She beamed, tail curling in excitement at the prospect of spending yet another evening with the world’s coolest dad. “We can have another sleepover! Build a fort an’ tell stories!” She was the sweet innocent little fruit of his orchard. Still so small yet ripe with potential and dreams. Just waiting to burst into the big world to show herself off. “That sounds perfect. Just what I need actually.” He offered her a tired yet small smile and ruffled her mess of hair. “How about you get us started huh?” “Mmh! Okay!” She crawled off him then, padding on all fours to the back corner of the room where he kept a big nest of pillows and blankets just because. His eyes followed her only momentarily before he turned away and forced him to take a deep breath and sort himself out. He’d never even wanted to have kids, and yet here he was with this little peach. His lil sweetpeach. Of all the people in the world, fate saw it right to gift him such a wondrous little monkey of his own. And now he couldn’t see himself anywhere else but here, spending all his time teaching and training her the ways of life. It was like a blissful dream some days, sometimes he’d just lounge around watching her come up with all kinds of fun and creative adventures for herself. And sometimes join in on those adventures as well just for the hell of indulging himself in something. They didn’t have much here but they made it work, so long as they were together. A dull thud brought him out of his soft thoughts, prompting him to look back at her struggling to get one of the heavier cushions to stay upright for her construction project. It brought a smile out of him and before he knew it he was getting up and walking over. “Looks like it’s coming along well.” He claimed, giving the cushion a little nudge for her enough to get it tilting in the right direction. “Thanks! I think this is my fanciest one yet!” She proclaimed, hopping up onto one cushion to pull out a blanket that had been bundled up in the corner. Wukong automatically took the corners opposite to hers and helped her stretch it out over the top like a tarp, and after a bit of tethering he stood back with a modest smile at their little nook. “I think you’re right. It does look pretty fancy. Fancier than any palace I’ve ever been to.” He admired with a nod. “Mmmhm!” Fang had already made her way inside, crawling up onto one of the cushions and taking her place upon the little throne she’d made for herself. A palace indeed, fit for a princess and a king. He didn’t hesitate to climb in himself, settling down on the big cushion and letting the cool fabric swaddle against his back. He let out a content sigh, it wasn’t as cushy as his cloud but it still had that smell of home he found comfort in. A weight crawled into his lap and settled itself there again. He already knew who it was and found his hands wrapping around them and pulling them in. “What kind of story are you in the mood for tonight?...” He asked, eyes still closed as he drank in the atmosphere of the silent night. “I want a soft one. Something nice.” She claimed, picking lightly at the fur along his arms out of the grooming habit he’d taught her. It felt nice. “I think that can be arranged.” He replied quietly after searching through his muddled memories. Of all the places he’d been, where he could’ve ended up, this was the last place his mind could've ever come up with. And he wouldn’t of traded any of it for all the peaches in the world.

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Tired - Wade X Reader

Reader is a mutant who teams up with Wade & Peter on patrols and is Wade's girlfriend.

After a particularly gruelling night out she gets overwhelmed and Wade is more than happy to provide comfort.

Warnings - Panic & stress are described / Periods & Blood mentioned

*Requests are open if anyone is interested*

It was a long night of trouble. It seems that when it rains it pours in regards to both organized and disorganized crime. They must all get their horoscope from the same paper.

“Friday night will bring great promise for your illegal business affairs. If you have been holding out, make your move, now is the time to go full throttle.”

All the lowlifes seem to flock to the center of the city like moths to a flame. This meant that while we normally work as a team, we had to split up multiple times. If Peter didn’t already look like a Mac truck had run him over & reversed back for a second go, you might not feel so anxious about leaving him.

Wade on the other hand was a tank, you had to worry about the things around him more than the merc himself.

After a particularly awful fight, you really hoped that she would be the final mob boss of the night. Being on high alert for the better part of 8 hours you were starting to feel the night's events take its toll.

Making it to the meet up spot at the top of their favourite building, you laid down on your back feeling relieved you didn’t see anything requiring your attention on the way back.

Looking up at the sky starting to change colour, your mind started to race through everything that had happened. Mind calculating and trying to make sense of every punch thrown. You had gotten your period that morning, almost failed a test at school, and beaten up at least 40 people. Absently you laid your hand on your ribs and flinched at the pain.

“Babe! You okay?!” Wade called out in panic, running across the roof top to you.

“I’m good! I’m good!” You said trying to avoid causing panic. It wouldn't be the first time you got stabbed or shot. You tried to sit up but let out a moan and gave up.

“Everything hurts! But I’m good”

“You don’t seem good. Don’t get me wrong you look hot. But I think it's past your bedtime.” Big arms came and picked you up.

"Are you okay?" you mumbled

"Never better babe, took down the baddies, saved the day, now I get to carry the princess home" You were relived that he came across genuinely happy.

“You don’t have to carry me” You whispered secretly hoping he doesn’t stop.

“Yeah but I want to so hush” His voice sounded even deeper with your ear pressed against his chest.

You loved it when Wade took care of you, but guilt was never far behind those feelings. Peter checked in and told them he was on his way back to the apartment.

The whole ride back you thought about how you were being a burden. Wade never showed it, but how many times have people snapped at you out of the blue. You were a lot to handle. You had made a lot of progress with your mental health and panic attacks in the last 7 years. You didn’t have much of a choice when your mutation causes everything else around you to shake just as hard as your body does.

Wade dealt with things much like Professor Xavier & Erik did. Growing up in the mansion Erik was by far the best person to calm you down. Somehow you always knew deep down he never saw you as a destructive or an evil force. Just someone to be cared for and respected. They never made you feel like a burden.

Now as an adult you decided to take a break from the X-men and joined up with Team Red.

“Sweetums, can you get the door.” Wade brought you back to your surroundings. You reached out and opened the front door. Wade carried you through to his ensuite bathroom and placed you gently on the marble countertop.

You had no motivation to move or speak, it was a relief when Wade started to take off your clothes for you. He looked you over for any notable injuries but so far it was just a lot of bruising.

“Babe, I love you but blue ain't your colour. I shouldn’t have left you on the docs alone” He said in a sad voice, fingers brushing over your ribs and stomach.

“It was fine Wade. The humans were a slice of cake. It was their spooky mutant henchmen that really went for the gold” You mumbled. She had been able to absorb your mutation and use it against you. You gave Wade the gory details while he got himself undressed and started the shower.

“Your shaking.” He stated while pulling you into the shower. He put you directly under the hot spray and held you tightly in his arms.

Now that you weren’t fighting or running to the next fight, you realized the more you calmed down the more worn out you were.

By the way Wade started lecturing about his favourite episode of Golden Girls you knew that he knew you weren’t okay. Looking down at some point you could see blood streaming down your legs.

“Oh. Sorry. I uh-” Embarrassment flooded your face, a sense of anxiety swelling in your tender stomach. Wade only started laughing.

“Babe. I have bled on every surface of this apartment. You bleeding is never going to bother me. Unless you're hurt.” he kissed your forehead and went back to his in depth argument.

Next thing you know he’s drying you off in a towel like you remembered people doing when you were a kid. Like being in a tornado.

He disappeared and came back with one of his shirts and a clean pair of panties. You said thank you as he headed out of the bed room.

You wanted to ask him how you could help him or apologize for getting like this, but all your words got stuck in a tight knot in your chest. Your brain put the night's evening on re-run again just to make sure you didn’t miss all the things you should have done differently. Mostly you just wished you could be sassy like Peter, or funny like Wade was. You cleaned yourself up then flopped onto his bed. Breathing in the scent of his sheets. Even though Wade normally ran hot his bed was always covered with a million of the softest blankets and quilts.

After getting nested and closing your eyes something warm was placed in your lap. It was a nice plate of cheese & chicken quesadillas. Your stomach gave a lurch that informed you that you were very hungry.

Wade hopped up on the bed and sat cross legged scarfing down the too hot meal. Suddenly you were overwhelmed with feelings.

“Wade?” you said shakily. You didn't even know what you were going to tell him. There weren't words to explain how you felt. Happy, loved, safe, tired, angry, scared, embarrassed, ashamed....

“Yeah” He said between mouthfuls

“I’m not doing okay ” You looked over at him and started crying.

“Awe puppy. It’s okay. I’m here. Peter’s down the hall. Matt is downstairs. No one’s gonna hurt you here.” His eyes were filled with an understanding that only made your heart ache more.

“I’m sorry I don’t know why I feel like this” You felt tired and no matter what you thought of you couldn’t stop crying.

“If its about that cat fight earlier, you kicked her ass once. You can do it again.”

You let out a wet laugh and got down your food.

Wade took your plate and put in on the dresser, then flopped onto the bed pulling you down into him.

"I'm sorry. I normally don't cry like this" You said with a heaving chest, pain starting to creep its way into your brain.

"Even if you cried like this all the time I'd still be here loving you." He whispered in a deep voice while settling you into a comfortable spot.

As soon as you were trapped there with a full belly tangled up in a hoard of blankets and Wade's heavy limbs. You felt your body start to relax. He ran his fingers through your hair whispering soft murmurs of encouragement. That you were his and that you were safe.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S3:E4; Chapter Four, The Sauna Test - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘌𝘭, 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘠/𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘺𝘯𝘹.

📝: Thank you guys so much for being patient, I really didn't expect an update till after I had finished moving but your excitement and comments from this preview alone inspired me and I found moments here and there it got me on a roll so thank youu!!

⚠️: anxiety attack, kidnapping and nightmare sequence featuring the following; strangulation, kidnapping, possible claustrophobia triggers(??)/imprisonment [skip markers for all, one for anxiety the second for kidnapping and dream sequence] and finally, not a warning but I feel like I need to make this not so depressing but SO MUCH GAY FLUFF YALL 🌈🌈🌈

||𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

Another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, and a sudden bright light filled the bathroom.

After leaving Heather's house, the three of us had decided to crash at Max's. Neither of us really wanted to be alone after everything happened today, so one quick call to my mom and a note at the cabin and here we are.

I stood before the bathroom mirror with slightly sunken eyes and the tap running on cold as I brushed my teeth mindlessly. The clothes Max had found that would fit me felt snug and warm, just out of the dryer and they smelled like her. It was a welcome change to my drenched clothes now in the wash.

The thunder was mostly muted from inside but not altogether, and I could hear the muffled voices of Max and El from down the hall as I brush my teeth. I try to focus on the gentle pitter-patter of rain on Max's roof and the calm lull it brought to the atmosphere but it was of little help. I could still hear Billy's voice clear as day,

"What a pleasure it is to meet you El. And of course, who could possibly forget..."

《•••》

I watched as Billy slowly wrenched his head towards mine, his hollow gaze falling over me.

•••

I step out onto the porch, slipping the hood back over my head when I feel it again.

•••

She winced as she whipped around to face him, his sunken, darkened eyes widening as they pierced her own.

•••

The sound of my name on his tongue made my skin crawl, his voice all the way in the back of his throat.

《•••》

You

[■■■■■■■■Anxiety Trigger■■■■■■■■]

Another clap of thunder explodes in the distance and I drop my toothbrush, gripping the edge of the counter. Swallowing deep gulps of air, I try to remember the breathing technique Joyce told me about.

Breath in for four.

I draw in a slow deep breaths, letting my eyes flutter closed.

Hold for seven.

As I count the seconds, I follow her instructions and try to focus on my other senses to ground me. I first notice the water running in the sink and the pitter-patter of rain on the roof. The smell of coconut from the hand soap. And even the warm feel of the clothes from the dryer.

Breath out for eight.

I release the built-up air in my lungs in a steady puff but I don't feel my grip on the counter loosen any. The chill is still in my bones, and I can still feel his eyes on me.

Breath in.

The cold, hollowness in his eyes.

Hold.

The blood all over this very bathroom, and El's frightened cries on the floors of the locker room.

I double over the counter, releasing the air tightening my lungs before I can even get to five. I sigh, steadying my breathing and regaining any I had lost as I stare nose-first into the running water disappearing down the drain. I feel hot tears stinging my eyes as the panic builds and I curse under my breath.

I haven't had an attack in so long.

[■■■■■■■■Over■■■■■■■■]

Sighing again, I cup my palms under the water and splash it over my face, fighting a wince when the hot water burns my face.

I wipe away the beads of water dripping over my cheeks and brow, feeling as the air turns it instantly to cool and that's when I frown.

Wait.

Quickly, I swipe the excess water off my eyes and look down at the tap.

It was all the way on cold, as it was when I first turned it on.

I look back at my hands, noting their usual s/c shade. No hint of light or heat in sight. I look back in the mirror, searching my eyes and lips for hints of my usual strain but I find nothing.

My eyes drop back to the running tap, my face written with confusion and head cocked as I watch steam pour out from the stream of running water. I test the metal spout pouring out water and sure enough, the metal is already warming confirming my suspicions.

A sudden familiar voice spoke out from the other side of the closed door, but it wasn't enough to pry my frown away from the running water.

"Y/n?"

It was Max.

"You alright in there?"

My heart was still beating sporadically and my skin was flushing familiarly but I tried to remind myself where I was. That I was safe. And clearly, the Mayfields needed to have their plumbing checked since their heating was flipped.

The thought was enough to expel a sharp breath of relief, and I seemed to snap back to reality. Mostly.

I switched off the water, the cold water tap squeaking as I did so. Quiet returned to the room, and I shook out my hands in the sink and cleared my throat.

"Yeah, I'll be right out," I say, wincing at the waver in my voice.

I picked up the dropped toothbrush and shook out the droplets, finally deciding to tuck it away on the counter where I could deal with it later. Thankfully, it hadn't actually been mine but a spare they had among a pack of unopened toothbrushes.

I look back at my reflection, drying the remaining water off my face with a towel, and sigh.

Clearly, it had been a stressful night and things were starting to get to me. That's all. I don't know what's up with Billy, but something's definitely wrong. I know I'm not wrong either if El can feel it too.

Breath in.

I double-check the counter, checking I have everything. The image pushes itself into my head again, and I wince but I don't stop my breathing exercise.

Hold.

"And of course, who could forget..."

Y/n counted each painful second as she held the air captive in her lungs, trying with everything in her to focus on her breathing over the hollow voice of Billy Hargrove echoing in her mind. As she did so, she turned and made her way for the bathroom door, unknowingly leaving behind the still undrained ice bath that was now beginning to boil.

"You."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Which one?" Max asks with an adorable grin.

"I don't know," El mumbled weakly with a shrug. She peered up at me as I returned to my spot in between them on the floor. "What do you think?"

I settle myself under Max's comforter and into her rainbow sheets on our makeshift nest on the floor. As I readjusted myself on the pillow, I shrugged half-heartedly, not really trying my best to act totally present.

Max sits up, growing serious, and grabs both our gazes.

"Hey," she says, her voice soft. "there's nothing to worry about anymore, okay?"

The fake smile fell off my face and my eyes fell to my hands. They were wringing together in my lap. El's eyes flickered to me, her face dropping a little as if she recognized my state and spoke up.

"It doesn't make sense,"

"What doesn't make sense?" Max asks.

"What does?" I say under my breath, wringing my hands tighter.

"Heather," El continued. "The blood. The ice."

"Heather had a fever, so she took a cold bath, but she's better now. That has to be it," Max says, sounding almost as if she's trying to convince herself as well. "I don't know where that blood came from, but... we saw her."

She looks between me and El, trying to look as reassuring as possible.

"We all saw her. She's totally fine."

El didn't seem to buy it any more than I did.

"What about Billy?"

"What about him?"

"He seemed... wrong." She says and I nod.

Max gave a weak chuckle. "Wrong is kind of like his default. But it's nice to know he's not a murder, because that would've totally sucked."

I finally break my silence with an involuntary scoff. My next words come tumbling out without me thinking.

"Yeah, especially on top of everything else,"

Max replicates my scoff and I look at her almost desperately.

"Okay, but you get what I'm saying, right? I've met him and he does not act like that Max," my voice lowers a bit from its almost defensive pitch. "I don't think I need to remind you what he did to Lucas, or you, or how he treats me. I may not know him like you, but he's never that polite, even to people he likes, and I know you know it too,"

Max just stares for half a moment, not saying or doing anything but biting her lip. Finally, she sighs at her lap, pensively.

"I get what you're saying," she says, looking between El and me again. "Both of you. He was being totally weird, I'll give you that. I just really think we need to be careful about this." She shrugs. "For all we know, he was probably trying to impress the Holloways."

She makes suggestive eyes with a disgusted, uncomfortable laugh as she elbowed me. "Maybe he really wants to get closer to Heather,"

I laugh, making a face.

"Oh, barf,"

A small smile finds its way onto El's lips and she reluctantly joins into our laughter with a frown. "What?"

"You don't want to know," I chuckle, burying myself further under the sheets.

El seemed satisfied enough with my answer and followed my lead. She shivered a little on my right, as Max got settled back in on my left. I looked over at El when I felt her shifting around. She was snuggling closer, and her arms wrapped around my left like a koala bear, her eyes threatening to close. I watched her with a small flutter in my stomach as she nuzzled her head into my shoulder and gave a content sigh. "Warm," I heard her mumble.

I didn't dare move, other than grinning down at her and tucking my head on hers as we both looked over at Max and the pile of comics she had.

Not letting go of my arm, El sat her head up a little and pointed to the only cover with Wonder Woman on it with a curious look in her eye.

"Who... is that?"

Max and I both perk up as she grabs the comic.

"See, this is why you can't just hang out with Mike all the time." She explains. "This is Wonder Woman. A.K.A. Princess Diana,"

The three of us simultaneously lean back against our propped-up pillows on the wall, snuggling into one another. I take hold of the comic for Max, turning to page one as Max and I begin pointing out different pictures on the page.

"She's from Paradise Island, which is, like, this hidden island there are only women Amazon warriors."

El smiles and I point to her lasso of truth.

"Yeah, and she's devoted to bringing good to the world, like most superheroes. She even has this lasso - which is kind of a long rope tied in a circle - that helps her fight crime, and it can even make people tell the truth..."

"It's super cool," Max jumps in.

That flutter grows as I watch El point out different things on the page with a smile that only grew the more she learned. Or the more Max would light up with another Wonder Woman fact. And minute by minute, as the night crept on just like this, the more I forgot about the horrifying questions of today and more on my best friends beside me.

I was safe.

For now.

[■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■]

When Tom Holloway awoke, he immediately knew something was wrong.

His hands were bound behind his back, some sort of cloth was wrapped around his head and stuffed in his mouth as a gag and he felt nauseous. Never mind the fact his head was throbbing and bleeding, and he was somewhere dark, cold, and unknown.

That's when he remembered.

Heather.

The girls in his living room had just left, his wife Janet was acting strange and... she was drugged. And it had been his Heather. His little baby Heather and that boy.

He had to get out, he had to find them. He had to get to his family.

He fights with a grunt against the restraints around his wrists. He winces as the rope stings his burns his skin and as he squirms he gets a better feel for what he's tied to. It's some sort of pipe.

And yet he's so focused on his escape and finding his family, he doesn't realize his wife is by his side.

Her muffled, horrified shrieks as she comes to.

"Tom!"

He lets out a sob when he sees her, in his voice a jumbled mixture of relief and sorrow. She looked no better than he felt, and steady tears streaked down her cheeks with mascara.

A pair of footsteps grab their attention to two figures approaching from the shadows. The very same people to have brought them here.

Heather and Billy.

Tom lets out another involuntary whimper as his daughter approaches him, a blank faraway look in her eyes.

"Hi, Daddy,"

He watches tearfully as she kneels down to his height, and removes the bounds from his mouth.

"Heather..." he gasps, swallowing fearful tears and the lump in his throat. He throws one cautious glare over her shoulder at the young man before softening again at his daughter. "Sweetie... whatever this is, whatever he's got you into, you don't have to do this. You can stop this."

"There is no stopping it, Daddy," she says in an unusually cold voice. "You'll see."

With the ghost of a smile, she cups his tear-stained cheek and he cries again.

"No," he silently begs.

But she's already on her feet, returning to Billy's side as he approaches Janet as Heather had Tom.

Her whimpers grow more frantic as he reaches for her, and before she knows it she's wriggling free from the cloth gag he removes from her mouth. She wastes no time in crying out to her baby girl.

"Heather, please! Heather!"

The words died out into a fearful whisper when Billy's finger pushes against her lips, silencing her. She feels her whole body tremoring as he leans in close, his voice that same gravely tone he let slip earlier that night.

"Try not to move."

They fear the worst only to watch confused as he rises to his feet and retreats up the steps with their daughter.

"No," Janet mumbles tearfully after them. "No!"

"Heather!" Tom cries, fighting hard against the restraints no matter how hard they hurt. "Heather!"

Something in the dark abyss of shadows stole their attention. Something Tom almost misses at first It was a most unusual sound. Something low and otherworldly... almost like a growl reverberating off of tin.

They watched with widened, bloodshot eyes as they try to make out the great beast emerging from the shadows.

"Jesus Christ,"

It's all Tom can bring himself to say, his voice in a trembling whisper.

What marched out from the shadows on its six, wobbling legs was something else entirely. A monster, he was not sure he was seeing. A demon he was not ready to face. A horror, he could not possibly fathom.

The Mind Flayer.

He had evolved past his shadowy form, yet he always lurked in darkness. He was darkness. His features remained spider-like, six long legs as tall as the ceiling it was now scraping, branching out into smaller tendrils like one grotesque, haunched tree.

But the worst part of all - the sickening detail that revealed itself as it grew closer.

The Mind Flayer was made entirely out of flesh and bone.

Tom's cries for help were stolen right out of his mouth when he felt the first touch of the monster.

Tom couldn't register much through all the fear. He felt the cold, slimy grasp swallow up his face just as surely as beard his wife's horrified shrieks. He tried to scream, tried to breathe but any and every effort in doing so brought with it more icy sludge entering his system from the source. It was like swallowing sand as he drowned, gasping in large gulps of seawater that slowly filled his lungs.

Only worse. Tom was alive to feel it. To live through it, to breath through it.

All Tom Holloway could do was peer up at the snarling monster from his one uncovered eye as he feels the icy darkness envelop him completely.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"What on earth are you doing here?" He asks. "Is something wrong?"

"We just... wanted to make sure everything was okay," Max stammered, just as confused as her friends.

A look of concern flashed over Billy's face as he inched closer. "Okay? Why wouldn't it be okay?"

"You know damn well why," I grumble, my gut lurching at my sudden bravery but Billy doesn't seem to notice.

In fact, no one did. I look at Max and El, but they haven't even flinched, neither have the man or the woman sitting in the dining room.

I looked to my left at El expectantly, as if I know she's going to speak. As if I've lived this moment before.

I'm relieved to see she doesn't seem to buy into Billy's act either.

"Where is she?" El all but growls.

I shifted on my feet, barely noticing the familiar tug of those words in the back of my head. But what would Billy say?

His eyes snap to El, and she could have sworn she almost saw that mask break.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly. "Where is who?"

"Well, they're a little burnt, I'm sorry,"

All eyes turn to the chipper young girl striding in with a tray of cookies in her hands and a lingering smile on her face.

"Heather," I gasp, feeling a wave of relief and fear all at once.

The only troubling thing about her was the crisp cinnamon cookies in her hands. She had trailed off upon noticing the three young visitors.

"Heather!" Billy smiles, welcoming her as if she was an old friend.

I just felt like I'm seeing a ghost.

"This is my sister, Maxine," Billy chirps, turning back to the three confused girls. "And I'm sorry," he says to El, with an almost edge to his voice. "I did not quite catch your name."

I inch closer to her, my shoulder wedging over hers in a protective stance but that felt useless.

With a determined look in her eyes, she matches his steely gaze.

"El."

I grimace as Billy forces a smile. It was chilling. Truly haunting. But he was still angry, I could tell.

In fact, he was livid. Why was he so livid? What had El done?

"El." He hums. "What a pleasure it is to meet you El. And of course, who could possibly forget..."

His eyes lurched to mine and I felt my stomach drop, maybe as fast as the temperature in the whole house. Like I was plunged into ice.

I wanted to move, I tried to run but I couldn't. My legs were rooted to the spot like they were when it really happened.

And then...

His voice was a growl that grew in the back of his throat, his lips curling back in a snarl as he bared his teeth.

"You."

His hand was around my throat and my feet left the ground. I tried crying for help but my voice was gone, leaving me no choice but to claw at Billy's arms as I fought for breath. My legs were finally moving again, kicking and squirming as I tried to reach him or even the ground but they never did, no matter how close.

I had to fight to look at El and Max but they were gone, as were the Holloways. Fading away like smoke.

"Let me go!" I somehow cry. "Let me go, now!"

He blinks at me, his face a clean slate. Nothing in his features, he's almost like a projection.

My feet return to the floor and tears flood my cheeks. But I'm not free, not any more than he had listened.

He started off down the hall, where we first came from, my throat still in his grip. I was dragging along the floor, my feet kicking and shoes grabbing the wood linoleum for traction but the hall just kept getting longer.

I was crying heavily, pleading with him to let me go. I tried and tried with all my might to hurt him, but no matter what I threw at him he just kept dragging me down the hall.

He took a left and I watched behind us, still fighting as the walls gradually changed from olive-green to grey.

I sent another long, hot burst of air up at him but he didn't flinch.

The grey paint turned to white.

I clawed and scraped and melted his skin, or at least I tried to but his grip never loosened.

The white painted walls turned to a white brick.

I got more frantic, kicking and even harder and screaming at the top of my lungs, embracing the hurt. The walls shook and cracked but Billy kept walking, dragging me along.

The white brick turned to white tile as we made another turn.

"No! No! NO!"

Billy looked down at me for the first time since he grabbed me. There was a haunted, almost painted-on smile on his face as he peered down. The large fluorescent lights above our heads tinged a sickly green, hurting my eyes almost as bad as the pad of my feet trying to grip the linoleum floors.

"But you belong here."

"NO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!"

I continue to wail and kick and scream, even as we come to a slow. He yanks me to my feet, and I hear a dreadful click of a lock that makes me shudder.

"No," I sob. "I can't. I don't... I don't want to be here,"

Billy looks deep into my eyes, feeling like a whole other person entirely. A third person, more specifically.

Not only that, he sounds horrifically familiar.

He pushes something over my shoulder and I hear the creak of a door. And before I can protest, my body is thrown into an all brick white room as the voice continues I believe to be Billy but I realize is an all too familiar doctor.

"You don't mean that, my dearest Nine," I hear his withering voice echoing all around me as I catch my breath on all fours where I had fallen. "I know you don't want to upset your Papa,"

Tears fall from my cheeks, my rage and fear building as I prepare to throw everything I have at him. No matter what it costs.

With heaving breaths I push myself off the cold tile floors and turn to the door I was just thrown through. But all I'm met with is the same white walls. There's no door, no way out. And no one else around.

I'm all alone.

It's then I remember, I've been here before. I'm brought here often. Somewhere in the back of my head I finally register this is a nightmare but I'm too deep inside to pull myself out. Instead, in a plight of anger, I throw my fists in the wall repeatedly as I cry out in anguish until I have no breath left.

My eyes snap to my arm when I feel an excruciating pain concentrated onto my left inner wrist. I choke on another sob as I stare at the three black numbers tattooed into my skin.

𝟶𝟶𝟿

Growing more frantic, I pace the walls as my tears return, running my hands along the wall for any sort of false door or hatch until my nerve ending in my hands are shot and numb.

I collapse into the corner, hugging my chest and the white, spotted lab gown over my body.

Everything's building in me, heat sizzling off my shoulders and melting the wall and for a moment I think I found my way out. I can melt the walls, break them down but I try and try and-

[■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■]

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"Y/N!"

The girl shot awake, kicking off the sheets that clung to her sweating skin, and gulped down desperate breaths of air. Max and El jumped when she did, but it Y/n moments to realize they were sitting opposite her. Farther away.

Realizing what had happened, she doubled over and threw her face in her hands with an exasperated sigh.

"Shit..." she mumbles, rubbing at the sleepiness in her eyes. "Guys, I'm sorry. I should have warned you. I've been having really bad nightmares lately and... guys?"

Y/n had to really look to see them, more specifically the looks on their faces. Hardly any light was streaming in through the windows, the sky a light and bright cobalt. But it was enough to barely accentuate the worried frown on El's face and the painful wince Max wore as she clutched her forearm and the thin layer of sweat coating their skin.

"What-? What happened?" She croaked, looking to Max. "Are you okay?"

Max shot you a quick, forced smile as she still clutched her arm.

"I'm fine, but... are you?"

Her stomach dropped and turned all at once, her mouth falling into a gasp as she brought her hands in towards herself and away from her friends.

"Did I... did I do that to you?"

She shook her head quickly, trying to examine her arm in the dark and that's when Y/n barely makes it out: a spot on her paled skin was almost the size of a coaster; dark and festering.

"Oh, my god, I didn't mean- I am so sorry, I-" Y/n's mouth remained open but the words kept getting stuck in her throat.

Finally, she jumped to her feet and kicked off the sheets still sticking to her legs, and made her way to the door.

"Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god,"

El and Max watched as she began speedwalking out into the hall and heading for the linen closet, her voice trailing off with her in a familiar Henderson fashion. They knew they would be unable to stop her, especially in this condition.

Instead, they looked to one another, silently sharing their worry at what had just transpired.

El had stirred from the sudden and intense heat that took over Max's room, her plastic water bottle now nearly half empty and filled with condensation. And Max had awoken not from the heat but the sudden, subtle tremors shaking the house and the small glow that was peaking through her eyelids.

When she had cracked her eyes open, she had seen Y/n on the neighboring pillow, a pained look on her tinted face. Hints of her veins were cropping up on the edge of her lips and she had then felt the light kicks of her friend. She had pulled herself up, rubbing at her eyes and that's when she noticed how much she had been sweating.

The room was still in a steady rumble and El was already awake.

"What's going on?" El had whispered from across their friend.

"I don't know, I think..." Max peered down at Y/n with a pitiful look. "I think she's having a nightmare. I think she's mentioned those lately."

"What do we do?"

Max shrugged, jumping slightly when the rumble had grown loud enough for concern.

"Well, we gotta wake her," Max had said, anxiously.

Y/n's kicking had returned and soft whimpers were escaping her lips and Max felt something tug on her heart.

She reached forward, only for a hand to grab around her forearm.

Max looked down at El's hand then at El with a confused frown.

"What?"

El shoots an unsure look between her and Y/n, her face written with unease.

"Try another way," she whispers.

"I'm not sure what else to do," Max says with a shrug. "Do you?"

El frowned again, finally shaking her head in defeat. Whimpering cries grew louder and they looked to Y/n who was freely crying. And looking less than compliant, and against her better judgment, El let's go.

Max wasn't naive. She knew the likely dangers of waking her friend but she didn't want her to suffer. So instead, she bunched up the blankets over her hand and began to softly shake her.

"Y/n..."

No response. She just continued to cry, and Max had continued to shake the more she grew worried. Before she knew it, Y/n had thrown herself on her back, her hands grabbing for Max's.

Y/n kept tossing, speaking in a clear voice. "Let me go."

Max felt the intense flare of heat in her arm and she yanked it back, scrambling backward as she hissed an impressive string of curses. El had jumped, looking desperately to Max as they both felt the air grow increasingly hotter.

She watched wide-eyed as she clutched her arm, and it hadn't been until El intervened they finally got her awake.

El returned her eyes to the lesion on Max's arm and her face grows soft.

"Really okay?"

Max nodded. "Yeah. I'll be fine."

On cue, Y/n had returned from the hall with a wet washcloth, aloe vera, and a thin bandage.

"Again, Max, I am so so sorry,"

"It's fine, really. I know you didn't do it on purpose," she winced again when it stings. "Can't say it feels great, though,"

"Here,"

Y/n flipped on the light on Max's bedside and returned to her friends' side with the supplies.

"I hadn't realized how bad it's been getting lately," Y/n explains as she begins tending to Max. "My dreams I mean, and all this,"

She looks between El and Max with a weak wince before giving Max a warning look. The redhead nods and Y/n places the washcloth onto the wound and Max hisses. It was barely colder than room temperature but that helped.

"Sorry, sorry, I know," Y/n says. Thinking twice, she hands it off to Max with a guilty smile. "Probably better you hold onto that,"

Max nodded and took the washcloth in hand as Y/n prepared the aloe vera.

"What happened?" El asked suddenly.

Y/n looked curiously at El before she realized she was asking about her dream. Her stomach dropped again, and she fought the urge to touch her throat.

"Just some freaky, memories and... well, not memories I guess. It's hard to explain."

"You can tell us," El said, touching her arm as she remembered the words Y/n had spoken to her so long ago that she had always cherished. "If you need anything... at all... we're here."

A grateful smile broke out on her face as she looked at her best friends. "Thank you."

Returning to the twist cap, she pours out a quarter-size drop of the green sludge and Max peels back the washcloth, reluctantly.

"Don't worry, I'm all cooled down," Y/n laughed. Max nodded and handed out her arm and Y/n got to work as she talked. "It really is hard to explain," she sighs. "It was last night, with Billy... but it wasn't. He was after me, and he... he hurt me. And the next thing I knew I was being dragged back."

"Back where?" The two girls both ask.

Y/n pours another drop on her fingers and continues to spread rub gentle circles into Max's skin as she looks between her friends. She bites her lip, almost afraid to bring it up in front of El.

"...at the lab." El subtly stiffens. "Which I know is impossible cause I've never been there. But it felt so real. To be honest, I've been having dreams like these - of there - a lot lately."

"That's awful,"

"I'm sorry,"

Y/n shrugs, grabbing for the ace bandage and thin square of gauze. She delicately places it over the wound and she grimaces when she gets a better long-term what she had done. It was dark red and puffy, and Y/n hoped her makeshift treatment would work.

"Not really much I can do," she says, Max holding one end of the strip as Y/n began to wrap. "I just try to remind myself I made it out."

Securing the bandage, she instinctually places a hand over the cloth, securing her work, and smiles. She turns to El, a new seriousness in her eyes and Y/n takes El's hand in her own, giving it a quick squeeze.

"We both did,"

El's smile returns and she feels a warmth spread through her and into her chest. A comforting one, much unlike the heat still lingering in the room.

At the thought, El looks at Max curiously.

"Do your windows open?"

"Yeah," she frowns. "Why?"

El flicks her head and a soft click goes off behind them, followed by the suction of air leaving the room suddenly. Y/n and Max yank their gaze to the window to see it peeled open, letting in a cool breeze through the half-shut blinds.

She swipes at her nose, and the room falls silent as the three meet eyes and a grin breaks out on all three as they begin to laugh.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

First Nations: "Invest in Native Communities"

A Aide Variety of Links and Info on Multiple Native Owned Businesses to Support

Navajo Water Project

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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[freakie-deakie]

Lucas // How To: Kill an Idea

i have been really struggling with feeling numb lately and i super projected that onto this character. i really do apologize if it doesn’t make for the most interesting read. i may or may not end up rewriting this when i’m feeling better.

Warnings: emotional numbness and detachment

Masterlist

THIS IS PART 2!!! Read part one here: How To: Hurt My Feelings

Lucas x Reader (angst // 7.3k words); ft. stepbrother!Johnny

The way the lights reflected off the water brought only distant memories of the Han flowing through the city of Seoul and mirroring the life around it. The bustle of the city, the calm of the river banks. The things that you neighbored so long ago.

You could become so lost in the remnants of the past - that you would forget to lose yourself in the readiness of the moment.

You owed the Garonne. After tirelessly looking over you for months on end, you owed her your presence at the very least. How dare you look at her in all of her beauty and only think of another.

She smiled at you nonetheless. The Garonne sat with you one last night and told you how much she would miss you - how much all of Bordeaux would miss you. She told you that the stone buildings, the ones in the alleyway that you cut through every night as you return to your dorm, didn't know what they were going to do without you. She told you that the little birds that had nested outside of your window had practiced a sadder song to sing after you left. She swore that the lights in the city shone brighter than they ever had before when you landed and that they would fade upon your departure.

She made you promise that you would come back to see all of them: the buildings, the birds, and the lights. On your own accord, you promised you would come back to see her.

The Garonne waved you off that night, sending you to bed and wishing you a restful slumber and a safe flight in the morning.

Tired and stiff, you limp out of the terminal with your laptop clutched to your chest and a yawn escaping your lips. You mindlessly followed the crowd of other travelers to baggage claim and patiently waited for your suitcase to be sorted onto the conveyor belt.

"Pardon me, Mademoiselle," a familiar voice reached your ears, "I believe a poor boy has been waiting far too long to see you here."

You spun on your heel, a bright smile suddenly overtaking your features. "Lucas," you call quietly as you envelop him in a tight hug. You had barely moved for sixteen hours straight, but once in his arms, every desire for motion ceased. It seemed that he agreed, as he latched onto you and refused to let go.

"I missed you," he admitted before placing a kiss on the top of your head and moving to grab your bag off the belt.

"I missed you more," you answered softly.

He took your hand and kissed it before leading you through the airport and down to the parking garage where your brother was waiting, leaned up against his car, and dusting the cigarette ashes off of his sleeve.

"Hey there, Miss France," he says as he moves to envelop you in a hug of his own. "How was your flight?"

"It was fine," you answer simply. "Long, but fine."

"Well, you have an hour-long car trip to give us the highlights of France, if you're not too tired. We could stop by a late-night diner too if you're hungry."

You nodded along as you climbed into the car, enjoying the banter after your long trip. But as you rode in the passenger seat home (funny, you thought, that you still called it home), you took in things about the city that you never really appreciated.

The locals that ignored the do-not-cross signs, the billboards that were so shrouded in smog that you could barely read them, the stray cats that freely wandered the city like it was their own personal playground. All the things that you used to neighbor.

And when you got to the bridge that you'd longed to see since you left, the Han welcomed you home with as much love for you as it had six months ago. You made it a point to tell him about the Garonne sometime. You think he would enjoy hearing about her.

"The pastries," you say simply. "It was France; of course the pastries were the best."

Johnny dropped you back at your apartment and your boyfriend opted to stay the night, helping you settle back into the space that you could once again call your own.

Another tenant had contracted your apartment for the time you were away - there were a few more cuts and bruises than you remember leaving, but it was nothing you couldn't patch up. The bed wasn't where you had it, the shower knobs had been replaced, and an empty curtain rod rest stretched along your window seal.

"The stuff you left with us, it's still back at the frat," he chuckles awkwardly.

"That's okay." You offer him a small smile and plop down on one of the only four pieces of stand-alone furniture left in the space, the old black sofa in the same spot it's always been. "At least they didn't take my couch."

"Y/N, darling, I don't know if I would lay on that if I were you."

His words took a moment to register, but when they did your eyes shot open and you were out of your seat comically fast. "Oh God, ew..."

He laughed again and pressed a small kiss to your temple. "Let's take a shower and then we'll figure things out, okay? And you know, you don't have to sleep here tonight. There are no sheets on the bed or anything, so you can-"

You cut him off with a quick kiss and lead him to the bathroom, ready for a warm shower to take away all of your travel pains.

"Not really," you answered honestly, rolling your head to the side to look at your boyfriend. You'd been looking at his ceiling for a while, head resting on his thigh while he played with your hair. It felt nice, you thought, to get a chance to live in your memories - specifically the memories you had left with him here in his room, the ones that always waited for you while you were away. "All of my days in France were spent doing something or another. By myself, with the people that I met. So no, it never really got mundane. I didn't think that kind of life existed for anyone over the age of nine." You let out a small but heavy breath. "I guess I had to experience it for myself to understand."

Lucas doesn't say anything for a moment. Instead, he focuses on gently detangling a knot that his fingers had caught on. Your hair was longer now than it was.

"I'm happy for you," he reassures you. He doesn't quite know what he's reassuring, but he reassures you nonetheless.

"Lucas?" you ask softly.

"Hmm?" he responds, his gruff voice sounding tired.

"What would you have done if I didn't come back?" His finger stop working in your mess of locks and all of his attention is focused on dissecting what you just asked him.

"I don't know what answer you want me to give you," he says smally, glancing down at you before retraining his gaze on the ceiling, its texture nearly lost in the dark.

"There isn't a certain answer I want. I'm just curious."

"I don't understand the question," he almost interrupts, suddenly a bit tenser than he was only moments ago.

"I don't mean anything by it, Lucas. It's not a loaded question." Your soft voice is enough to lul his hand back to its comforting motions. "Would you have gone after me or would you have let me go?"

"I would have gone after you without a second thought. Definitely, I would have."

"I thought about staying you know."

There's a pause, a small silence of thought on both ends.

"Why didn't you," he asks with genuine curiosity.

"It wasn't home. You weren't there."

A wolf whistle follows you into the kitchen the next morning and you feel the need to suppress your groan.

"If I knew you were staying the night, I would have held a cup against the door."

"Oh, gross, Jaehyun," you sneer, turning to jab your elbow into the older boy's side.

"What? Not everyone gets to tour France." You can't help but dramatically roll your eyes and threaten him with a punch.

"Do you want a cup of coffee? I was about to put on a pot."

"Sure," he smiles gratefully. "And you can tell me about Bordeaux while we wait."

"Oh, it was beautiful," you think back as you prepare the grounds. "As the sun was setting, the sky would turn golden. If there were any clouds that evening, they would turn all different shades of pink. The lights over the water - words wouldn't do it justice."

Jaehyun chuckles before yawning out, "Well, that's a first."

"Jung Jaehyun, if you are trying to say that I talk too much-"

"That's not what I'm saying," he defends. "I mean you always have a way with words. It's your thing, ya' know. Words."

You hum, turning back to your task. "I guess I hadn't thought about it that way - at least not for a while."

The door to the kitchen swings open and another boy ungracefully stumbles into the kitchen. Haechan is clad in a plain T-shirt and dark shorts (if you could call them that). His hair is no longer silver; it's now a dusty brown, curling up into the picture of a sandstorm blowing about his head. He looked healthier, or maybe just more mature since you last saw him. He'd filled out a bit, and grown into those long limbs of his.

"Man, what's will all the commotion in here? It's Saturday and- Y/N?" The boy immediately perks up upon seeing you. "Oh my gosh, Y/N! You're back!" He hugs you and sits down at the island beside his older friend, suddenly as energetic as a child on Christmas morning. "Great, because I made a list of pranks we're gonna pull together. Jaehyun, since you're here, I guess you can help us too. Okay, first of all, we're gonna shove a bag of chocolate powder mix down the shower drain. I'd like to make sure that one gets Mark because he blamed me for breaking Johnny's lamp."

There were things you would have to readjust to in Korea. Things that you didn't think would catch you off guard, yet still managed to turn you around every now and again. The wet bath was one of them; you were going to miss your tub. You also suddenly found bowing a bit more strange than you originally had, as well as keeping personal space when you greeted someone altogether. Most prominently, the language barrier that you weren't so sure you'd ever really overcome in your first life in Korea.

Words were suddenly weird to you again. Ideas that could manifest themselves in one language but not another. At times, there were no proper parallels, nor were there ways in which to express everything going on inside your head.

Though you tried your hardest, what little French you learned simply wouldn't translate properly to English, or the English wouldn't translate to Korean, or the Korean to French, or the French to Korean, or the Korean to the English. The words just never came out the way you wanted them to, and in a way, it was like a piece of you fell away from the rest, lost somewhere between all of your different lives.

Lucas noticed how much quieter you seemed since you'd returned.

You made it a point to generally avoid contact with everyone while you were away. You occasionally checked in with them to let them know that you were alive, but other than that had kept your space. You became more dedicated to learning about yourself and how to care for your well-being. You began making decisions of your own, from what you would eat every night and how early you would wake up every morning to what debacles were worth your time and energy. You decided that most of them weren't. You decided that pondering your life was taking years off of it, and that you didn't like to eat snails. You decided that you weren't so bad after all, and for that matter, no one else was either. You decided to live.

"Hey, can I see something on your Instagram real quick?" you asked softly, setting your bowl of fancy ramen on the coffee table in front of you. "I think one of my friends just had a baby and I wanted to see if she's posted any pictures yet."

Without giving it much thought, Lucas hands you his phone and turns back to his meal. "What happened to your Instagram?" he questioned.

"Deleted it," you quip, pulling up your friend's account. He hears you coo before you shove the device back into his hands, urging him to look at the baby. He thought the child, redfaced and wet, looked like an alien, though he'd never tell you that.

"Why'd you delete it?" he pursues.

You simply shrug and cover more of your legs with the blanket that rested on the both of you. "Didn't need it." He gives you an unsatisfied groan, but you can't think of a better answer. It was simple - while you took plenty of photos to document your life, you no longer found it necessary to post them.

"Okay," he tries, "what about your Kakao Story?"

"Deleted."

"So you no longer use Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, Skype, Instagram, or Kakao Story? What if someone needs to contact you?"

"I still have Kakao and Discord."

"Okay, what about my posts? Or your other friends'?"

"If they have something to tell me, they will," you sip your hot tea and lean into his side.

"It’s like she doesn't want to talk to me. She doesn't want to talk to anyone," groans Lucas as he sprawls out on Mark's bed. "She doesn't talk nearly as much as she used to."

Mark's hand didn't stop relaying notes to his journal as he talked with Lucas, translating as many of his lyrical ideas onto paper as he could keep up with.

"She's not the same person she used to be, Lucas."

Lucas had trouble making sense of it, why Mark sounded so sure about that. It almost hurt his pride that one of his roommates was telling him something about you, his girlfriend.

"Who is?" Lucas rubs his eyes. "We've all grown up since then."

Mark's hand halts. "Since then?"

"Since-" he sighs. "Ya' know, since... Since we..."

"Don't hurt yourself," Mark chuckles. "Maybe," he offers, "this chapter of your life is written in a different style. Did you even notice? That your life hasn't been going the same since she got back?"

"Of course it's not the same," the elder defends. "It's infinitely better."

"Spare me. Look, I'm just saying, the less she talks, the more dialog you're putting in your own book. And I think it's better this way. I mean, I can't tell you how to write your life, but I can honestly say I think you're doing better now than you were before. You started using your words instead of acting on impulse. That's not easy, man. Words are hard."

Words: your staple, your foundation, your life. They were your nothing anymore.

And Lucas didn't know how to understand.

He tried not to take it personally, but soon you fell into almost complete silence both with him and his friends. When you joined them for a Smash Bros competition, you didn't exclaim your victories nor mourn your defeats. When you dressed, you didn't ask for his opinions on the color of your lipstick nor the type of heel you should wear. When you laid in bed with him and watched his fan turn above your heads, you refused to humor his desire to hear your voice. And he took the fault upon himself.

He felt guilty asking anything of you anymore because you never opened your mouth to ask for favors in return.

"Y/N, will you come cuddle with me?" he calls with as much endearment as he can shove into his tone.

This was for your own good, he reminded himself.

You hadn't watched the news in months, and he knew that. You, ever the stickler for meaningful conversation, had devoted large portions of your time to staying up to date before. As of late, however, you preferred "to watch the world crash and burn around you from a first-person point-of-view rather than a third-person point-of-view."

He hoped that sitting you down to watch the news for a while would spark a fire in your opinionated soul. So imagine his reaction when you crawled into his arms and fell asleep, paying absolutely no mind to the colors or words on the screen.

His next plan was to plant your favorite novel in the hands of your favorite philosopher.

This was for your own good, he reminded himself.

He shoved the book into Doyoung's hands with a stern "fix her." Needless to say, Doyoung had the book read within a couple of days and Lucas invited you over as soon as his friend flipped through the pages for the final time.

"A piece of modern art," he suggests. "A sorrow lost to the sands of time and a meaning forgotten by society."

Lucas watches in amazement as you sit and nod along to everything that Doyoung says. You didn't interject your ideas even once. You just listened.

He was running out of ideas. So his last plot was his last hope that there may be a bit of yourself left inside of you. He would take you on a date - the best date you've ever been on - and thrust so much happiness and gratefulness onto you that you wouldn't be able to contain it so silently. He knew it was a dirty trick, but how else was he to make sure that you were okay if you would no longer tell him anything about yourself.

This was for your own good, he reminded himself.

Really, he should have asked you out first, before he came barging into your apartment (tidier than he'd ever seen it before and reeking of cleaner) with a bundle of flowers and demanding your attention for the evening.

Surprise.

He was about to push open the door to your bedroom when he heard a soft sniffle from inside. His eyes widened and his shoulders fell. His heart broke when he heard a small sob fall from your lips.

He peeked inside. It was dark, mind the laptop that sat on your desk and illuminating your shaking form. You laid your head on one arm and used your other hand to rake through your stringy hair. Your glasses had been tossed to the shadowy void and your cheeks were wet and sticky.

The header of your philosophy paper stared you down as you unraveled before it. The rest of the blank page was absolutely daunting. Your acceptance of the world around you had drained away your ability to have a coherent cognitive thought about it, forget about writing one.

To some extent, you missed the days when you were confident in your ability to build empires out of words. Now, you couldn't even build a ten-page paper, especially not by 11:59 pm that night.

To a greater extreme, you couldn't understand why you would want to return to your opinionated ways or your charismatic skills that abused fact until it bent to your will. What purpose did fact or, more importantly, idea have anymore, other than to aid your ability to charm others to abide by your purpose?

It felt wrong to write a definitive philosophical thesis, especially when you couldn't bring yourself to definitively believe in anything particular.

"Y/N," you jumped at the sound of your own name and quickly wiped your cheeks with the back of your sleeves, sitting up straighter and making yourself more presentable before you turned around to face him. Lucas saw it all. He watched you put your mask back on right before his eyes, and he realized that you were hurting in ways that he couldn't see until now.

"Lucas," you cursed your shaky voice. "What's up? Why are you here?"

He takes a few quiet steps until he's standing before you and kneels to look into your eyes. There are things that he wants to say, 'you're scaring me' being the most prominent, but he knows he should choose his words more carefully.

"I want to know what's going on. I want to help." He slips his hands into your own and rests them on your knees.

"I just don't think you can," you answer simply.

"Can you tell me what's the matter?"

You shake your head and the tears come rushing back to your eyes. "I don't know what's the matter." It's honest. You don't know why your head can't wrap around your assignments, or your conversations, or your own thoughts as of late.

All that time spent with yourself taught you how to understand yourself and your own needs. You feel that you have exchanged your understanding of the world around you for a simpler version of life. Did that make you selfish? You didn't know.

All Lucas could do was watch you as you fell back into your frustrations. It didn't take long before your brows were knitted back together, your nose was running, and your eyes had glazed over as you retreated back inside of yourself.

"Y/N," he softly called. Your eyes only met his for a second before they were cast somewhere else and your attention ran away from you once again.

"I think," you started, unsure of every word that slipped past your lips. "I think you should go."

You didn't know how to explain to him that you were afraid of what he might think of you at that moment, or that you didn't want to hurt his feelings any more than you guessed you already had.

"I don't want to go. I'm tired of leaving you alone." He stood, gently pulling you to stand with him, and led you to the edge of your bed with a delicate touch. "You don't have to sleep. You don't have to talk. Just lay here with me for a little while and let me be close to you."

"You know," Lucas started as he tossed the noodles in the pan. He'd tucked you into the couch earlier that evening and told you to forget the paper you'd been stressing over. You happily complied. "I don't know how to say this any better." You listened keenly as you pulled a throw pillow into your lap and wrapped yourself around it. "I know that this is probably the last thing you want to talk about, but I did something very wrong to you. I'm still sorry, and I hope you know that. But..." He cast you a quick glance over his shoulder before reaching for the seasoning in your pantry. "I don't think I ever gave you the chance to yell at me. Or like, to be mad at me - ya' know?"

You thought for a moment, front teeth chewing on your thumbnail before you shook your head softly and answered, "I don't want to yell at you. I don't want to be mad at you."

You heard a repressed sound of discouragement before looking to see him dishing your dinner plates. "I wish you would. I wish you would yell at me and tell me what I did was wrong. I wish you would be angry with me for a little while. I wish you would just tell me something about how you feel about it."

He handed you your plate and watched as you ran back inside of your own head. He watched your eyes glaze over as you replayed his words, and yet you made sense of almost none of them. You didn't understand what he was asking of you.

You toyed with your food as you tried to process his request. You didn't even notice when he took his seat beside you, nor did you notice the burning gaze he watched you with.

"Y/N," he called, shaking you out of your trance. "I want you to yell at me." You looked at him like a deer caught in headlights - big black eyes staring down a deadly light. "How did you feel when it happened? Shout something horrific at me about what was going through your head at the time."

You took a small bite and swallowed, training your eyes on the coffee table before you. "I don't remember."

You looked so small, so helpless, and so distant. You were there, right next to him, and yet you were so far away. He was having trouble finding you.

"Yell. Break something. For fuck's sake, please."

The more pressure he applied, the further you seemed to slip away. Before he knew it, you were gone.

"That's not her anymore." He found himself on Mark's bed once again, tucked into the younger boy's covers and pouring out his heart. "She's not all there. She just looks so empty now."

"Dude, I don't know why you come to me for this sort of thing. It's not like I'm just great with girls," the younger quips from his desk chair. "And Johnny would know more about her than I would-"

"No. He absolutely cannot know that I broke his sister."

Mark hummed in thought for a moment before he laid his pen down in his textbook and turned his full body to his friend. "Lucas, be honest with me about something." Lucas nodded. "Did you see anyone else while she was in France?"

Lucas shook his head as he took in his friend's words carefully. He had no right to be mad at the accusation, so he kept his temper in check until a particularly vile thought trotted across his mind. He sat up immediately. "Oh God, do you think that she did? Do you think she considered it a break and she slept with someone else?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying- hey- Lucas, stop." Lucas was already to his feet and out the door before he could finish. "So not my fault," he grumbled to himself.

Finally, it all made sense to him. You couldn't be mad at him if you were also guilty. You couldn't yell at him for committing a sin you'd also committed. He was going to redress the scale. He was going to make you the word again. He was going to be the action.

The solid thuds against your wooden door made you jump up from your floor. Adrenaline spread through your fingertips and you took a step back towards your bedroom.

"We need to talk."

Lucas sounded angry. You pushed and pulled with your memory, but found no trace of experiencing this feeling before: fear of him. You moved against your gut to let him in. You barely opened the door before he pushed his way inside, rattling off accusation after accusation.

"Did you think we were on a break? Because we weren't on a break."

You just listened.

"Did you just forget about me while you were there? Did you just ignore the fact that I was waiting for you? I was stuck here, waiting for you every day while you were in France."

You didn't speak.

"So you just got to do whatever you wanted while I had to sulk here? You just couldn't control yourself, huh? Do you know how hard it was to keep control of myself while you were gone?"

'It was hard?' you thought.

"How about we take another break then? How about this time, I get to sleep with whoever I want? Well? Aren't you even going to open your mouth to defend yourself?"

You didn't.

"Am I wrong?" He prompted. "I didn't think so. Now we're on a break. Now you can fuck around with whoever you want."

Shocked couldn't begin to describe the state he left you in. You stood there, clambering for answers as to what could have sent him on a warpath to your apartment in the first place. His seemingly unprompted fit of jealous rage couldn't really have been sparked without a cause, you figured.

Maybe he'd seen pictures of you with your male friends in France. Maybe a rumor had been spread about you. Maybe he was just tired of you and feeding himself a rotten narrative as an excuse to break up with you.

You didn't want to know. You opted to rather accept his decision, and all of your own emotions that came flooding back with it.

"Hey man, have you talked to Y/N lately? She took one of my classes last year, and I wanted to see if I could get her notes before semester tests." Haechan asks his elder who lay sprawled on the couch.

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p.'

"What?" Haechan asked, looking up from his phone. "What do you mean you haven't talked to her?"

Lucas lazily yawned and reached for his soda can beside him. "It's not like she's my girlfriend or something. I'm not her keeper."

"Shit, Lucas, you didn't," Mark groaned, rubbing his temple.

"No, you were right. She was sleeping with other guys while she was in France. She didn't even try to deny it."

"Hang on, I never said that. You conjured that one up all on your own, buddy."

Haechan frowned as his frat members debated. He was focused on a much bigger issue at large.

"When did you break up with her?" he asks cautiously.

"Hey, we're just on a break. Don't go getting any ideas-"

"Jesus fuck, can your ego get any bigger?" Lucas crossed his arms and refocused his attention on the television, jaw clenched tightly. "You're so annoying," Haechan mumbled under his breath, already moving towards the door and shooting your brother a message telling him to meet in front of your apartment.

"Damn, you got called annoying by Haechan. How does that feel?"

"Can it, Lee."

You could feel it all, the swarm of emotions swirling and twirling around inside your chest, and yet you couldn't begin to name any of them. All you knew was that it hurt and you wanted it to stop.

You laid in your bed and watched your ceiling fondly. You liked how it didn't move. You didn't struggle to keep up with it. And it was dependable; it would always be there.

You didn't move when the knock at your front door finally registered in your ears; you were tired of playing doorman in your own residence.

You were just tired actually.

"Y/N," Johnny called, lightly pushing open the door to your bedroom. A strong sense of deja vu winded you. You knew this scene, you'd lived it before. "It's me and Haechan. I'm sorry we didn't call first." You didn't know how they managed to get inside, nor did you care. You just wanted to sleep.

Johnny took a seat next to you on the side of your bed. He brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes in an attempt to capture your attention. That's when the smell hit you. The heavy stench of cigarettes washed over all of your senses causing you to retract from his touch. He looked shaken at first, scared that he might have hurt you.

"You didn’t smoke before," you recalled. It was almost a feat in and of itself to remember the bitter past, but the small victory was stifled by the thick, wet air of the bitter present.

His eyes softened before he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack he'd bought just a few days before. "I started a few months ago while you were away. I knew you wouldn't be happy about it."

"I don't care," you answered promptly before slowly pulling yourself to sit up against your headboard.

Haechan watched from the doorway. He wondered if he'd ever seen someone in this state before, or if he ever would again. He looked at you and almost failed to see the human being in front of him. He watched you move like a frightened animal, stiff and weary. He watched your untrained gaze flicker between your brother and your brother's outstretched hand. 

This couldn't have just been the work of Lucas, he concluded. There were more deeply rooted implications here. There was an unresolved issue before your idiot boyfriend played to his own role.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"I don't know," you answered honestly.

Johnny looked to Haechan for support, but the younger could offer only his presence in this situation.

"That's okay," your brother soothed. "Haechan," he turned to your mutual friend, "can you call Ten and Yuta and see if they've, uh, noticed anything weird lately about..." He gestured to you. Haechan excused himself to place the calls. "Food? Food always helps, right?" he tried with a dry chuckle. You paid absolutely no mind to him.

"I can't take this," Ten muttered to himself, excusing himself from your bedroom. Five boys had soon found themselves huddled in your doorway, watching your every move intently as you resisted every attempt your brother made to move you.

You felt like a lab rat, being looked at from all angles as Johnny poked and prodded to see what would make you tick. It felt humiliating.

"Let's just go for a drive," he tried again, gently pulling your arms away from your chest and trying to guide you out of bed.

"No," you answered again, pulling yourself away from him and settling further back into your bed.

"Maybe we should just let her be for tonight," Jaehyun suggested, moving to stand beside your brother whose head was fallen in defeat.

"I can't just leave her like this, Jae. I still don't understand what's going on."

"Just give her some space," Jaehyun tried again. "This clearly isn't very effective."

Johnny sighed but ended up in compliance as everyone except for Jungwoo moved to your living room. They quietly deliberated as Jungwoo read allowed one of your favorite novels from the end of your bed, hoping against all hope that it would in some way bring you back from the void in which your mind seemed to currently reside.

"Honestly, we had planned to just come and cheer her up," Haechan had said. "We didn't know we'd find her like this. But I can't say it really surprised me, she's been off for months now."

"I thought something seemed weird. She hasn't said much to me in a while."

"Me either."

"Yeah, same."

Everyone generally agreed with Ten's statement.

"Do you guys think something happened in France?" Jaehyun suggests.

"Or maybe things haven't been going so well between her and Lucas for a while?" Yuta offers.

"Everything just feels like it's spinning," you said, cutting off Jungwoo's reading of Mary Shelley's finest work. He was just happy to have heard you say anything at all. "Everything is going so fast around me. I just wanna take a nap, sleep for a while." As you relayed your simple disposition, you found yourself moving to lay on your side, plenty warm but unwilling to relinquish your comforter. "I don't feel like I belong here, so I'm going to sleep instead."

Jungwoo set the book to the side and laid himself down at the end of your bed. "I don't feel like I belong here sometimes either," he relates.

"But you do," you say, looking over his features and seeing every sharp and jagged curve for the first time.

"You do too," he promises.

Hours of hushed worries bled into the night, and you awoke alone in your apartment in the morning. You had no initial intention of getting out of bed. It was the hardcover copy of Frankenstein standing upright on your bedside table that stirred your aching joints into motion.

Then you remembered.

How could you ever even forget?

The Han River smiled when you arrived, taking a seat on his bank. He asked you why you'd been such an unfamiliar face as of late, to which you had no reply. He thanked you for coming to visit him nonetheless and told you about how much Seoul had missed you while you were away. He told you about the alley cats and how they missed the treats you would occasionally leave for them on your way to classes. He told you about how much the sky cried about you spending spring away. He told you that the city lights drowned out the stars while you were gone, but let them peak back into the city when you returned.

You had no beating heart to pour out into his water, so instead, you gave him your soul. The Han understood and sat with you until you bore no more faults on which to complain. He told you he missed you. You told him that you missed him too. You told him about the Garonne and how much you thought he would like her. Then he sent you off into the afternoon bustle of the city with a watchful eye.

You wondered the streets for a while. Not a penny in your pocket, and still you found so many little joys in all the cracks and crevices of Seoul. You pet the stray cats; they'd always been particularly fond of you. You walked around an antique shop making wild guesses about the past lives of every item in sight. You climbed a tree in the park without a damn to spare the onlookers. By sunset, your feet had taken you back to your campus and directly to the front door of your apartment.

"How about some tea?" you ask yourself as you push the door open, not half expecting to be ambushed by a group of concerned young men demanding to know where you were.

"Would you all like some tea too?"

It was still a struggle to hear your voice most of the time, but visible relief settled over those who'd seen you cowering from your brother in your bedroom only days prior. They all continued to check in on you frequently, as they still had difficulties coaxing you away from your apartment.

"Lucas," Johnny had finally caught him lurking in the kitchen around midnight. He was beginning to grow irritable with how troublesome he had become to locate.

Lucas froze, cup ramen clasped in one hand with chopsticks in the other. Busted like a child with their hand in the cookie jar.

"Look, I'm sorry about your sister," he started without really knowing where he was going. "I know that I kinda jumped the gun-"

"I don't want to fight with you again," the elder said. He had kept his calm since the situation had arisen. The last time you and your boyfriend had a falling out, all hell broke loose in their dorms. He had landed a good solid punch on the more-than-deserving idiot and held the belief that he probably deserved a few more. However, he'd rather not have everyone in a frenzy once more, turning against one another. "I just need you to tell me what was going on before you left."

Lucas's shoulders slump and he sets his late-night meal on the countertop. "I was just so frustrated. She always let me into her head before - but when she came back, she just stopped talking to me. She shut me out," he relayed. "I tried everything I could think of. I tried to make her really happy, I tried to make her really mad. She wouldn't talk to me."

"She won't talk to me either," Johnny said, resting a reassuring hand on Lucas's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he responds, taking some measure of the blame upon himself. He felt that maybe if he'd had more patience with you, he could have helped you to get better. Now you were detaching yourself from not only him but your other friends and family as well. "Do you think she would want to see me?"

Your brother shrugged but a small smirk played on his lips. "I dunno. Maybe you should go find out tomorrow."

Needless to say, Lucas felt displaced and burdened by heavy guilt as he stood in your doorway, looking down on your fragile body. The last time he came knocking on your door in the most awful hours of the morning, he begged and cried on his knees for you not to leave him. He felt himself resist the urge to fall to the ground and repeat his mantra of pleas.

You didn't ask him why he was there so early in the morning, nor did you ask him if he wanted to come in. Your stare made his skin feel cold. He cleared his throat to dispel some of the awkward tension that he felt clawing at his airways.

"Can I come in?" Without a word, you moved to the side. "Thank you. Were you asleep?"

"No," you say simply, trailing behind him as he steps into your kitchen.

He lets out a low chuckle as he glances around the room. It looked so surprisingly unhomely and clean. Not a single dish in the sink, nor a potted plant out of place. "I keep messing up pretty badly, don't I?"

He hated the empty way you looked at him. It was as if you didn't know him. It was as if you had just let a complete stranger into your apartment.

"I don't understand, and I'm really trying to. I know that you know that things have changed since you got back. I don't know what that means yet, but I do know that I still love you. And that I'm stupid. I know that too."

You hummed along, a thoughtful expression overtaking your blank features.

"And I know that I’m sorry. I let a stupid idea get into my head and I let it hurt my own feelings. I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. Please don't leave me."

You didn't offer an answer, instead opening your arms and inviting him back into your embrace. He placed a small kiss on your lips, something he felt like he hadn't done in ages, and wrapped himself around you in an effort to keep you by his side forever.

"Are you happy here in Seoul?" your boyfriend asked, picking at the grass in front of his crossed legs. He looked at you as you looked down at the water. "I mean, I know you don't want to go back to (country), and I have a feeling that you don't exactly want to go live with my family in China. But like, would you rather be in Bordeaux? Or would you rather stay here?"

"I don't know." He hummed and waited for you to elaborate, but you made no real effort to.

"I know that we're still young and we don't have to make any decisions about where we want to live yet," he cooed, looking up to watch the sun set behind the large city towers, "but would you stay here in Seoul with me for a little while?"

You nodded, reaching over to take his hand in your own before pulling him to lay in the grass with you.

"You know, you're not the same person that you were before you left. I've realized that," he said with a sad smile as he looked over at you and placed a small kiss on your chin, pulling a small giggle from your lips. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I can't wait to get to know you again."

[gureishi]

I really love your writing! Could I request #2 for Saeyoung? Perhaps a hurt/comfort :)

Ohhhh, thank you so much!! That makes me really happy to hear ♡

And here is the fic! I think a lot about making Saeyoung go to sleep and honestly don’t know how I’ve never written this scenario before. Darling sleepy overworked boy.

two: fall into your arms again

SaeyoungXReader, T, words: 1764

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

You’re dreaming of driving when he calls you—it’s a recurring nightmare of yours, where you’re at the wheel and suddenly you realize the car has no brakes. The ringtone makes its way into your dream, and you’re panicking, you’re panicking—where is the phone, why can’t you stop the car?

You wake abruptly, eyes flying open in the way they sometimes do after a nightmare. The phone is still ringing. You scramble for it and find it tangled in the sheets.

You squint at the screen: it’s after three in the morning.

“H-hello?” You yawn as you answer, your head falling back against the pillow.

“Ohh…did I wake you up? I guess I lost track of time,” he laughs, but it sounds forced. You push yourself up a little in bed.

“Saeyoung, are you okay? Did something happen?” There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach. Things have just finally started to go well.

“No, no!” He’s too loud, too enthusiastic. “We’re okay! Saeran is asleep.”

“Saeyoung, it’s almost four in the morning.”

He yelps. “Really? I didn’t even notice! I’m sorry, babe. Ignore me and go back to sleep. Please.”

You sigh, sitting all the way up, propping the pillows behind your head. “Will you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“God Seven is bothered by nothing! God Seven was just doing some work and wanted to hear his kitty cat’s cute voice! Ha-hah!”

“Saeyoung…”

“Activate kitty communication mode! Meow! Meow? Meeooow!”

He’s too adorable—his distraction tactics are too good. Once upon a time, you would’ve given it to it, would’ve let him ramble nonsensically until he wore himself out. You know better now.

“Saeyoung, when was the last time you slept?”

You hear him counting to himself. “Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…twenty-six, twenty-seven…” Oh no. “Forty-four hours ago!” he sings triumphantly.

“Saeyoung!”

“Whaaat?”

“Forty-four hours ago was when I last spent the night. You haven’t slept since then?”

“Nooope. But it’s okaaaay! God Seven can work for much longer without sleeping because it’s what he was programmed to do!” He draws out his syllables, speaking in a sing-song.

“Hey. Stop. Listen to me.” You know he hears the frustration in your voice because he shuts up right away. “You do not work for the agency anymore. Even Saeran is sleeping right now, like a normal person. You do not need to work through the night anymore.”

“But I do,” he says. His voice sounds a little more subdued now. “The agency may be done, but there’s still so much cleanup work to do. There’s so many loose ends. If I’m resting, they’re tracking Saeran, tracking Vanderwood, tracking you… I can’t—”

“No,” you say. “Uh-uh.” You’re already slipping out of bed, groping around in the dark for some sweatpants. “I know there’s still work to do and I know you’re worried about keeping us safe. And you can do that work. After you’ve slept for eight hours.”

He laughs and it sounds almost like a sob. “I’ve just found him,” he says, so quietly you can barely hear him. “I’ve just got him back. If anything happens to him…”

“I know,” you say. “I know, babe. But none of that matters if you work yourself to death in the process.”

You’ve got pants, you’ve got shoes. You grab a jacket and the keys to the rental car Saeyoung insisted on paying for so you wouldn’t be reliant on him while he was holed up in his bunker with Saeran.

“Hah,” he says. “It would take a lot more than a few hours of work to kill me.”

You’re outside, the cool air bracing you, waking you the rest of the way up.

“I’d like you one hundred percent alive instead of just barely hanging on,” you tell him.

You throw open the car door with perhaps slightly too much force.

He hesitates. “What was…are you outside?”

“Yes. I’m coming over.”

“You—g-gah, what?!” He sounds frantic. You hear a crash—almost as if he’s sweeping something (realistically, a pile of junk food) off his desk.

“I’m coming over right now and putting you to bed. If you don’t want me to stay, I won’t, but you are going to sleep one way or another,” you say. You start the car and you know he hears it through the phone—you’re not playing around.

“I’m perfectly capable of—” he whines.

“Thirty minutes. Love you,” you say, and hang up before he can respond.

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

You get there in no time because the roads are empty. He’s cleverly disabled the car’s built-in GPS so that the rental company can never access any of the data, never pinpoint his address (not that his bunker actually has an address). It doesn’t matter: you know the way by heart.

You give the password that will let you into the garage, park, and peer into the retinal scanner by the door—he’s added this feature for you, only for you. The door welcomes you by name and swings open with a soft click.

The bunker feels bigger and emptier at night; it’s completely dark except for the tiny ray of light coming from his office door, which is cracked open just a hair. You sigh. You’d had hope—just a little—that knowing you were coming would guilt him into just going to bed already. But he is stubborn.

You pad across the huge living room and knock gently on his door. He knows you’re here, of course—he’s probably been watching you on the cameras ever since you pulled into the driveway. But just in case—he’s not someone you want to ever catch off guard.

“Hi,” he says softly—his voice sounds far away. You push open the door.

“Oh, Saeyoung…”

His office is never exactly tidy, but this is a disaster zone.

There are chip bags and other assorted wrappers strewn over the desk and on the floor around it. Several creepy, half-built robots lay at odd angles on the couch and floor, as if he’s been fiddling with them as he works and then tossing them aside—one blinks eerily at you with its single eye. There are clothes thrown over the couch and the backs of his various desk chairs, as though he’s been managing to periodically change outfits without ever setting foot in his bedroom.

And there he is, your precious, anxious, manic boy, sitting in his chair with his knees pulled up to his chest, hunched over his desk, fingers still moving over the keys even as he turns to look at you.

“You didn’t have to come,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“That’s a crappy greeting for your favorite person in the world who just drove here in the middle of the night,” you say, but you’re not not really angry at him—how could you be, when he’s in this state? You cross the room, stepping over the piles of junk. Up close, he looks terrible—there are dark circles under his eyes and he has that pale, hollow look he gets when he goes too long without seeing the sun.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “Bright, wonderful people like you should be asleep at this time of night.”

“Everyone should be asleep at this time of night,” you tell him. You brush the messy, tangled hair off his forehead and kiss him on the cheek. He closes his eyes for a moment, humming contentedly; then he reaches for you, tilting his head up for a proper kiss. 

“Nuh-uh,” you say, and he deflates, pouting. “Find a stopping point—the first possible stopping point. Then you are going to bed.”

“Orrrrr…” he murmurs, nuzzling his head against your waist. One hand trails up your leg, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Saeyoung.”

“Fiiiine.” He reluctantly spins his chair around, types another line. “You go get in the bed,” he says, eyes on the screen. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Nope.” You cross your arms and sit on the couch, moving aside half of a robot dragon. “I don’t trust you.”

He makes a sound somewhere between a hiss and a groan and starts typing more quickly. Good. If he’s motivated to finish faster because you’re now losing sleep, then so be it. At least he’s stopping.

The sound of his typing soothes you. You fiddle with the little dragon—it will be very cute, once he builds the other side of its head. His typing slows. He hits a few more keys. You recognize the sounds of him finishing up—god knows how much collective time you’ve spent listening to him work.

“Okay,” he says at last, and you look up to see him getting out of his chair, a little clumsily.

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

You skip to him and grab his hand. “Bedtime,” you say seriously, tugging him behind you: through the door, down the hall. He laughs, and it’s the most genuine he’s sounded all night. You throw open the door to his room and take a running leap onto the bed. He’s still laughing, watching you from the doorway with warm eyes.

“Come,” you say, wriggling yourself into the blankets, holding out your arms to him. Obediently, he shuts the door and comes to you, falling headfirst onto the messy pile of pillows and blankets and you. He groans quietly, his shoulder muscles finally relaxing. You pull him toward you and he settles his head onto your chest.

“S’feels nice,” he slurs, snuggling into you. You see how hard the exhaustion is hitting him now that he’s closed his eyes; you make a snug nest of blankets around him, tucking them up to his neck.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper. “You can rest now.”

“Mmmmmm but…” His words are hard to make out, his voice already thick with sleep. “But there are soooo many other things we could be doing…in this bed…”

He tries to lift an arm, vaguely brushing his fingertips over your neck. You giggle.

“Shhhh, love. Maybe in the morning,” you tell him. You kiss the top of his head, nuzzling your nose into his messy, sweet-smelling hair. He doesn’t respond. “Babe?”

His head is heavy on your chest. You feel his breath on your neck, slow and steady. You smile to yourself—he’s already asleep.

So you wrap your arms tightly around him and close your eyes, head propped on top of his. You are a mess of blankets and limbs and heartbeats and you feel impossibly, indescribably safe. “Goodnight, Saeyoung,” you whisper.

[justarandomsideblog]

This is thrown together on the page with zero editing so there's probably many glaring mistakes but I wanted to get it out there so here ya go

oOo

Fundy falls in love with the piano when he is very young and L’Manburg is nothing more than a van, and it’s just a small keyboard he can play with on the floor while his father makes war plans but it’s how it begins. He plays it in the months it takes him to grow up, maturing faster than it takes for Tommy and Tubbo to reach adulthood.

He plays it until he’s old enough for his father to replace the keyboard in his hands with a sword.

He’s seven months yet thirteen years old when he’s allowed into the war room, fidgeting hands folded tightly in his lap. There is no time to play keyboard anymore, and it’s left forgotten in his nest of blankets and pillows when the whole thing goes up in a devastating blast.

The war ends and he plays again on a makeshift piano, given to him by his uncles who teach him to play more complex melodies in the quiet moments when they’re not working. Yet those moments become few and far between in the months it takes Fundy to age to sixteen, the same age his young uncles had turned before Fundy was even born barely ten months before.

He cherishes the moments before everything falls apart once more. Yet another war begins and he sets aside the keyboard again to fight. His fingers are calloused in ways soft paw pads like his should never be, raw and bleeding from the sword he holds the second time he watches his home go up in smoke.

Eret gifts him a piano one year after he was born, when he turns seventeen and his aging has finally begun to slow. They help him set it up in his home, way too large for the orphaned teenage hybrid, and it gleams beautifully in the flickering torchlight. His passion, lost with his father, flares up once more and he plays for Eret and Phil, a moment of peace. Finally peace. Finally, he thinks, the swords will be hung up on the wall and peace will reign at last- swords have no place in peace, as art has no place in war.

The moment shatters; Eret, having never received Fundy’s message, doesn’t make it to the adoption, and Phil leaves- the Butcher Army, Fundy and Tubbo’s subsequent disownment and Tommy’s exile leaving the angel nothing to stay in L’Manburg for. So now he plays for the silence, not even the music filling the emptiness he has always relied on, and there he realizes the truth that will always weigh heavily in his gut.

There will always be another war.

Doomsday carries with it the weight of this realization, and he grins painfully through the tears pouring down his face as his house is blown away, piano keys withering into nothingness, and he says to no one in particular, “There’s no place for art in war.”

And so, even though L’Manburg is gone, even though everything is over and done with, Fundy knows it’s not. He knows the next war is waiting around the corner, and so he quietly stays prepared- his sword always on his hip, a bow strapped to his back, armour settled into his holding bag ready to be pulled on at a moment’s notice.

He doesn’t own a piano anymore.

Phil doesn’t speak to him for a long time, except when Fundy forces him to. He forgives Tubbo- tentatively so, with a lack of trust- long before he’s even willing to acknowledge him and Fundy are related, and even when they’re speaking again- awkward, stilted, not natural like before- Phil doesn’t ask about the scars on Fundy’s hands. He doesn’t ask if Fundy is eighteen or twenty now, though Fundy no longer knows himself.

His grandfather asks only once if Fundy has learned any new songs.

“I don’t play the piano anymore,” Fundy answers, short and more broken than he sounds. Phil doesn’t press for more, and Fundy goes home to silence once more.

Then the nightmares start, and the silence is even worse than before- because now he wakes up and never knows if he’s awake, the song in his soul having died out long ago. He remembers bits and pieces, forgets others, and he tries to run away. He pulls the TNT he has ready for the next inevitable war and rigs his home- big and empty and echoing loneliness- with as much as he can fit up the stairs, in the walls, on and under the floor. He takes only what he needs most and puts it into a wagon, pulls out an arrow and sets it alight-

His grandfather messages him. Wants to meet up. Fundy is in no state to walk on eggshells but he goes anyway, because he wants his family back, and learns his father is alive. They search for him but by the end Fundy is ready to give everything up. He leaves Phil, mind made up, and waits until he knows Phil is through the portal.

This time when he watches his home go up, it’s by his own hand.

He leaves and speaks to no one for months, but the nightmares stay. He finds a kit. He takes the kit in, considering briefly calling Phil to let him know he’s now a great grandfather, but he decides not to- Phil hasn’t reached out at all, no one has, even though his home is no more than a crater in the ground... again.

So he says nothing and focuses on being a father, now. His kit doesn’t like being indoors, running out to play in the woods whenever he wants, and Fundy learns to keep up and keep him safe. He builds a nest on the porch, under the awning, a nice, dry and warm place where his kit likes to curl up and sleep at night, white fur standing out against the reds and oranges of Fundy’s once-favourite blankets.

He names the kit Yogurt, after arguing with the foxes that like to hang around.

Between the nightmares and the crippling loneliness, with no one but a child too young to understand speech and a rowdy skulk of foxes who come and go as they please, Fundy finds himself.

He doesn’t remember much of the nightmares but he does remember one big, important thing.

Quackity can’t be trusted.

Quackity appears to him just as he had in the nightmare, and Fundy already knows their conversation as it happens. Knows every little thing as they walk across the remains of L’Manburg. He knows what the next war will be.

This time, Fundy decides, he will pull the strings. Early the next day, while his skulk is out who knows where and Yogurt is bundled up, safe at home, Fundy dons his armour and grabs his sword and axe, and he makes his way to the place he knows Las Nevadas to be.

He arrives and stands on the hill overlooking the beautiful, daunting city, and he watches Quackity disappear into the casino while below him a totem god looks around.

In those few seconds, when Fundy sees the harsh gleam in Foolish’s eyes, a new plan forms.

They speak briefly, over the dune and out of sight of the casino, and they come to an agreement. With no witnesses, they shake hands and Fundy goes back home, and Foolish does not tell Quackity of his visit.

Later, when Fundy finally joins Las Nevadas with his skulk a few steps behind, he mixes truth in with the lies and hopes the skulk will not out him.

To gain the trust of one who doesn’t trust, it takes someone who also doesn’t trust.

Yet Fundy, who at his heart and soul is a fox- a trickster- a spy- knows how to play the part of one who does. One who doesn’t know that he will always be left alone.

When Quackity asks him about his war experience, he answers truthfully- “I have been in every army and every war.”

He is a soldier to Quackity, first and foremost, and so when Quackity presents to him the piano inside the casino polished to perfection, he looks on it with silent discontent.

“I don’t play piano anymore.”

There is no place for art in war.

-

“Your hands are made to create, not destroy.”

Fundy looks up from the dagger he is playing with, seeing Foolish standing in front of him. Purpled is off to the side, on guard for Quackity and pretending he isn’t listening.

It isn’t the first time they’re meeting like this and it won’t be the last. Plans have to be made. Escape routes planned. Snowchester and Las Nevadas will tear each other- and themselves- apart long before Fundy and Foolish could ever put their plan into action. Playing nice and trying to keep everything from blowing up too early is getting exhausting, but it has to be done. After all, Fundy’s family is in the crossfire now- he silently curses Tubbo and Ranboo for building the mountain outpost, and he outwardly curses Tommy and Wilbur for making their ‘country’ right across the river.

“A lot of things are made to do what they’re not supposed to,” Fundy says to the god, putting the knife down. Tonight he has messaged Phil, pleading with him to stay away from Las Nevadas- but it has remained unread, and similar messages sent to Niki and Tommy and Ranboo are all the same. “What are you even talking about, anyway?”

“Tubbo said you used to play piano,” Foolish says, gaze drifting past Fundy to the piano left, abandoned, against the wall. “He asked me to put one in the mansion big enough so you guys could play together.”

“I haven’t played piano in a long fucking time,” Fundy scoffs, drumming his fingers anxiously against his legs. As much as he wants to... “But I guess Tubbo wouldn’t know that. We haven’t had a proper conversation since L’Manburg.”

Tubbo isn’t much like his uncle anymore. Tommy, neither. They don’t come around or check on him, they haven’t since long before L’Manburg fell. Tubbo feels more like... that neighbor kid you play with because there’s no other neighbor kids your age. They mess around and talk and joke when Quackity sends Fundy to investigate the outpost but it’s only because they don’t want to fight anymore. They don’t want to be on opposite sides, anymore.

Fundy can’t even tell him that they aren’t on opposite sides.

Ranboo says to choose people, and they all play the part easily enough, him and Tubbo and Fundy, but Fundy has always chosen people. He chose his family in the past, every time, regardless of what side they were on, until suddenly the family was split. What did sides matter, when it came to love, to friends, to family, to acceptance? How do you choose between the uncle who raised you and the grandfather who was there when you needed him?

Well, it no longer really matters.

This time he chooses Foolish and Purpled, the two who care about and accept him without question, whether he needs them or not.

Purpled, who respects that he doesn’t want salmon to be eaten even when he isn’t here. Purpled, who knows how it feels to be forgotten, who knows how it feels to have nothing to his name.

Foolish, who understands his need for symmetry. Foolish, who knows how it feels to want to leave the past behind, who knows how hard it is to feel worthy of forgiveness and redemption.

No, Fundy still loves his legal-and-blood family very much, but he supposes Foolish and Purpled have become the family he had always wanted to have.

Laughing and talking with them never feels forced, or awkward, or like walking on eggshells. He never feels like he is one misstep from being banished.

It’s nice.

“There’s no place for art in war,” Fundy finally says, filling the space growing between the trio they’ve formed.

They fall into silence, none of them trying to protest- none of them saying what they are in now is not a war. Maybe in another life this beautiful city that they’ve poured themselves into building up in order to build trust with the president could have been home, but in this life it was one thing alone-

The way to end the war, to stop Quackity in his tracks.

“After the war is over, will you play for us?” Purpled asks now.

And he will, though Fundy doesn’t know it yet. Once the war is over and the nuke has been dismantled, torn to pieces by its own creator’s hands, and Quackity and Fundy have both been reduced to one last life each, Fundy will sit at a piano at Foolish’s Summer Home, with the friends and family he has left- with Foolish and Purpled, Tubbo and Tommy and even Wilbur, with Techno and Phil and Niki and Ranboo, with Slime and Yogurt, every person he has ever loved and cared about and will one day save- and he will play a melody Tubbo taught him when he was a kit, still playing on a clumsy piano thrown together from scrapwood and busted strings in the living room of a house long since rotted and burned away.

For now, though, not knowing what the future has in store, Fundy only smiles and says, “There will always be another war.”

[trekkiepirate]

Master of All

My Witcher Secret Santa gift for @motionalocean! @thewitchersecretsanta

Crossposted to AO3 HERE

nearly 9.2K of BAMF!Jaskier and Geralt being progressively more smitten. 5 Times Jaskier Is Good At Things Geralt Didn't Expect And The 1 Thing He Knew Jaskier Was Good At. PG-13 for bad words, canon-typical violence, and the +1 Under cut because it’s hella long.

1. Pickpocketing

“Well,” Jaskier huffed, “I sincerely hope you missed one of those ghouls and they come back and eat this whole rotten village. Starting with that alderman. No, starting with his appalling son who has the AUDACITY to claim he was a better singer than me. My gods, Geralt, I don’t even think I’ll complain of the lack of a roof and a bed this evening. Sleeping under the stars with my very dear friend-“

“-not friends,” Geralt huffed.

The interruption entirely ignored by Jaskier. “-who is twice, thrice, no no no ten, a hundred, a THOUSAND times the man that they could ever dream of being. Asking a man-“

“-not a man,” Geralt said, expecting, correctly, Jaskier would ignore this comment too.

Jaskier, instead, whirled and looked at Geralt like he had punched him. Actually, he looked more upset than when Geralt has, in fact, punched him. “Of course you’re a man.” Jaskier tilted his head. “Well, I cannot say for certain as I have not yet seen you… in a state of undress. Though not that the having of a penis makes one a man. It’s more about your own identity-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighed, sliding two now-skinned hares onto sticks over the fire.

“You’re a man because that’s who you tell the world you are.”

“I don’t.”

It seemed only every other sentence was going to get through Jaskier’s tirades as he stopped speaking.

For a few blissful seconds. “Geralt,” Jaskier put his hands on his hips, voice exasperated as if he were a teacher who expected better of his pupil. “Geralt,” he said again, “you are the best man I have ever met. Smarter than any scholar, kinder than any priest, more noble than any titled twat.”

Geralt blinked. Jaskier seemed so sincere. “We’ve just met.”

“Right, well, we’ve actually been traveling together for four months, but I imagine time feels different when you’re basically immortal, so we’ll let that slide.”

A frown twisted Geralt’s face. “You’re young. You can’t have met that many people.”

Jaskier pursed his lips and put on what he called his Viscount voice. Though why he’d pretend to be a Viscount was beyond Geralt. “I studied for years at the most prestigious and widely attended university on the Continent. I have met plenty of people, Geralt. And you are still the best one I know.”

Geralt hmmed. “Your good opinion won’t buy us a roof and a bed.”

A grin like a succubus, pretty and dangerous, spread over Jaskier’s face. He reached into his trousers and produced a bag of coins. “It might do.”

The same bag of coins that the alderman had refused to give Geralt after he cleared a nest of ghouls from a field. He’d taken three crowns and told Geralt that it couldn’t be worth the whole bag if it only took him an hour.

As it was, most of that hour was building the bomb he’d need to destroy the nest. The ghouls had been sated by feeding on villagers who’d tried to kill them and were slow.

“Where-” Geralt shook his head, he knew the answer to that one. “How?”

Jaskier tossed the bag in the air and caught it. He continued doing so as he spoke. “Remember when I gestured around his, frankly gaudy and most certainly fake, prized vase?”

Geralt stared at the boy. “You distracted him by making him think you might break his vase and then stole his coin out of his pocket.”

“Exactly! Really it’s his fault for so blatantly putting the coin away while looking down his nose at you.” Jaskier grinned bright and extracted one coin from the bag before handing it to Geralt.

“Thief’s fee?” Geralt nodded at the coin.

Jaskier’s smile got even more mischievous. He balanced the coin on his thumb, then flicked it.

It hit Geralt in the chest and fell into his lap.

“Well, tossing a coin is the chorus of the song anyway,” he winked, then spun around, grabbing a cooked hare and blowing on it before taking a large bite. “They’ll see,” he said as he chewed, “my song will become a hit! ‘Toss a Coin’ will be sung the entire length and breadth of the Continent and men like that will be the pariahs, the outcasts. Anyone who denigrates a witcher will be spit upon in the streets. See how they like that!” Jaskier’s next bite was near savage, tearing the meat from the bone. But the next moment, he grinned over the fire at Geralt. “And until it does become a hit and you are lauded as the hero you are, and don’t say you’re not a hero, I see your mouth opening and you can very well shut it again for all the credence I’m going to give you saying you’re not a hero.” He gestured wildly with his hare, grease dripping slowly down his hand and forearm, on display since he’d rolled up the sleeves as his chemise on such a warm night.

Geralt found his next breath a little harder to take as he stared at the bare forearm. He hmmed and took up his own meal.

“So until that day, I will gladly make sure you are properly paid for your work,” he waggled the fingers of his left hand at Geralt. “One way or another.”

“Don’t get caught,” Geralt said. “I won’t break you out of any jail cell you land in.”

Jaskier laughed. “That is a bald-faced lie. You did the exact thing two towns ago and that wasn’t even me risking my freedom and safety for you to be given all you deserve.”

Geralt looked up at Jaskier, then quickly back to his hare when he found the expression on Jaskier’s face too… too much like something warm settling in his stomach. He ate the rest of the hare as fast as he could.

No one had ever said Geralt deserved anything. Not anything nice, anyway. But Jaskier seemed to think that Geralt was a kind of hero in a tale and wanted him to be treated as such.

Fool’s errand, he thought. Jaskier was young and didn’t know how the world worked outside of the high walls of a university. He’d learn. Until then…

“Fine.”

Having gone back to eating, Jaskier was silent for a moment as if trying to recall where the conversation was picking up from. “What’s fine? Oh! Me stealing when people refuse to pay you your just wage. Of course it’s fine. Don’t worry your pretty head for a moment; I’ve never been caught yet.” He waggled his fingers in Geralt’s direction. “Dexterity is name of the game when one spends one’s life dedicated to possibly the most delicate and finnicky instrument known to man.” He looked down at his gifted elven lute like it was his flesh and blood child, so loving and soft.

When he raised his head and looked at Geralt, his adoring expression didn’t change in the least.

Geralt cleared his throat and threw the hareless stick onto the fire. ‘Go to sleep, Jaskier.”

A few more large bites and Jaskier did as he was told, snuggling into his bedroll. Which Geralt had bought him when Jaskier proved that no amount of silence or disinterest would keep him from staying at Geralt’s side, praising every deed in song. He picked up the bag of coin and wandered over to Roach to tuck it safely in her saddlebag.

The horse nickered softly and seemed to throw her head repeatedly in Jaskier’s direction.

“Don’t get attached,” Geralt scolded.

Roach tilted her head in Jaskier’s direction and kept it there.

Geralt sighed and whispered into the still night air. “Thank you, Jaskier.” He patted Roach, now seemingly satisfied, and made his way to his own bedroll, set a bit behind Jaskier’s so the bard was close to the warm fire and that anything that leapt at them from the woods would have to get through Geralt before it could get to Jaskier.

He laid there, thinking about how quickly making sure the boy warm and safe had become a priority.

2. Knowing Who The Nobles Are Everywhere They Go

“Nope,” Jaskier plucked the sun-faded paper from Geralt’s hand, ignoring Geralt’s exasperated expression. “Oh no, no, no, no. Nope, you will not be taking this. Well, you will not be taking this contract with Duke Hereward. He’s an absolute bastard and will quite surely stiff you of your deserved coin. No, we’d best find where,” he squinted at the ink, “Meadwood Farms is and go straight to the farmers themselves. Hereward will weasel his weasely way out of giving you anything. I’d gladly steal anything he might have of worth-“

Geralt glanced around, hoping no one who worked for the Duke was listening, as Jaskier did not seem to understand what the word ‘discretion’ meant.

“-alas the double-edged sword of fame means if something were to go mysteriously but deservedly missing after we took our leave, I’d find my lovely new position as a professor at Oxenfurt suddenly taken from me.” He smiled at Geralt. “I need something to do during the winter while you hide away in your Witchery mountains to do… mountainous Witchery things.”

Suppressing the urge to smile, Geralt nodded towards the inn. “I’m sure someone will know who owns the farm in there.”

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm and began to drag him (well, steer him as if Geralt had truly not wanted to be led, there was no way the boy, barely into his twenties, could move him) towards the inn. “Good people of Ellander!”

“Jaskier,” Geralt nearly rolled his eyes.

“Your prayers to the Great Meletile have been answered,” Jaskier continued. “Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf himself, has come to aid you with your monster problems. Merely point us to Meadwood Farms and you shall soon see why Geralt is the hero of the Continent.”

Geralt was strangely glad his body no longer had the ability to blush. Jaskier’s absolute faith in Geralt was steadfast and it made something heavy and warm settle in Geralt’s chest. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be able to feel this way, to be so… cared about.

A pretty-eyed maiden made her way over to them. She smiled brightly at Jaskier. “I work at the farm. I’d be ever so glad to lead you… and the witcher there.”

The eye rolling couldn’t be controlled this time, as Jaskier immediately brightened under her attentions. “Well lead on, good miss. I presume it’s miss?”

“It is,” she giggled.

Geralt was rather glad they barely paid any heed to him as they flirted their way across town to the countryside. “What is it?” Geralt eventually asked.

Both Jaskier and the young woman, Elzbet apparently, startled as if they’d forgotten Geralt was still there. They probably had.

“The monster,” Geralt clarification. “What is it?”

Elzbet shrugged. “I didn’t see it. I do not know. Master Prospero was the one who saw it. He’s in the big house.”

Jaskier grinned. “Yes, yes, Geralt head up to see Master Prospero. Elzbet has promised to show me a most charming little corner of the barn. Apparently, there’s an owl’s nest there.”

Geralt would turn over every coin he received for the contract if there was actually an owl’s nest anywhere in the barn. All Jaskier was likely to see was up the girl’s skirts. Stomping away with a little more force than he probably needed to use, Geralt found the farm owner and got the information he needed.

It was a nest of nekkars and Geralt has cleared them all out by that night. The reward scraped together by the workers was only a third of what Hereward had promised, but it was given in gratitude and with open hands. Prospero himself was so grateful, he offered Geralt and Jaskier a room in his home for the night, as well as their dinner that night and breakfast the next morning.

Jaskier spent most of the night trying to find a suitably dirty rhyme he approved of for owl.

“Howl. Or yowl, which I will make you do if you do not put that candle out.” Geralt said at last.

“Oh you,” Jaskier tsked as he quickly scribbled down a few more lines. “You know what that Witchery magic does to me.” He winked.

Geralt buried his head further into the pillow. “Didn’t get enough with your farm girl?”

Jaskier gasped, affronted. “Excuse you, Elzbet is more than a farm girl, she is the love of my life.” He sighed dreamily. “I might stay, you know. With her.”

“Better her than me,” Geralt grumbled.

“I know you don’t truly mean those words or I’d be heartbroken beyond repair to hear you say that,” Jaskier shrugged out of his doublet and pinched out the candle flame between his licked fingers. “But what if I did? Stay?”

Geralt huffed. “You’d make a piss poor farmer.”

Jaskier laughed lightly. “Probably true.” He sighed. “Would you miss me?”

“Go to sleep, Jaskier,” Geralt said in lieu of an actual answer. “If you’re to be a farmer, you must get used to early mornings.”

Humming thoughtfully, Jaskier settled down, the line of his back just an inch away from Geralt’s in the bed. “Good night, Geralt.”

In the morning, Jaskier packed and took his place at Geralt’s side. He tried out lyrics and chords and by the time he and Geralt made camp that night, Jaskier had a new ballad. It was about love between a wanderer and a maiden, whom he loved but left to follow the open road he had long ago promised his heart to, his truest love.

Though he never actually sang the word road, Geralt realized as he watched Jaskier sing it a week later in a tavern. The song itself was called Walking The Path.

3. Gwent

“Dammit,” Geralt growled as he threw down his remaining card. A clear weather was useless when there were no weather cards in effect. The score was tied, but his opponent played with a Nilfgaardian deck and therefore won all ties.

The smarmy git was smiling at him like a smarmy git. “Fair is fair,” he held out a hand, “I’ll be taking your unique card now.”

It was lying next to the card the other man had anted up in the center of the table, but clearly humiliation was part of his winnings.

Geralt picked up the card and dropped it into the other man’s hand. “Here.”

“Better luck next time,” the bastard called out and he gestured another player to take Geralt’s place.

He still had all the coin he’d won, the cards had been the only prizes in that last round, so Geralt went over to the bar and ordered two ales and a glass of wine.

By the time he was picking up the second mug of ale, Jaskier had finished his set and bounded over, downing the wine in one go as always and ordering himself another.

“What’s this face? Is my singing truly that bad? Please know, if you say anything about pie, I will be forced to waste this lovely wine on your rude head.” Geralt grunted. “Singing was fine. Lost my game is all.”

Jaskier tilted his head. “You were winning when I last checked in on you.” He looked at his glass. “Do you need some coin? I got a fair amount tonight, people around here are very anti-Nilfgaard and my lovely little ditty went a treat. You must have heard the cheers.”

Geralt nodded. He had. In between games, he’d kept his eye on Jaskier. The djinn incident was two weeks ago, but this was Jaskier’s first performance since he almost lost his voice. And life.

The bard had been nervous and Geralt hadn’t even started playing gwent until the anxious scent faded into his usual confident burst of sundried linen and mint. The crowd was just as adoring, just as loud as always. Jaskier’s voice hadn’t suffered any permanent damage and Geralt was relieved. After all, his unthinking words had been the reason Geralt had almost lost… that Jaskier had almost lost his voice.

“Not coin,” Geralt said at last, draining his mug. “Lost my best card though. Drew an unlucky hand and couldn’t seem to bring it back around. Ended in a draw, but the bastard played as Nilfgaard so he took the tie.”

Jaskier frowned. “No chance to get it back?”

Geralt shrugged. “He plays here a lot, apparently. Has rules about only one match per opponent.” He shook his head. “Nothing for it.”

Putting down his half full glass, Jaskier nodded. “Right, well then.” He turned and headed towards the tables set up for cards.

“Jaskier?” Geralt blinked at the space the bard had occupied a second ago. “Jaskier?”

Jaskier was already standing in front of the bastard.

Geralt couldn’t remember his name, wasn’t even sure he’d been told who he’d been playing against.

Jaskier’s relaxed ease was gone, instead his shoulders hunched up, making him look for all the world like an angry cat about to take a chunk out of the next person who tried to pet it. “Valdo Marx,” Jaskier hissed out like the very letters of the name offended him.

Huh. Geralt looked at the man who’d defeated him.

Valdo looked up with a beatific smile. “Julian, is that you? I did think I heard your particular brand of empty words and trite notes in that boyish tenor of yours.”

Now no longer just upset about the card, Geralt’s fingers twitched towards his sword. Sure, he’d not exactly complimented Jaskier’s songs recently, but his insult was born of trying to offend the man into shutting up so Geralt could find the damnable djinn and get some fucking sleep.

Which, looking back, was a useless attempt as Jaskier had been drunk and Drunk Jaskier was even more prone to rambling than Sober Jaskier.

“Normally, I’d be quite glad to just punch you in the nose,” Jaskier smirked, “again.”

Taking a closer look, Geralt did notice that Valdo’s nose was slightly crooked. As if broken a few too many times.

“But if seems you have some pretentious rule about not allowing people to win their losings back from you like an honourable gentleman would.” Jaskier crossed his arms. “So I’ll play you for Geralt’s card.”

Valdo blinked blankly. “Geralt?”

Jaskier clucked his tongue as he sat down. “My goodness, you are out of touch. Everyone on the Continent knows I sing of Geralt of Rivia, heroic Witcher of legend and my very best friend in the whole world.”

Geralt didn’t bother to object.

“Then again, you rarely get to leave Cidaris, don’t you?” Jaskier produced his gwent deck and began to shuffle it. “I often wonder how you’d do in a town you didn’t grow up in? But then your father’s money wouldn’t be there to buy you a court position now would it? Has he bought you a title yet?”

Though Jaskier couldn’t see it, perhaps because Jaskier couldn’t see it, Geralt grinned broadly at that.

Valdo grinned back nastily, revealing he had a missing canine tooth as well. “If he did, at least one of us would use their title to make a difference to their homeland. Tell me, Julian,” he laid out his deck and dealt himself a hand, “when did you last visit Lettenhove? Or do you still think wandering amongst the common folk singing dirty songs in dirty taverns is the proper way a viscount should behave? Whatever would your mother day?”

Geralt watched Jaskier’s grip on his own hand tighten, just slightly. “Just play, Marx.”

Huh. Apparently Jaskier wasn’t making the whole viscount thing up.

“Oh now now,” Valdo laid down his hand, “we haven’t set terms yet. You want the Witcher’s card, right? This one,” he picked it up and flipped it along the back of his hand. “But what will you bet? I never play for anything as gauche as coin. Some of us get wages, not a handful of coins in a dusty lute case. Actually,” Valdo leaned forward, “that’s what we’ll play for. Your pretty lute. See if you can perform in royal courts without your maaaagical little instrument.”

“No.”

Jaskier and Valdo both snapped their attention to Geralt.

“No,” he repeated. Jaskier’s lute was his livelihood, his most precious possession. Geralt wanted his card back, but not at that price. Jaskier was a clever player, Geralt knew, but Valdo’s deck was evil, full of spies and scorch cards. “Not the lute. Choose something else.”

Valdo shook his head. “Don’t think I will,” he turned back to Jaskier. “You bet your lute or I walk away and your witcher never sees his card again.”

Geralt put a hand out to grab Jaskier’s shoulder and urge him up to their room, but Jaskier just nodded. “It’s a bet. Play, Marx.”

Worry came over Geralt and he found himself pacing behind Jaskier, trying not to look at his cards because then he’d know if Jaskier had a good hand and if he didn’t…

If Jaskier lost his lute, he’d be crushed. Geralt would buy him another; he’d have to. But to lose the lute Filavandrel had given him… Jaskier always said it brought him luck, sounded sweeter than all others, even when slightly out of tune.

“It will always remind me of the day my life changed forever,” he’d smile at it, then at Geralt.

Geralt still hadn’t worked out whether he meant the day he wrote the song that made him famous or the day he learned the world was much more complicated than his human-written studies might have led him to believe.

Geralt watched as Jaskier’s hand dwindled to two cards.

Valdo still had half a dozen.

It was the last hand; both had won a turn and this would decide the winner.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Geralt closed his eyes and leaned back, trying to meditate or at least clear his mind. He still had his winnings from the other matches he’d played tonight. He had no idea how much a lute cost, but he’s fairly sure he’d be able to cover it. Did this town even have a shop that might carry one? It was only just inside the borders of Cidaris, not a particularly large village now that Geralt thought about it.

“You,” he heard a hiss, “cheated.”

Jaskier was smiling. “I did no such thing. I merely used your same tactics against you.” He held out a hand. “The card. Unless you’d like to try and win it back?”

Valdo spit out some words in Elder as he threw the card at Jaskier and stomped out like a petulant child.

Geralt was rusty and only caught every few words. Something about Jaskier’s bedroom habits and something else about being a pathetic, he thinks the word was supposed to mean hound or something like that. One phrase that Geralt did catch, as he’d heard it assigned to him once or twice before translated to ‘unlovable’.

Jaskier sat frozen through the tirade and when Geralt rounded the table, he found Jaskier’s eyes to be far more full of wrath and pain than it ought to for someone who had just won a game against a rival.

His face schooled into a triumphant grin, though there was still a sheen of sadness in his eyes. “Your card, Geralt.”

Geralt took it gently, sliding out his deck into order to tuck it away. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, if I lost I was thinking of just stabbing him and making a run for it,” Jaskier waved a hand.

“It’s not that important,” Geralt insisted, ten minutes later as they readied for bed. “It wasn’t worth risking your lute. If you’d lost it. It’s more precious to you than everything, else you’ve said so yourself.”

Jaskier looked up from folding his doublet and smiled, not his cheeky performance grins but a small, genuine thing. “Not everything. Now,” he sat on the edge of the bed and tugged off his boots, “may I see the card I won from Marx in what is going to be immortalized into an incredibly epic song as soon as I come up with a rhyme for ‘thrice broken nose’?”

Geralt took it out and handed it over.

It was a fairly new card for the Northern Kingdoms deck. An ashen haired little girl pouted in a frilly pink dress, clearly displeased at being painted.

“Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Princess of Cintra,” Jaskier read. He handed back the card but his hand hovered, as if he might reach out for Geralt’s shoulder or even his cheek. “Yes, this is something worth taking a risk for, no question. …15 points and all,” he said after a moment, when he realized Geralt wasn’t responded. “Course I missed the opportunity of stabbing Marx, but I’ve no doubt the chance will arise again someday.” He laid down and stared at the ceiling.

“Jaskier,” Geralt began, finding his words dry up when those beautiful (when did he start thinking of Jaskier’s eyes as beautiful?) blue eyes blinked up at him. “I… th- you played well.”

A pleased and nearly shy look came over Jaskier’s face. “I know how much you enjoy it. Just wanted to be sure I’d be a worthy opponent for you, dearest witcher.” He stared at Geralt a moment longer, as if looking for something in his face. He shook his head slightly as if coming out of a dream. “Goodnight, Geralt.” Jaskier turned and faced the wall.

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed as he laid down, facing the opposite wall. “Goodnight. Jaskier.”

4. Sailing

Geralt surveyed the people sitting around the table and frowned to notice one missing. “Where’s Jaskier?”

“Went fishing,” Eskel said off hand, jumping right back into his conversation with Coën.

“He what?”

Lambert looked up from his gwent match with Ciri, “He took my boat and went fishing. Said he wouldn’t be much help in a hunt, but this way he wouldn’t be and I quote, ‘useless’ and he could be a ‘worthy winter companion’.”

Geralt winced. He’d apologized for his harsh words on the mountain and Jaskier had forgiven him. But it seems some of the hurt from that day still lingered.

“Where did he go?”

Eskel and Lambert exchanged a look.

“I don’t know his coordinates,” Lambert answered.

“Dammit!” Geralt barely kept himself from hitting the table; he didn’t want to scare Ciri, who had put her cards down and was watching the scene with interest. “You know what’s out there. Drowners and bears and I’m not sure we entirely destroyed that harpy nest from last winter and-“

“And he assured us he could handle it,” Eskel said.

Geralt growled. “He’s human! He could get hurt.”

Coën piped up at last. “Jaskier went north from the lakeside hut.” When all eyes turned to him, Coën shrugged, “He wanted to know where the good fishing spots are. I told him.”

Spinning on his heel, Geralt headed for the door to the keep, grabbing a silver sword from a rack of them on the way. He had a location and a direction. He could pick up Jaskier’s scent from there.

Geralt hadn’t bothered to grab a coat and the winter winds bit through his leather and linen clothes almost immediately. It didn’t matter. Jaskier had been alone in the wilds for who knows how long and even without the monsters and the beasts, there were dangers. The bard could overbalance and tumble into the icy waters. What if he hadn’t thought to grab warmer clothes? Geralt picked up speed, wishing he’d thought to bring Roach. Wishing he’d thought about anything other than running to get to Jaskier and…

And he wasn’t sure what would happen after. He just… needed to know that Jaskier was all right. That he was safe. He hadn’t been safe, Geralt sighed to himself as he ran, after Geralt had snapped at him.

Geralt was sure it was just another spat; that he’d arrive back at camp and Jaskier would be there very pointedly writing a song about a heartless cad who was mean to his very best friend in the whole wide world. Jaskier had a good half dozen songs like it already, this would be one more.

Only he wasn’t there. Geralt arrived to find Roach eating the last of the apples Jaskier had packed just for her and giving Geralt a very judgmental look. “Leave off,” he growled at her as he packed up what was left and led her down the mountain. “We’ll pick him up in town and you two can whisper about how mean I am.”

But Jaskier wasn’t in town either. Nor could anyone say which way he went. Geralt cursed then like he cursed now, seeing the roof of the hut by the lake and yet no sign of Jaskier.

Bad things happened when Jaskier went off alone. Geralt shook his head to rid himself of the image of Jaskier, strung up by his hands, those beautiful talented livelihood-making hands threatened and Jaskier said nothing, gave no secrets away. Some because he didn’t know and some because he…

Geralt doesn’t know why Jaskier didn’t break, except he does. The man is brave, he’s stupid and criminally loud, but he is also the most loyal man Geralt has ever known. Steel dressed in silk.

Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, Geralt picked up Jaskier’s scent. It’s his soap and sweat and Geralt knows it like he knows his own.

Jaskier has the only boat and Geralt doesn’t fancy a swim, so he sticks to the shoreline, eyes casting about for any signs of danger or Jaskier.

Geralt very specifically tries to avoid thinking about danger AND Jaskier, which means that is all his brain will show him. Images of Jaskier surrounded by drowners, of a boat floating listlessly because the man at the rudder had been torn to pieces by harpies, a bear raising its blood-covered maw with a scrap of bright fabric caught in its teeth.

The last thing he’s thinking is that he will come upon Jaskier peacefully hauling a net of fish into the boat, adding the larger ones to a bucket next to him. So of course, that’s how the story goes.

“Geralt?” Jaskier called, eyes as round and surprised as the fish wriggling its last throes in his hands. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is everyone okay?”

Jaskier dropped the net thoughtlessly onto the boat’s hull and with a series of quick and efficient movements, had the boat floating over to where Geralt stood on the shore. The bard hopped over the side and hurried to Geralt, hands twitching as if he wanted to check the witcher over for any injuries. “Geralt?”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

A frown coming to rest on his face, Jaskier put his hands on his slim hips. “What was I thinking? What were you thinking? You’re going to catch your death without a coat, yes I know,” he said as Geralt opened his mouth, “witchers can’t catch colds, immune systems, mutagens, blah blah,” he went back to the boat and finished sorting the fish, “blah. What could possibly have happened that you hurried all the way from Kaer Morhen without so much as a single piece of armour or a cloak?” He turned, suddenly serious. “Is everyone all right? Is Ciri all right? She’s not ill, is she? Did she take a tumble on the training course?”

Touched by how much Jaskier cares about Ciri, despite having known her a relatively short time, Geralt shook his head. “She’s fine. Everyone is fine.”

“Then what in the name of Meletile, Freya and any other four gods you would care to name are you doing here?”

Geralt wished he’d spent less time thinking about the past and more time thinking about the future as he ran. He’s starting to get used to that feeling in general. “You weren’t there.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened, then softened. “Surely someone told you I’d gone fishing? I let everyone know. I didn’t,” he smiled sardonically, “think you’d even notice.”

“Why?”

Head tilted like a puppy, Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Why did I go fishing or why did I think you wouldn’t notice? I went fishing because everyone does something at Kaer Morhen. I don’t,” he sighed, “have anything but music to offer and I’m well aware of your opinions on that. I assume your fellow witchers share them and also your witcher hearing, hence my lute case gathers dust. I do, however, know how to sail a boat, catch some fish, and cook said fish. So I thought I would make myself useful. As for you not noticing, well, I’m hardly your first priority here and,” he quickly added, “I understand completely. I shouldn’t be. Ciri comes first, always, of course. Hell, I wasn’t your first priority when we traveled together. Roach was. Speaking of, where is she? You couldn’t have tied her up too far away now.” Jaskier looked at the tree line as if a large mare would suddenly appear.

“I… didn’t bring her,” Geralt said, shame slowly rising in him at Jaskier’s words. Geralt couldn’t refute any of them. He hadn’t noticed the lack of music, assuming Jaskier still played in his room. As for when they travelled together, it hurt deep in Geralt’s gut that Jaskier thought he wasn’t a priority to Geralt. His words were often harsh, but Geralt made sure Jaskier had enough food and hunted more to ensure that he would. He bought Jaskier a warmer, if less stylish, cloak that had seen the bard through most of his twenties.

Jaskier had hefted a bucket of fish in his arms and just stared blankly at Geralt. “You… didn’t bring Roach? You, what, walked all the way here?”

Geralt’s eye twitched. “I ran.”

“For Meletile’s sake, why?”

“There’s…” Geralt cleared his throat, “drowners around. Sometimes. And bears. There might be some harpies left over from a nest we destroyed last winter.”

Jaskier settled the bucket back into the boat. “Were you… worried about me?”

Geralt nodded. Words were awkward and he wished to use as few as possible.

A look not unlike something like wonder crossed Jaskier’s face. “Oh. I… oh. I’m,” he spread his arms as if presenting himself, “fine. As you see. I… guess we should head back.” He gestured towards the boat. “I’ve a decently sized haul. I can make use of this for a while.” Jaskier stood in the shallow water, “Climb on in, and I’ll take us back.”

Geralt didn’t move.

“Oh,” Jaskier looked abashed. “Unless you’d prefer to steer?”

“No,” Geralt shook his head. “You can steer.”

He could. As Geralt had seen, Jaskier clearly knew his way not only around fishery, but sailing.

Jaskier nodded again to the boat and Geralt stepped in, settling at the bow.

Proving him right, Jaskier shoved them into the water and hauled himself over the side, quickly settling at the rudder and turning them around to head back towards Kaer Morhen.

Geralt cast a glance into the bucket of fish, seeing a few other smaller ones surrounding it. Several fish stared unblinkingly at Geralt as he stared back.

Jaskier hummed then cut himself off when he realized he was doing so, with a nervous glance at Geralt.

He wanted to say something. Tell Jaskier the humming was fine with him. That he should get out his lute and play for them. That Geralt wanted to hear his music, his voice. That the fillingless pie comment all those years ago hadn’t been a slight to Jaskier’s singing but the content of his songs, so many full of dirty humour or exaggerated lies.

All he could manage was “You sail good.”

Staring just as wide-eyed and unblinking as the fish, Jaskier slowly said, “Thank… you… I, uh,” he looked back at the water, “grew up on the coast. Been sailing since I was strong enough to move a rudder. Fishing even longer.”

“Why didn’t you fish that day? You could have caught your own.” Geralt winced as his words were said. Jaskier wasn’t focusing on that day with the djinn. He’d need to be specific.

But Jaskier was already answering, “I was heartbroken and near blind drunk,” he laughed, light and slightly forced. “I’d have fallen in as soon as I bent over to grab the net, hence why I was hoping you would share your haul.” He pursed his lips. “Rather wish I hadn’t, looking back.”

Geralt found himself stuck for words again. They came easy with his brothers in arms. Even with Ciri, he found himself managing to find words of comfort or encouragement when it seemed she needed them.

But Jaskier had always made things complicated for Geralt, since the day they’d met. He could annoy Geralt like nobody and nothing else; Jaskier got himself into trouble on a fairly regular basis, was fussy about his clothes and hair, and could talk the hind legs off a donkey while never saying a blessed thing of worth.

But damn if Geralt didn’t want him there, in all his messy and loud glory. He wanted Jaskier safe and, as recent events had shown, Jaskier was safest at Geralt’s side, because Geralt would move heaven and earth, call upon any help and damn the cost, to keep Jaskier so.

Geralt was in love with Jaskier. The revelation felt both sudden and slow at once. Like he’d been falling in love so quietly and steadily, there was no way to point to the day or hour that he’d actually fallen.

“Fuck.”

Jaskier, lost in daydreams, started. “What’s the matter now?”

“I,” Geralt scrambled for something to say. Should he tell Jaskier he loved him? No, that was absurd. Jaskier, for all his lingering stares and the near constant scent of lust that used to surround him, didn’t love Geralt as more than a friend, if that. Lust was not love, Geralt knew that well. He was with him for the songs and the safety. Sure, Jaskier cared for Geralt, he said it often enough, but he didn’t love him. Like how Geralt was realizing he loved Jaskier.

Who was staring at him expectantly.

At least this time, Geralt kept his annoyed at himself ‘fuck’ inside his head. “I was thinking of all the times we could have taken the river, instead of the roads.” He found words, though he wasn’t sure they were the right ones. “If I’d known you could sail. We could have… sailed. Before now.”

Jaskier dropped his eyes to the bottom of the boat, then turned away as if needing to check where he was going, as if he hadn’t been steering blind for the past several minutes, instinctive. “Ah. I’m sorry. Maybe I should have told you. Though we weren’t often by the,” a slight hesitation, “the coast.”

“You’re doing very well.” Geralt twitched his lips into as big a smile as he could manage and still felt it came up short.

But Jaskier’s visible cheek rose in a smile. “Thank you, Geralt.”

5. Sword Fighting

A whirl of light green and silver flashed from Geralt’s side, a movement near dancelike in its fluidity, accompanied by a whisper that sounded almost like counting.

Geralt turned just in time to see the bandit’s surprised face before his cleaved straight through torso fell, leaving the remains of his trunk and his lower body to fall to the ground a couple seconds after his head and shoulders had.

Jaskier stood behind the now deceased bandit, blood splattered all over his outfit and his face, still twisted into a mask of wrath. The sword in his hand was red with blood, silver glinting through the drops.

Geralt thinks it’s possible he has never been so turned on in his whole life and he’s going to have a good long talk with himself about why that might be later on.

The moment passed and Jaskier lowered the sword, wiping it on the deserter’s trousers. “Oh blast, sorry about that Geralt, I’ll clean all the blood off properly once we get back to camp. No worries. I know it’s silver for monsters,” he sneered at the dead man and then at the others who had foolishly decided to try to rob a witcher and his companion, “but I rather think it’s still apt. I’ll pay for the repair at the next blacksmith we come across if I damaged it too much.” He held the blade at eye level and examined it. “I think it’s mostly all right and Geralt are you okay? They didn’t manage to knock you in the head, did they? You’ve been staring at me for the past few minutes.”

Geralt was trying to sear the image of Jaskier looking over the blade as if, as if he KNOWS what to look for in a damaged sword. A sword he had used to kill a man creeping up on Geralt. A sword he had welded with deadly and graceful precision. Geralt’s own sword.

A very, very long talk. Possibly in the cold stream they’d just come from before they’d been ambushed.

Jaskier leaned past Geralt to sheathe the sword into its place across the witcher’s back and the spicy smell of anger had dissipated completely into Jaskier’s usual chamomile and honey concern scent. Underlaid by the copper of the blood.

It took a good deal of self-discipline for Geralt to not outright whine when Jaskier laid a warm hand on his cheek, tilting his head to check for injuries.

“Your pupils are very round, darling,” Jaskier said, the endearment he used so often sounded like music to Geralt. “Are you injured? I could grab you a potion if you are. Or maybe you’re just tired.” Jaskier dropped his hand and turned back to where they had laid down their belongings when the first men broke through the cover of the trees, using speed and surprise over strategy.

Geralt was sure he’d had them all until… until Jaskier killed the man who had managed to sneak up on him. Who would have put a sword through Geralt if not for Jaskier’s quick action and Geralt circled back to the image of Jaskier, bloody and snarling like a feral animal as he cut the man down with no hesitation.

A very, very long talk in a very, very cold stream.

Jaskier whistled and Roach came from her hiding spot in the trees. He patted her neck and dug through her saddlebags. “Geralt, are you out of Swallow? We have the spirit and the celandine but I think we might need to head towards the coast so you can cut down some drowners for their brains.” He smiled brightly. “Maybe they’ll be a contract for them as well. And a tavern that appreciates fine music. We could have a va- a very nice day. Or two.” Jaskier ducked his head and pink bloomed in his cheeks.

Geralt found his hand lifting of its own accord and landing on Jaskier’s shoulder.

The bard turned expectantly, then frowned when after a moment Geralt didn’t say or do anything else. “Geralt?” His voice was soft, the scent of his concern drew stronger. “Geralt, are you sure you’re okay? You seem stunned or something. Are you sure you didn’t take a hit to the head?”

“Sword,” Geralt said at last.

“He speaks,” Jaskier smiled briefly. “He speaks nonsense, but he speaks. What about a sword? I already told you I’d take care of any repairs needed after my impromptu maneuver. I don’t think there’s any permanent damage done. It wasn’t even that difficult. You have very good moves, dear.”

Geralt blinked as he realized where he’d seen the move Jaskier had performed. It was one he’d been taught at the School of The Wolf. Jaskier used one of Geralt’s own moves. One of his Witcher moves. To save his life. “That was… that was a witcher move. How did you…” he couldn’t even finish his question.

Jaskier shrugged. “I’ve followed you for over two decades, Geralt. On and off, sure, but still. I’ve seen you fight nearly every creature you could come across. Including bastards like those,” he nonchalantly tossed his head towards the dead men on the ground, his fringe flicking back into his eyes boyishly. “I memorized the moves you use. Granted, I’ve mostly practiced on training dummies and sparring partners, but I’ve run across my fair share of evil and desperate men before.”

“That… wasn’t your first kill?”

“Gods no,” Jaskier tilted his head and scrunched up his nose as he calculated. “Maybe my… dozenth? Or so. Now I tried not to pick up a sword unless necessary but that gutless bastard,” he spit at the man’s bisected body, “was in your blind spot. You probably would have managed to parry, but I didn’t want to take the chance.” Jaskier smiled. “Good thing too, now that we know you’re out of Swallow. Here,” he held out a canteen of water, “drink this. Get your strength back.”

Geralt took the canteen and drank slowly to give himself time to readjust his worldview on Jaskier. “Did you… count? When you were…”

Jaskier nodded. “Oh yes. Your movements are so like a dancer’s that I memorized them to a beat.” He smirked. “I’ll make a ballad out of them some day. I’m still in the habit of the counting, but eventually I’ll stop needing that, I suppose.”

“Right,” Geralt said, nodding as if he wasn’t imaging Jaskier, in plain shirt and tight trousers, sparring with Geralt on the grounds of Kaer Morhen. A blink and it was a different kind of sparring. In a bedroom. “Huh.”

“Well,” Jaskier said, as he dug back through the saddlebag, “there’s some White Raffard’s if push comes to shove. Makes sense after that last nest of nekkars. Frightful creatures by the way, possibly my least favourite of them all. Though you’re low on White Honey as well, so hopefully we can find a herbalist and stock up a bit before you have to do any major fighting. ”I’m glad now that I all but raided Oxenfurt’s gardens before I joined you for Spring. Got plenty of honeysuckle in my bag and I’m sure we can find some white myrtle with no problem this time of year. Where’s your alcohest, dear? I’m sure Lambert didn’t let you leave Kaer Morhen without every type of spirit known to man.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, unable to take it anymore. “We need to get back to camp.”

Jaskier whirled around and looked at Geralt then up at the sky, the sun slowly descending in the late afternoon light. “Oh you’re right. Best head back now before we lose the light. Pity we had to have that fight after the nice splash we’d had in that stream. Do you think there’s time to wash again before we head back?”

Geralt nodded. “Yes. Let’s do that first, getting clean again. That’s a very, very good idea.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier hummed, “I didn’t expect that answer from Mr Uses Monster Guts As Shampoo.”

“We’re going to need to get very clean,” Geralt said, “because as soon as we get back to camp I am going to fuck you.”

Jaskier froze. “Whaaaat did you just say? Geralt, I think I misheard you.”

Geralt shrugged. “Or you can fuck me. After seeing you fight like that, I’m letting you choose how we do it.”

“Seeing me fight.” Jaskier opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find which of the many words he had at his disposal he wished to use.

“Or I could just suck you off, if you’d prefer that instead.”

“Geralt of Rivia. Geralt… Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde and I have never been more grateful for the night Vesemir got drunk and shared stories of your youth, I need you to be very, very serious about that offer.” Jaskier licked his lips. “Because I would very much like to take you up on it and if… if it’s just for the night, I don’t rightly think we should risk our… ye gods, you’ve never even called me your friend and here you are offering sex as if… is this just because you feel obligated? I’m sure you would have moved just in time but I couldn’t risk letting that man hurt you and-“

Geralt reached out and pulled Jaskier close, which shut the bard up. A trick Geralt was wishing he’d let himself try before. “I am very serious. If you want it to be for the night, it’s just for the night. It could be a more… formal arrangement if you’d prefer that.”

Jaskier dropped his head to Geralt’s shoulder and breathed out heavily. “I died, didn’t I? I misjudged the distance and the bandit killed me and this is heaven. I didn’t think I’d go to heaven. Huh.”

“Not dead,” Geralt said, lifting a hand to thread through Jaskier’s hair. “Not letting you die. Ever. Especially now that I know how well you fight. You’re living just as long as I am. Don’t know how. I’ll ask Yen, maybe she’ll know of some-“

“Okay,” Jaskier took a step back. “Now, now you’re just being… you want to ask Yennefer, a very very scary witch that you sleep with on the regular-“

Geralt shrugged. “Going to have to stop that now that I have you.”

A high-pitched whine issued from Jaskier’s throat. “I’m going to need you to stop saying things like that if you don’t mean them… how I… ho- expe- think you mean them.”

“I mean them how you think I mean them,” Geralt said. “Most likely. I mean that I would very much like to take you back to our camp and check at least a few things off the mental list of sexual acts we’ve both been compiling right now.”

Jaskier squeaked, “Both?”

Geralt nodded. “I would very much like to do so tomorrow night and for as many nights as you want me. And to extend your allotment of nights somehow. Yennefer has been searching arcane magic things for decades, surely she’s found some anti-ageing or immortality spell by this point. She wouldn’t have needed it, but I’m sure she would have made note of any.”

“Sure she can’t make me younger before she does that?’ Jaskier asked, relying on humour to help him deal with the inrush of information he was being given.

Tilting his head, Geralt looked Jaskier over very thoroughly, noting with some satisfaction what effect his assessing stare had on the state of Jaskier’s trousers. “I like you as you are now. Not the whelp that followed me when It was stupid and dangerous. You’re a grown man now. You’ve filled out. I like how you look.”

Jaskier ran a hand through his hair. “Pardon me if this all seems very sudden.”

“Not sudden,” Geralt said. “I’ve liked how you looked for years.”

“You never said anything.”

Geralt smirked slightly. “I know you’ve lusted for me. I can smell arousal. You never said anything either.”

Jaskier flailed again. “You didn’t consider me your friend, so forgive me for assuming ‘Hey Geralt, you’re the most bloody gorgeous person I’ve ever seen in my whole life would you like to bed me and then marry me’ wouldn’t go down very well.”

“I thought,” Geralt started, “you only wanted to follow me for the songs. For the fame and coin it earns you. It’s why you started following me.”

Struck speechless, Jaskier just stared.

Geralt continued. “I’ve thought of you as my friend, but I didn’t think you thought of me as yours. Until you saved me. Until you learned how I fight in case you ever needed to save me. Until you knew what my potions do and which ones they are. All the little things you’ve done for me throughout the years make sense now. I know friendship. That’s not friendship; it’s love.”

“I have loved you since,” Jaskier waved a hand theatrically, “since you told the elves to let me go. Since you let me stay with you even though you could have outrun me easily on Roach. You hunted enough for two and laid our bedrolls close so I wouldn’t freeze on cold nights and especially after the mountain, you’ve barely let me out of your sight and… oh my gods, I am thick, aren’t I? I am so thick! I am Mr. Thick Thick Thickety Thickface from Thicktown, Thickania. You don’t talk, you do. That was your way of… of… saying how you feel. Isn’t it?”

Geralt hummed and nodded.

Jaskier’s smile could have outshone the lovely sunset happening somewhere behind them. “You love me. Geralt, you… love me. Like I love you. Oh my gods, are you sure I’m not dead? Or having the most wonderful dream? This is real,” he took a step closer and reached out cautiously to pull Geralt into his arms. “This is real, right?”

“It’s real,” Geralt nodded again.

A laugh bubbled out of Jaskier, eliciting a smaller but no less sincere one from Geralt. “If I wasn’t covered in blood, I would be kissing you alre-“

Geralt leaned in and pressed their lips together, relishing the happy gasp Jaskier made against his mouth. “Hmm, I’m bloody too.”

Jaskier kissed Geralt, a small peck and then another. “Where was that stream again?”

Geralt pulled back and took Jaskier’s hand, guiding him in the dimming light. “I won’t be bedding you and then marrying you,” he said.

Confusion scrunched up Jaskier’s face before he realized what he had said before. “Oh bollocks, I didn’t mean that- necessarily- I don’t- where would we find a priest or priestess any- I wasn’t suggesting-”

“We have to have some courting time before we should even think about marrying,” Geralt continued. “it’s only proper.”

“Right,” Jaskier nodded so fast, it was a miracle his head didn’t fly away. “Right, right, right, right. Of course, of course, of course. Proper… proper courting. Geralt?” he asked as they arrived at the stream. “I love you. I just… can I say that now? Because I’ve wanted to say it so many times and I’ve been biting it back for years and I just… I just love you.”

Geralt smiled. “I love you too.”

+1

Wow,” Geralt said, staring up at the ceiling. “That’s how you manage to get away with those abysmal pickup lines. I mean… wow.” His heart was racing so fast it almost sounded human after the passionate, athletic and frankly innovative sex they’d just had. "I always did think it would be good."

He didn’t need to turn to see Jaskier’s smug smile, but he did anyway.

Jaskier’s grin was wide and stretched his cheeks even higher than normal. He tossed his sweaty fringe out of his face and kissed Geralt, deeply, slowly, perfectly. “You’re welcome.”

[unsettledink]

Comfort

For the Starker Holiday Exchange hosted by @starkerfestivals​ I was assigned to liminalbasilisk (I gifted on AO3, but I can’t seem to find you on tumblr to tag, sorry!).

Comfort

Word Count: 2100

Summary: There aren't many reasons omegas build nests - in fact, Peter can only think of one right now, and he's really, really, really sure Tony's not pregnant. So what is going on?

(Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta/Omega, Nesting, Scent Marking, Tony's a little sad, Peter's a little insecure, Happy Ending, Sharing Clothes, Possessive Behavior)

*

Peter should have tried the shop first.

In his defense, Tony had said he’d be busy with other things all day, so really, he wasn’t supposed to be in the shop. Like that ever stopped him.

But instead, Peter spent a couple of hours wandering around and starting to feel like an idiot. Maybe he was just… being too clingy, maybe he shouldn’t keep looking every time he can’t find Tony. He just misses him.

It doesn’t look like Tony’s in the shop when Peter first steps in, but that’s not all that unusual. “Tony?” he calls.

There’s nothing for a moment, and then, so quiet he wouldn’t have heard it without his enhanced senses, “Oh shit.”

Well, that’s not good. “Tony?” he says. “Uh, is something wrong? Where are you anyway?”

He walks around the side of the big L shaped desk and just. Stops. There’s a whole mess of— blankets and clothes and shiny stuff—tinsel?—and he can’t make sense of it at first.

There’s a muffled sigh and then Tony’s head pokes out. “Um,” he says. “Hi.”

He looks nervous, and everything slots into place in Peter’s head. This is— Tony’s nesting. Tony’s nesting. Oh fuck.

There’s— there’s no way Tony could be pregnant, right? Right? Peter’s a beta, after all, and that’s just not— it’s not possible. Betas can’t get male omegas pregnant, they just can’t. But Tony’s nesting and omegas don’t nest unless they’re pregnant and that is a hell of a nest and Tony looks nervous, so maybe… maybe he is pregnant, oh my god. Maybe the bite did something and Peter can get him pregnant, or— or maybe he’s going to tell Peter it’s not his, it’s— he didn’t think Tony even wanted kids enough to do that, much less without telling him, it’s just—

“Look,” Tony says, a little sharp. “I know it’s weird, okay? I get it, it was outdated even when I was growing up and everyone calls it feral nowadays. I don’t— I don’t do it often, alright?”

Peter stares at him. Blinks, and refocuses; Tony’s looking even more worried, shoulders tight and arms crossed, even a little color in his cheeks.

Tony’s jaw clenches for a second. “I wasn’t going to keep it up,” he says. “I— I wasn’t supposed to see you until this evening; I was just going to spend a few hours in it and then take it apart. I know it’s a bad habit, I’m just— it’s not. I’m—” He rubs a hand over his face. “Will you stop looking at me like that?”

“I’m not—” Peter starts, replaying Tony’s words. “Wait. Uh…” There’s nothing outdated or weird about pregnant nesting, what is Tony even talking about?

Oh. Ohhh, wow, okay, Peter thinks. He’s comfort nesting, stress nesting. That’s gotta be what this is, why he’s all defensive about it. Cause yeah, people don’t have a lot of nice things to say about omegas that do that.

I wasn’t going to keep it, Tony’d said, and suddenly Peter feels really sad. That’s just— if Tony’s stressed enough he’s going this, especially if he thinks it’s such a bad thing still, tearing down a nest he’d just made is going to hurt. He shouldn’t feel like he has to.

“Peter—” Tony says, softer, wary.

“Okay, wait a second,” Peter says. “I’m totally not thinking anything bad? Like, I don’t think it’s a bad habit or feral, that’s kind of gross. You’re not hurting anyone! What’s so wrong about it?”

Tony blinks at him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “You don’t have to take it down, you know. It’s your space.” Tony’s got that little crease between his eyebrows, the one he gets when things aren’t making sense to him. He’s so smart, but then these weird little things will trip him up.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Peter adds, carefully, “but— what’s wrong? I didn’t know you were so stressed. It’s gotta be pretty bad if you’re doing this, though.”

Tony stares, but some of the tension in his body has eased. “You’re unreal,” he murmurs. Shakes his head, briefly. “And I’m incredibly lucky. You know what, sweetheart— come here.” He wiggles back in a bit. “Come on in.”

Peter’s mouth almost drops open. “Are you sure?” he says, because you just— you just don’t do that. You don’t invade an omega’s nest unless you are trying to make trouble, or get hurt. There’s a reason they call this kind of nesting feral.

“Yeah,” Tony says, smiling at him. “Keep me company.”

“Okay,” Peter says, and crawls in. He has to wiggle a bit to get through the entrance with Tony half in the way, and for a few moments everything is a confused tangle of limbs and fabric, Peter almost elbowing Tony and getting a little laugh in return.

They get settled eventually, curled close together, knees bumping into each other’s, sharing each other’s air. It’s a good nest; it’s warm and soft, the padding below Peter thick enough he doesn’t even feel the floor. Everything smells familiar, comforting; the grease and metal and ozone of the shop, the spicy green of Tony’s shampoo and the lighter smell of the detergent the cleaners use, the blend of their own scents all over everything. Tony’s wearing one of Peter’s softest, most worn out hoodies, still smelling of him. It’s too big on Peter but just about right on Tony.

The light’s a little dim, but he can still make out Tony’s face easily enough. “Hi,” Peter says, tucking his fingers under the edge of said hoodie, his wrist point resting against the scent point on Tony’s hip.

Tony’s relaxed now, comfortable. “Hi,” he says back, obviously amused. Reaches out and runs his fingers through Peter’s hair, trailing over the edge of his ear; Peter turns into it and brushes his lips over the point on Tony’s wrist, marking himself with Tony’s scent. Tony’s always sits heavier on him than his beta scent will ever be on Tony.

Maybe Tony was okay with sharing his space because of that. Because Peter’s just a beta, not a threat. Not that Tony would ever tell him that; he’s very careful not to compare Peter to any of the alphas he’s had, at least not in any way that doesn’t put them down. Honestly, Peter kind of thinks Tony had a lot of shit alphas.

He presses forward a little and kisses Tony, so light; Tony catches him when he pulls back and brings him right back in, settling into slow, soft kissing. When he finally lets Peter go, he looks nearly boneless, languid in a way Peter very seldom sees, sunk down into instincts more than he’d ever show outside the bedroom. “Better?” Peter asks.

Tony smiles, his eyes hooded. “Yeah,” he says. “I should build all my nests around you,” and something about that makes Peter shudder, wanting.

“Whatever you want, Tony,” he says. “Whatever I can do. I hate seeing you unhappy.”

He shouldn’t have said it, he knows the second it comes out. Tony loses a little of that softness, his smile fading slightly. “It’s nothing you did, baby,” he says. “This time of year is just… hard. I—” he hesitates, and Peter smooths his hand along Tony’s side, gentle. “Tomorrow’s the day they died,” he says, and oh god, Peter had forgotten. He’d completely forgotten, but it’s not like Tony every could. Ever would.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter says. “God Tony, I’m sorry. I didn’t even— I should have known.”

“No, no,” Tony says. “There’s no reason you should keep track of that, Peter. It’s fine. I told you, you didn’t do anything. It’s just— tomorrow I won’t be able to hide like this. It’ll be these… public displays, being watched and being forced to remember and now—” he sighs. “Now, it’s easier and harder at the same time. Now I know what really happened, but I spent so long blaming Howard. Now I’m not supposed to blame anyone. It’s not… well, it doesn’t matter, does it.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter says again, and it feels weak, useless.

“It gets to be too much sometimes,” Tony says, curling a little closer to Peter. “All the holiday stuff and cheer of the season and parties and charities and— it starts feeling so fake, so tiring after a while and I just have to get away so I can breathe. I always want to do this at some point, but I haven’t for years. It wasn’t— it looked like a weakness, you know? And Stark Industries can’t have that,” sharp, almost bitter. Peter tightens his arm around Tony and pulls him flush against Peter, rolling onto his back a little. The nest shifts around them but holds.

“Maybe you don’t have to try and do it all this year?” Peter offers. “We could try to dial it back, just do a few things and keep the rest for ourselves, something quiet.” He hesitates; he should have noticed this before, shouldn’t have he? Why didn’t he see it last year?

Maybe he just wasn’t paying close enough attention. Maybe Tony wasn’t sure it was really safe to show it yet.

He kisses the edge of Tony’s jaw. “What do you actually like about the holidays?” he asks Tony. “We could just do those things.”

Tony shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “Do I really like any of it? I don’t even remember, baby.”

Wow, that sucks. “Guess we’ll just have to experiment,” he says, and Tony laughs softly.

Laughs a little harder a second later. “Actually,” he says, “there is one thing I like a lot.” He wiggles until Peter lets go and practically crawls over Peter out of the nest, Peter twisting around and starting to follow. “Ah ah,” Tony tells him. “You stay right there. And keep your eyes closed. It’s a surprise.”

Peter can still hear him rummaging around, but he’s mostly stuck on that, on Tony wanting Peter to stay in his nest even without Tony in it. Tony claiming him like that, broadcasting how Peter belongs to him even when there’s no one to notice. It’s not something Peter ever thought he’d have.

“Okay,” Tony says, brushing against Peter, pushing him onto his back and straddling him. “Don’t open them yet,” and it feels like he’s doing something above Peter, messing with the nest a bit. “There. Go ahead, look.”

Peter opens his eyes. Looks to Tony first, of course, and Tony’s almost smirking. Looks up himself and Peter follows his gaze.

There’s a piece of mistletoe stuck between the blankets.

“Really?” Peter says. “Like you need an excuse to kiss me.”

“I’ll take any reason at all,” Tony says. Kisses Peter, but it’s so soft, so gentle. It’s not leading anywhere, Peter thinks, just because Tony can. Just for a little reassurance, a little comfort.

He’ll give Tony every bit of that he can.

He couldn’t say how long they kiss like that, or how long Tony just lies curled up with him, half on top of Peter and held close; time feels a bit unreal in here, the world cut off, nothing left but warmth and their scents and his omega, safe.

Tony drifts off eventually, breathing deeply against Peter’s neck. He pets Tony’s hair, slow, just playing with it. It’s probably a good thing that Tony even let himself build this, that he felt safe enough with Peter to actually allow himself some comfort when he needed it.

Peter just doesn’t want him to have to need it.

Tomorrow, he decides, he’ll stand by Tony and offer whatever he can to get through the day. And then he’ll find a way—he’ll make a way—for things to be quieter this year. He’ll talk to Pepper and Rhodey, maybe Natasha; she doesn’t really hide her soft spot for Tony. Happy too, and May, of course, though he’ll probably have to nix her offer to bake.  

He stares up at the blankets above him, the mistletoe, the little strand of tinsel and one of his shirts, just the corner of the words showing. It’s a good nest; he’ll see if he can convince Tony to leave it up for a bit. Maybe it will help just to know it’s there, that it’s an option. Maybe they’ll sleep here a few nights.

Maybe Peter isn’t allowed to share this with Tony just because he’s a beta; maybe he makes Tony feel safe, even if he’s not an alpha.

Maybe it’s just because Tony loves him.

Yeah, he thinks, starting to drift off as well, that one sounds right.

After all, he knows that’s true.

*

At Ao3

[cantabile-l]

Okay but what about Omega!Bucky nesting???? HC plz 🥺

So I swear this took forever to answer because - ghrjiwruw and like *gestures at* fjebjdjdjwj and !!!!! and then 🥺🥺🥺 etc ad nauseum. But PLEASE SEND ME MORE ASKS.

Okay. First of all. THE NEST ITSELF. In my mind, omega Bucky of all pairings - baby bucks, canon bucks, shrunkyclunks buck - his nest is paramount. Ideally, I'm going with a baby bucky or a canon Bucky where they have the means and resources of a home with Steve so that he has a nest that's all to himself for everyday nesting, in addition to his mating nest he shares with his alpha, i.e. their bed.

His nests must be soft, cozy, enclosed, and with a bit of light (he's had enough of darkness poor buck buck 🥺) may I present the following visual aids:

First off, this is my favourite and the base nest I'm working off of. Note the two enclosed walls to give pre-heat Bucky a sense of safety but all layered in softness. Bonus points to the multiple body pillows. Now add on the warm lights for maximum coziness, perfect for nesting comfort.

Now that's not all, but what about this fourth wall? It's not an enclosed space! Like we all know, feral omegas reverting to their instincts will often nest in closets, where they can be fully enclosed. Now this Bucky knows he's safe, but as we see here below, adding a curtain to close off his nest adds a barrier of security (even if just mentally). Important also because this emphasizes that this is the omega's space. Bucky being able to control entry into his nest with this added "gate" means that even Steve, his alpha, must only enter his omega's nest with Bucky's consent. (Extra important when Bucky’s mad and needs his own space - Steve’s gotta grovel to earn his nest entry privileges)

Last touches, Bucky would also like a variety of soft textures - different weaves of pillows, knit blankets, jersey cotton, soft fuzzy Sherpa throws.

Okay now we move onto omega Bucky actually NESTING.

First, obviously Bucky would be clingy and possessive to his alpha, Steve. This manifests in a few different ways. If possible, ideally he’d just have Steve with him, within sight if not within reach. However, this isn’t Bucky in heat, he likes his alpha nearby while nesting because instincts demand that he needs to keep his alpha nearby in case his heat does set in at any time. It’s biological during his nesting period to feel anxious, keyed up, antsy when he doesn’t have his alpha nearby. 

But other fun part of biology and hormones? Bucky is a moody little shit. Half the time he’s cuddly and affectionate and wants his alpha nearby, especially when some of the aches and pains starts setting in. He craves Steve’s comforting presence before everything just turns into mindless lust and fuck, swears that Steve’s gentle hands on his shoulders, rubbing his back, petting his head, helps soothe his mind and body better than any Midol or other meds. The other half the time:

god STEVE just stop doing whatever you’re doin--no that doesn’t mean leave the room jesus can you just NOT? (”Not what, baby?” Steve being a patient motherfucker but even he’s getting frustrated) I don’t KNOW just ugh -slams his nest curtains close- NO don’t LEAVE the room though, Steve! ( “So you want me to just stay here?... On the other side of the curtain?...”) YES stay here but I just don’t want to see your face is it that hard-

Considering all the heat sex that will soon follow in the coming days, Steve learns to just deal with nesting-homones-addled-Bucky. 

However, contrary to common stereotypes of omegas being needy therefore weak, Bucky being possessive also means he’s aggressive and strong. There’s the biological instincts to keep Steve, his alpha, nearby for his heat setting in at any moment, which are also the same primal instincts that drive him to keep his alpha as well. Now Steve preens under this attention, but in public, gotta be careful to not start a scene. Catch Bucky growling and practically spitting at any other omega who gets too close to Steve, a friendly omega working the cash who bats her eyelashes just once gets a death glare, a nice waiter gulps and keeps his distance after Bucky voices a low threatening growl - basically anyone who might even dare trying to lure his alpha away from him finds themselves at the end of Bucky’s ire. Omegas aren’t just needy helpless things, especially strong confident omegas like Bucky? Bucky is a damn possessive territorial omega mf-er when it comes to his alpha. 

But of course, you’ve got your traditional soffie nesting behaviours too, even with our badass omega buck. He’s damn good at building nests if he can say so himself. Around this time, Bucky’s definitely augmenting them with laundry from Steve’s pile. Shirts and maybe even boxers (Bucky definitely tries to stuff those in discretely - shush - no one needs to know) are intertwined with the pillow walls and throws. But sometimes that’s not enough. That’s when Steve will be lassoed into the nest for a nice cuddle session or a romp through the sheets (literally - Bucky rolls Steve around in the nest to really mark his scent in). Bucky’s nerves tend to be especially shot with nesting hormones. But xanax can’t compare to crawling into his well-scented and broken-in nest, and just being enveloped by both his and Steve’s scents, mingling together into a single scent that’s not easily distilled into its components, but just suffuses feelings that go straight to Bucky’s core: love, safety, comfort - home. 

[omnivorousshipper]

Request Friday: So we all agree the Shaws are feral as hell and feline to boot. I think it would be neat to see shapeshifter kitty Deckard following around Luke.

Luke rescues a kitty in the rain, unknowingly snatching a stuck shifter, Deckard. Until Deck can forgive out WHY he is stuck, he sticks around, not that he NEEDS help mind you... he’s just conserving his resources and focusing on the problem on hand.

He pops up to tangle around Luke’s ankles while he’s frying fish; curled up tight on top Luke’s stomach/chest snoozing in the morning; just happening to be in the same room as Luke; demanding four head scritches— NO more than 4 or the risk of deadly nails and teeth! Any kitty cliches you can think of!

FRIEND. FRIEND. FRIEND!!!!

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

This might be the thing I have pinned to the top of blog from now on

Also, you have no idea how tempted I was to make Deckard a hairless cat 😭 so freaking close!!

~~~

Luke tried to walk faster as he felt even more droplets of rain hit his head, but it was all in vain. Before he knew it, it was pouring down and completely soaking him

Cursing, he wrapped his jacket tighter around him and wished he hadn't decided to walk to the gym that morning

Why on the one day LA decided to get rain?!

He was so focused on walking, he almost didn't hear the pitiful mewling coming from an alley

Stopping in his tracks, Luke backed up and peered into the alley

Hiding in a soggy cardboard box, was a small tabby cat. It was completely soaked to bone, and Luke could swear he could see its ribs

He felt a stab of sympathy as he crouched down. The cat was so tired and cold, all it could do was sniff his hand and shiver like crazy

Since the cat didn't scratch up his hand, Luke took it as a good sign that it wasn't completely feral. With ease, he scooped it up and tucked it into his jacket

It only let out a small mew

---

Shivering, Deckard could barely open his eyes, let alone fight against the large hand that picked him up. He was just too cold

Almost three weeks ago, Deckard had tried to get his revenge on Toretto and his crew for hurting his little brother

But it had ended up with a building falling on Deckard and him nearly going to prison

When he had woken up from the building collapsing, he had immediately shifted into a smaller, familiar form: a cat

But, after he had escaped, he couldn't shift back

He had no idea why he couldn't, but his body stayed in the smaller form, no matter how much Deckard tried

It had been three weeks since then and he had to beg for scraps. He wasn't used to living as a stray, even when on the run from MI6. It was easier to steal food when you had opposable thumbs

When it had started raining, Deckard had tried to sneak into a gas station, but was promptly kicked out. Everywhere he went, he was chased out

He just found the alleyway before it really started raining. But it didn't do much good. Because rain still soaked him, making him practically freeze

He hadn't been eating much and he was a small cat, so he didn't have much fat on him to keep him warm

He was sure he was going to freeze to death that night

Before a giant savior came and picked him up

Snuggling into the warmth of the person, Deckard didn't realize it was Luke Hobbs who had saved him

---

Wrapping the still slumbering cat in a towel, Luke gently dried it off

Back home and in his nicely warm and dry house, Luke stared down at the impossibly small cat. So small in fact, he wasn't sure if it just wasn't a kitten

Either way, he had been right that he could almost see its ribs. The thing was so thin, Luke knew it hadn't eaten in a long time

"Is it OK, dad?" Sam asked, peeking over his shoulder to stared down at the tabby

"Yeah, I think so. Just tired." Luke smiled at her. "Can you go look for a can of tuna? I bet it'd love for something to eat when it wakes up."

"Yeah, I can!" Sam said and bolted for the kitchen

Chuckling, Luke kept rubbing the towel into soft, dry fur. He stopped when he felt a small vibration coming from the cat's chest

"Waking up?" Luke whispered and watched as big, brown eyes blinked open and stared at him

The purring stopped

Petting the cat, Luke smiled down at it

"Found you half starved and nearly frozen to death, but you're safe now."

The cat only kept staring at him and didn't start purring again

"Hey dad?" Sam called from the kitchen

"Yeah?"

"Can you help me open the can of tuna?"

"Be right there, sweetie!" Luke called back. Placing the cat down in a small nest of blankets Sam had made, he rubbed behind its ears. "Stay here and I'll bring you dinner."

The cat blinked at him

---

Never in a hundred years did Deckard ever think he would end up living with Luke Hobbs and his daughter

As a cat

But.

It wasn't the worst thing in the world

After the first night, Deckard had figured out that Luke had no idea who or what he was. He thought he was a simple cat

A female cat

That he kept calling Princess

In all honesty, it should have bothered Deckard, but he couldn't care less

Not when he was getting fed a steady stream of fish and other meat, got to lounge in the LA sun for hours on end, and got endless pets from Luke and Sam

It was honestly heaven on earth

Deckard didn't have to care about having to run from the police or who else was after him

All he had to worry about was keeping Luke in bed for a few more minutes so he could cuddle even more

Like now. The man was sitting up in bed, scrolling through his morning news feed while petting Deckard, who was curled up on his chest and right under his chin

"All right, princess. I have to get up." Luke said quietly, putting down his tablet

Deckard let out a mewl of distress as Luke tried to pick him up. Digging his claws in, Deckard hissed. He wasn't done cuddling!

"Watch it, princess. Or else I'll have to hold you down and clip your claws again." Luke scolded him and detached his claws from his shirt

Placing Deckard down, Luke started to stand. Deckard sat on the bed and glared at him the whole time he got ready

"Don't give me that look, you spoiled brat." Luke threw over his shoulder as he pulled a shirt on. "I'll give you an extra can of tuna when I get home from work. As long as you don't destroy anything."

Deckard wasn't promising anything

---

Placing a plate of cooked fish on the table, Luke chuckled as he saw Princess already sitting on the table and liking it's chops

"How many times have I told you to get off the table?" He sighed, but still reached over and pet the small cat. Who started purring up a storm

Placing his own food on the table, Luke sat and watched the cat eat its food

He never thought he would get a cat. He was always more of a dog person. But Princess was different

Always jumping on him, cuddling, wanting to be picked up. Just wanting his attention and love

It was kind of flattering in a way

Lost in thought, Luke didn't notice the cat was finished with its breakfast and started going for his

Looking down, he shoved the smaller body back

"Hey! You already got your food! Leave mine alone!" He scolded

Princess glared at him

Rolling his eyes, Luke opened his phone and started to look over his work email. Absorbed in reading and eating, he almost didn't hear the scrapping noise

Looking up, he saw his coffee mug was on the edge of the table, Princess's paw laying right next to it

"Don't you fucking dare." Luke said lowly, eyes narrowed

The cat flicked its tail

"I'm warning you, fleabag."

It tilted its head to the side

"I don't negotiate with terrorists."

The cat seemed to smirk

"Don't you-!"

Too late

In a flash, the cat's paw hit the mug and sent it to the floor, spilling coffee everywhere

Shaking his head, Luke sighed as Princess gleefully jumped over to his plate and started to gobble down his eggs

"Why the hell did I get a cat?"

~~~

I hope you enjoyed friend!! I really did!!

[detroitbydark]

Part Seven

Character: Commander Fox x Reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+. Sexual intercourse. breeding kink. You’ve been warned.

Summary: He just can’t stop wanting more

A/N:  So, yeah. 6800+ words. Foxy Babies this is for you. This was supposed to be a simple Fuller chapter and well.... I lost control.... 

All parts can be found here on my Masterlist.

The fourth floor sparing room in the tower of the Coruscant Guard was the favorite place of many a Guardsman. Offering reprieve from the public eye and an avenue to release pent up frustration, it was rarely empty. 

The walls, a flat neutral beige devoid of character, helped the men concentrate (according to the Kaminoans) on their lessons, sparring, and the occasional (unsanctioned) fight.

Fox enjoyed his time there, one of his favorite places in the building. That being said, he’s unsure if he’s been in the position to study the ceiling so well before.

Rule reaches down and clasps his forearm, pulling Fox from his back into a sitting position. The younger Sargent folds to a cross legged position across from him, sweat catches along his temples as he grins like a fool. Fox can’t help but grin back at his kit. To say he was proud of what Rule and Wren were becoming was a gross understatement. The fact that Rule had now bested him two out of three rounds and he was still able to find amusement in it was testament to that.

“Getting slow, Commander”

Thire and Wren plop down near them. Thire takes a long pull of water from a bottle before using the excess to spray over his sweat soaked hair.

“Too many late nights”

Thire is his second in command, the one he trusts at his back no matter what the situation. He was serious, pragmatic, and observant. Also, a complete shit.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wren asks propping his knees up and laying on his back. Rule looks between his commanders and then to his batchmate. 

“Commander Fox has been missing from the  barracks more than he’s been there lately”

“Missing?” Wren is a damn good sargent but sometimes he’s as naive as a Padawan learner. Rule spells it out.

“The Commander is sleeping in someone else’s bed.”

For all the engrained training and military bearing he held, Wren can’t help the ‘O’ of surprise and the wide eyes he turns on Fox.

“Di’kut” Fox grumbles with only fondness coloring his voice. Rule smiles cheekily.

“Sir? Really” Wren seems genuinely shocked.

“Yeah, really?” Thire deadpans. Fox gives them a flat look.

Wren looks from his batchmate to Fox, “does this mean Mouse is available-“ he must notice the almost imperceptible stiffening of Fox’s spine because recognition shows. “Oh. Oh”

“Shut it, all of you” Fox grumbles. He and Mouse had discussed the need to keep things private. He wants to crow from the rooftops and he can’t. It was kriffing banthashit is what it was. 

It hadn’t been a topic he'd wanted to broach but like everything Mouse was looking out. He remembers the nervous look she’d given him, peering up from her spot, draped sleepily across his chest the night before. He remembers the soft way she’d asked what this was. 

Laughing at the question had not been the appropriate response. It has taken near pinning her to the bed after he’d barked one out to get her to listen. He’d need to be more careful in the future. 

They couldn’t put a name on what they were doing but it didn’t stop Fox from wanting to. Maker, he had wanted too. He wanted to run headlong into whatever it was they’d fallen into. He’d never known a feeling like he did when he was with her.

Just a few nights spent curled around her and all he wanted was to spend the rest of his nights the same way but he had responsibility and a duty to the Grand Army.  He didn’t have the freedom to make choices or plans. One slip and he could risk being demoted, or worse, sent back to Kamino for reconditioning. Mouse didn’t know about reconditioning and he wasn’t going to tell her. She was risking enough as it was, both her job and her career if it ever came to light what they’d begun.

As much as they’d given in to their desires there was a line they couldn’t cross. She understood that. She understood that he couldn’t give anything else. The soft kiss she’d given him had told him as much. 

But when the war was over, then- 

He was thinking too far ahead again. 

The only way for them to be safe was to keep it under wraps. He should have known though that his men were too observant for any sneaking he did to be of any good.

“Keep it under your buckets, would you?”

There’s nods of ascent and matching “yes sirs” from the two youngsters. Thire gives him a raised brow as if he’s going to argue but nods as well. “She’s a good kid. Deserves better then the likes of you.” He jokes. Fox laughs, pushing off the mat.

“You act like I don’t know it.” He reaches for Wren and helps the younger clone up, “ready for the next round?”

He manages to take Wren three in a row.

Thire catches him in the locker room as he’s attaching his kama. The two sergeants have gone their separate ways and the few stragglers milling about pay them little attention.

“You and Mouse? She worth the risk?” Thire asks quietly, his eyes searching Fox’s. 

Fox isn’t offended by the question. He’s asked himself the same one a half dozen times.

He woke early this morning, eyes open by 0445 as usual, and had to disentangle himself from the grasp of the small woman curled around him in nothing but his black undershirt. All that hair had worked itself into a convores nest of tangles. Her lips had been slightly parted as her brow knit together. She’d grumbled and reached when he’d pulled away and like that he’d learned that his cyar’ika was not a morning person. He finds he likes learning all the ins and outs of her. The fact that, given the option, she wouldn’t open her eyes before 1000 made him appreciate all the more the warm smile she had for him each morning when he’d get to the office.

“Definitely.” The single word answer seems to please Thire who nods once.

“Good, that means Hound owes me a weeks worth of traffic ops”

Because, of course, there had been a betting pool. 

——-

The offices are two levels up from the gym and training room, just seconds by turbo-lift. Thire’s office and his own secretarial droid are on the opposite end of the floor from Fox’s. It doesn’t stop him from walking side by side with Fox. He doesn’t respond to Fox’s grumblings. He’d been keen on seeing Mouse since he’d left her warm bed this morning and he didn’t feel like tempering his enthusiasm for an audience. Even if his second hadn’t given him an official blessing- because officially nothing was going on- he still wasn’t going to be anything other than professional with another set of eyes in the room. Which was a problem because when she looks up from her work when he rounds the corner he feels anything but professional.

“Good morning Commander Thire” 

Fox feels a little disgruntled that Mouse hadn’t said it to him first-

“Good morning Commander Fox” and he doesn’t miss the slight blush that creeps into her cheeks when she says his name or the way she shyly bites back a smile. She motions with her eyes to the mug of caf waiting for him. So maybe he puffs his chest out just a little bit. No one could fault him. Thire muffles a laugh behind a poor excuse for a cough.

“Mouse that’s a nice scarf you’ve got today” Thire notes. Mouse’s fingers go to her throat and the silken scarf tied in a neat knot to the side. She smiles and fiddles with it nervously.  

Fox knows he should probably feel guilty about the love bites littering her skin, instead he’s only slightly miffed no one else can see them. It was some of his finest work to date.

Her eyes dart away as she offers a quiet thank you. Thire can’t hide the chuckle that escapes his mouth as he slaps Fox on the back. “I’ll see you later and we’ll discuss the assignments for the rest of the week and through the weekend. It looks busy.”

Fox sighs, allowing work to put a damper on his good mood. Busy was an understatement. There were far too many senators needing a detail and too few men to do the job. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.” He offers as encouragement.  Thire gives Mouse a wave as he retreats back to his side. 

“Commander? I have the Senate schedule for the week. Also, the Chancellor has personally requested your presence for his detail the beginning of next week” she glances down at the datapad resting across her arm. A small frown flits across her face as he heads towards his door. She’s on her feet following him. 

Fox smirks as she continues chatting, “he has two days in Senate hearings than off world for-“ the door slides shits behind them and he turns to see a sour expression on her face. It was almost as if…

“Are you pouting?” Fox cocks his bucket as she stares back up at him. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her lower lip sticks out just so. “You’re pouting.”

“I am not-“

“Says a precious girl trying to convince me she’s not pouting.” 

Mouse's eyes narrow at him as she pushes past him. He can’t help the smile that’s taking up space under his helmet. “Aww come on now, I was just teasing. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“The Supreme Chancellor is going to be off world for at least a week.”

And suddenly he understands why she was sulking.

Getting assigned duty to the Guard made a clone the shebs of many a vod’s joke. Being called a desk jockey was the nicest thing a new recruit was bound to hear. They weren’t in a ‘war zone’. they got zero credit for the work they did and even less recognition that it held any importance. It seemed to Fox that unless you were blocking blaster bolts from Jedi with your body you weren’t going to get a pat on the back from anyone. 

The work they performed was just as integral to the protection of the Republic, just as vital as the boys on the front lines. They didn’t see it that way. It got to the point where the Guard had to deal with resentment not only from citizens -happy to act like war was a dirty word that happened to other people- who didn’t want a military presence in their city and their own brethren, who looked down on them as less than equal. 

The old adage that the only people that liked the Coruscant Guard were members of the Coruscant Guard was true as far as Fox was concerned. One of the few things a member of the Coruscant Guard had to look forward to was a fairly routine existence, about as close as a clone was going to get to normalcy, on Coruscant. Fox hadn’t been gone from the Triple Zero for more than four, maybe five days tops since reporting.

Now, just as he’s starting to suss out what he was doing with Mouse he’d need to be gone on assignment? He was unamused but his hands were tied. This was a clones lot. You went where you were told and did what you were ordered.

“It won’t be so bad” he lies, trying to make his voice just as convincing as possible. Mouse’s jaw is set in a hard line that indicates she does not believe him as she moves past him. “You know I have no choice in the matter.”

She stops at his desk and takes a deep breath. Fox takes in the way her shoulders dip. “I know you don’t.”

He feels like a used speeder salesman, like he convinced her anything with him was a good idea and now she’s beginning to see the shabla ride she signed up for. 

“Ok then” he murmurs moving slowly behind her. Fox wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her back against his chest. 

She lets out a contented breath as she settles willingly against him. Maybe she still hadn’t figured out what a kriffing bad deal she’d signed up for just yet. He wasn’t about to point it out.

Turning in his arms she reaches up and pecks him on the helmet.

“No fair, cyar’ika. Couldn’t feel it through the bucket.” 

She laughs. He’s gotten spoiled with that laugh over the last couple days. 

“You’ve got work, Fox.” She says primly, “finish that and maybe you can get some more where you can feel them” the twinkle in her eye has him already half hard. He’s learned what that’s meant too. 

“You’re trying to bribe me.” He notes, smiling underneath the helmet.

“It’s not trying if it’s works.” She says slipping from his grasp and moving out of arms length. “Now, you sit and you do the work.”

Fox tosses her a lazy salute, “yes, ma’am”

“That’s more like it.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Fox likes the way she blushes before she turns to leave. He doesn’t miss the way her hips sway as she moves to the door or the way she peeks over her shoulder to make sure he’s watching. 

“Out.” He demands “or I’m not going to get anything done.”

He doesn’t miss her peel of  laughter as the door slips shut.

———

As with most days, timelines and schedules change on the fly. What once was a meeting with the Jedi council for tomorrow turns into one today. 

Fox and Commander Thire leave shortly after lunch and you don’t see either before it’s time to punch out. This was the way.

 You’d become accustomed to the rapid change early in your time with the Commander. Now that you and Fox were... well you didn’t know exactly what you were but now that your relationship with the clone commander had changed you’re still trying to figure out just what your expectations needed to be. 

Besides low. 

Of course, this wasn’t going to work out. You knew this. You were sure he knew it too, he just wasn’t saying it. Unfortunately you already found your head and your heart had reached a disconnect between wants and expectations. While your head told you to enjoy the physical attention of a very attractive, very competent man but keep your distance emotionally, your heart was trying it’s best to drag you all in.

His office door slides open as you punch in the code, taking a lap around to make sure everything was in place. Fox was typically fastidious in his cleanliness. Everything had a place and it was rarely ever out of sorts. The only thing you notice today is a stray datapad parked in the corner of the desk. The same one you’d put there this morning. The same one that only has signatures on half the things you need to file it all. 

Because Fox was a sly little shit.

You hadn’t planned on seeing him tonight. He’d made mention that some of the boys were onto the pair of you and he thought it was a good idea if he didn’t come to your place for a few days. You’d agreed wholeheartedly. Of course, you come to realize, he hadn’t meant he wasn’t going to see you at all. You just had to go to him. You can’t help but shake your head as you pick the pad up and leave the office. You slip it into your shoulder bag after putting your coat on and head toward the barracks. 

Located on the first two expansive subfloors, the Coruscant Guard’s barracks levels were expansive, housing the entirety of the clones who patrolled Coruscant and served the Senate. You smile nervously at faces you see, some familiar and some not so familiar. While it wasn’t uncommon to see a civilian face in the barracks apparently a female one, this late in the evening was. You try to keep your head down as you make your way to Fox’s stateroom, knocking lightly and trying to avoid the curious looks you're getting.

“Well hey, sweetheart. What are you doin’ down here?” You don’t recognize the clone and offer a nervous smile.

“She’s here to see me trooper.” Fox looms out of his door as it slides open. The trooper snaps to attention. “Is that an issue?”

“N-no Commander Fox”

You glance at the Commander in the doorway. Even dressed in just his blacks he cuts a striking figure. “Well? On your way then.” He orders, his voice offering no room for argument. The trooper snaps a quick salute and begins his journey down the hall at a quickened pace.

“You didn’t need to scare him” you fight back a smile as you enter his room and he closes the door behind you. “He was just being friendly.”

You're taken off guard as your back is pressed up against the door and Fox presses himself into you.

“Too friendly” he mutters, leaning in and slotting his mouth over yours. You lean up and wrap your arms around his neck as he licks into your mouth. He hums appreciatively as you press further into his chest, sucking gently on his tongue as it slips past your lips. You sigh as he pulls back, hands moving to cup your bottom. “Took you long enough to get here” he mumbles against the crown of your head. 

You swat uselessly at his chest as you squirm out of his arms. You roll your eyes as you fish the datapad from your bag and toss it to him. He catches it readily. “You’re rotten.” You mutter, “could have just asked me to come over.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He doesn’t seem fazed by your skeptical look, “no fun at all because now you're going to finish your kriffing work.”

He barks out a laugh, “and what do I get if I do?”

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists.” 

A sly grin crosses his face as he stalks toward you. The room isn’t large, a bed in the corner, an armchair next to a dresser and a desk scarcely large enough for a child to work let alone a grown man. You back up, giggling, until the back your legs hit his desk.

“What about kidnappers?” He looms over you, taking your chin in hand, “I don’t plan on letting you out of here anytime soon, Little Mouse.”

Warmth spreads through your belly at the low tone of his voice. You inhale sharply through your nose and he knows he’s got you. His hand slides down your neck working loose the scarf you’d worn all day. His thumb strokes over the dark, bruised marks he’s exposed. “Stay tonight.”

“Is that a question or a command?”

The smile he gives you is absolutely wicked and full of promise, “what do you want it to be?”

It’s hard to pull yourself together, he barely had to try and you found yourself falling under his sway.

 “Work then play.” You mumble softly. You wait for him to push because that’s what he loved to do, but he doesn’t.

“Work then play” he concedes as he takes the few steps to the armchair wedged into the corner of the small room. You watch him sink into the cushion, legs spread wide and inviting. He pats his lap, “come sit with me. Keep me company while I finish.” He sounds innocent enough but you know him to be anything but. Your arms cross over your chest. 

“If I had known you were going to hold me hostage, I would have brought a change of clothes.” The scarf is removed completely and dropped unceremoniously on his desk. Your faux indignation does little to dampen his mood.

“You could just take it all off” he leans forward grinning lasciviously before setting the datapad down and pulling his shirt over his head, “or you could wear this?” You catch the black shirt he tosses at you as he picks the datapad back up.

 Two steps toward the 'fresher and Fox is clearing his throat. You stop and look over at him. You don’t miss the way his tongue wets his lips or the hungry look in his eyes. “Right there, Mouse.” 

Your tummy flips at the order- because that was what it was. You’d heard that tone before, Fox used it with his men. Your teeth press into your lower lip. You’d been sleeping with him nearly every night for the last week but something about this is different. 

The buttons of your blouse come undone slowly underneath your nervous fingers. You can feel Fox’s eyes leaving a heated trail over your skin as you let the blouse slip to a rumpled pile on the floor. 

“Skirt next” he demands. His posture appears relaxed, maybe even lazy but you can see the play of his forearms as his hand grips the chair. You turn your back to him as you unzip your skirt next. It slips to the floor and, along with your shoes, is kicked off. 

The low rumble from behind you lets you know he appreciates the view. Straightening, you glance over your shoulder, trying to offer your most innocent look. If he wanted to be the boss you’d give him every opportunity, “what next?” you ask sweetly.

“Panties. But don’t turn around. I want to stare at your ass a little bit longer.” 

The admission sends a bolt of electricity to your center. Hooking your fingers in the waistband you slide the simple black underwear down over your hips.

“Nice and slow.” He encourages. 

Bending at the hips you make a show of sliding the fabric over your thighs and down your legs. You hear him move restlessly in his seat as you stand back up. The hooks of your bra are easy to unclasp and you let the straps slip down over your shoulders before slowly turning around. 

Fox’s eyes are nearly black, pupils blown wide. “Take it off” he rasps. The garment falls to the floor. You should feel nervous, maybe embarrassed, but the look you see on Fox’s face is longing, reverent. You feel like a goddess and he’s worshipping you with his eyes. Your thighs squeeze together to relieve the tension that’s beginning to slowly sparking low in your belly. “Gorgeous girl. Now put the shirt on and come sit on my lap before I change my mind and we skip right to the fun portion of the evening.

You slowly pull the black fabric over your head. Fox is larger than you and it shows when his shirt is in place. The hem of it hangs down enough to cover all the places he’d been eyeing minutes before. Nearly all the points where the shirt fit snugly against the clone, it fits loose to you, except where it clings gently over the slope of your breasts and your taut nipples. 

Fox follows every movement you make as you walk to him. He holds a hand out for you to take as he guides you into his lap. His chest is bare and your eyes trace the light scarring you see across his left pec and the small scar - that you’d been told was a blaster burn- on his right flank. The scars stick out, pale against the deep tan of his skin. They were a roadmap across his body that you never seemed to have enough time to explore. 

Fox sits you on one thigh as your legs are draped over the opposite one. You tuck in to his bare chest as you breath the scent of him. He’s just as tense as you feel as you lay your head on his shoulder, your fingers begin a slow slide up over his skin, tracing the marks you found, like playing a game of connect-the-dots.. 

With a harsh breath of his own Fox picks up the datapad, “work first” it’s said to himself more than you. You watch as he opens up the to do list you’d made and scans it quickly before opening the first series of documents. 

“How was your day?” You ask softly. One hand smoothing flat against his chest while the other strokes over the short hairs at the base of his skull. He is nearly purring as he clicks through the work, signing his initials where needed. Work is intermittent as he pauses to let his eyes slip shut and enjoy your touch before he silently reminds himself what needs to be done and goes back to it.

“Long.” He murmurs, “the council meeting was useless. We need more boots on the ground here but we’re not going to get them. There’s a siege starting on Anaxes and they’re diverting the 501st that way in a few days.” He explains, head leaning back into your touch. You make a soft hum of understanding.

He wraps an arm around your waist to readjust you, the firm press of desire is easily felt through his blacks along your bottom. 

“I’m working Mouse. Stop wiggling” he chastises as you squirm against him. Inhaling deeply, you force your body to relax. It’s hard, knowing what Fox is capable of and being made to wait, you’ve gotten spoiled very quickly. This was a trial for the both of you.

He moves onto the next series of documents, related to the recent trafficking incident, “I just want to make sure I’m doing everything right. Not just for my men-“ 

Fox reaches up to his head, pressing the heel of his hand hard against it.

“Headache?” You frown softly. He makes a sound of confirmation.

“I finally looked at the Fives file again today.” He explains softly. You hum for him to continue, “I can’t- everytime I get into it my head starts hurting. It’s got to be stress. I think I missed something and I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Let it rest for tonight?” 

He nods slowly.

“I’ll try. Maybe you can help me forget?” You highly doubt that but willingly accept the kiss he turns to give you. Unlike the heated one when you first come over this one is soft, tender. Like the one earlier, it’s over way too soon as he returns his attention to his work, “almost done”.

He scrolls through one interrogation than the next. Finally, he pauses at the picture of the children that had been rescued. You watch as his finger traces over a tiny Twil girl, 

“Adorable.” You note softly. With her pale green skin, gap toothed smile, and sparkling eyes she was absolutely captivatingly sweet. Fox tenses under you.

“You like children?” He seems surprised when you laugh and you're not sure if you should be offended or not.

“Of course I like children. They’re darling, what’s not to like?” Fox makes a small sound and rushes to the next screen. Silence falls between you and you wonder if you’ve said something wrong. 

He retreated into himself sometimes and, when he did, you were at a loss as to what he was thinking. The best thing to do was be patient. If you’ve discovered anything it was that pushing Fox accomplished nothing, he was too stubborn for it and you’d only frustrate yourself.

Your gentle touch not only soothes Fox but it begins to lull you, lazily you nuzzle against his neck, occasionally pressing dry kisses along it. The only indication that he notices is the slight tip in his head offering more for you to kiss. 

“Do you want children, Mouse?” Even given the previous idle chat you found yourself freezing. Fox lays the datapad off to the side and his strong hands begin massaging your thighs. The full strength of his gaze is focused on you.

“I- I hadn’t put much thought into it.” A bold lie if you’ve ever spoken one. 

You did want children, had thought about it since you were one yourself. Growing up in the children’s home you’d been the one to help look after the tiny infants and small children. You were the one that always woke up with a little one in your bed after they’d had a nightmare. You were the one they ran too when they had boo boos that needed tending and comfort to be given. As you’d come of age you’d had to put the idea out of your head. Taking care of yourself in the world had to come first because there was no one else to look out for you and that was ok. You got your apartment and held down  your jobs. You threw yourself into work and helping those around you. Relationships and motherhood became an afterthought and eventually, a pipe dream. Nice to think about but out of reach. “What about you?”

Fox’s hands knead the soft flesh of your thighs, teasing your legs slowly apart and sliding higher. “Officially or unofficially?”

“Both” it comes out in a breathless way that makes him smile. His touch is featherlight as he rubs tiny circles into your skin.

“Officially, my mission is to serve the Grand Army to the best of my capabilities, laying down my life if necessary. The GAR is my purpose and I have no need to want for anything else.” He sounds like he’s repeating a slogan that has been drilled into his head. You frown. it probably had been.

“Unofficially?” A conspiratorial smile cracks his serious facade and your heart flips at the spark you see in his eyes.

“Unofficially? I want a whole pack of them.” His fingers knead slowly, opening your legs for him. 

“Yeah?” You let out a breathless giggle as he turns his head and nuzzles his stubbled cheek against the column of your neck. Goosebumps spring to life over your arms. The thought of Fox with a baby in his arms and one clinging to his armored leg flashes in your head. It’s...attractive, to say the least. “How many?”

There’s a slight hesitation when he answers but he manages the response with a question of his own. “How many would you give me?”

“Fox…” he ignores your sigh. 

He couldn’t just say things like that. You want to chastise him for even thinking such forbidden things. For getting your hopes up for a future that didn’t exist but you can’t because now that you know about this desire of his, your tummy flips excitedly when you imagine-

“Shh, precious- you can tell me later” you can feel his grin against your throat and you want to grumble at his arrogance but the hand sliding up and over your belly beneath his shirt and the other moving to cover your breast feel too nice to interrupt. Through the material he gently plucks and plays with your nipple until your back arches delicately and your hips are grinding down against the growing hardness between his legs. His teeth sink gently into the spot behind your ear as you moan softly.

Hands fall back to your hips as he lifts you. You feel him bridging his hips off the chair and pushing his blacks down over his hips just far enough to let his cock spring free as he repositions you. Your legs fall to either side of his. Straddling him, you're now able to glance down at his cock between your legs, the head deep red and leaking precum. When you look back up there’s an uncharacteristic hesitation in his eyes.

He takes himself in hand as you rise on your knees. You're already soaked as he runs the tip of his cock through your folds collecting the lubrication. 

“All for me, precious girl?” He questions, voice low and harsh, “I’m spoiled- always so wet and ready for me.”

The head of his clock presses hot and heavy at your entrance. “Take it, cyar’ika” he urges lowly. There’s no denying him, why would you ever want to?  Slowly, painfully so, you begin to sink down over his length, inhaling sharply at the fullness that comes along with him.

“That’s it- that’s perfect. So fucking perfect” Fox groans as you take him all the way until your body is tucked neatly against his. The stretch of him was still something that you needed a minute to accommodate for. Fox leans in and kisses along your shoulder, still wearing his shirt, before he’s carefully rucking it up. His mouth descends to your breasts and he lays soft kisses in the cleft between them before letting his mouth slide over the soft curve and catching a rosy-peaked nipple in his mouth. Your head falls back and again, you feel like a goddess. He laps and sucks until you’re squirming and unable to hold still, the tiny electric shocks of pleasure become an uninterrupted current flowing through you. Then he’s switching to the other side and repeating the process until you feel like you’re going to come apart from his mouth alone. 

Your cunt flutters around him and Fox bucks up once, making a strangled sound in his throat, half-way between a cry and a snarl. 

“Imagine- imagine cyar’ika,” the words spill from his lips in a mad rush “that when I finally spill inside you, it’s with purpose...” 

There’s something different about his voice, less controlled than usual. It stirs something in you. Fox was always so put together, even during lovemaking he managed to exude the air of a disciplined soldier but that’s not what you're hearing now. There’s an edge of something raw and desperate to him. You don’t know what it is that he needs but you want to give it to him. You want to give him everything.

You had the implant, you remind yourself, there was no harm in indulging a fantasy.

“Tell me” you demand breathless. Slowly, your hips begin to circle, testing the position. That electric current arc and sparking in your belly ebbs and flows. You chase the spark, rising up to your knees you mewl softly at the drag of his cock inside you before sinking back down and sheathing him fully. Fox lets out a hiss.

“You want to hear?” There’s something broken and rough in his voice. You shouldn’t encourage this line of thought because nothing could come of it but it’s too enticing not to. 

A sharp thrust has you inhaling sharply. Fingers twist in the hair at the base of your skull, firm and unyielding. “You want to hear how I want to bury myself in you. Again. And. Again?” He punctuates each word with a roll of his hips  “Coming inside you day after day until it takes and my child is growing inside you?”

You gasp out his name.

“Yes… wanna- wanna feel- wanna be a good girl for you and take it all” Fox buries his head into the crook of your neck and growls lowly. Strong arms wrap around your waist as you feel him rise from the chair. Instinctively your legs wrap around him as he takes the three short steps to his bed and presses your back into the mattress. The look on his face is wild and intense as he begins to thrust slow and deep into your willing body. It feels like heaven because it’s Fox and you-

“Always so good for me” he grits out as he sinks into you. “Can’t stop thinking about you. All day you're in my head. Want to Keep you safe. Protect you-” The words spill from Fox’s lips. “My precious girl. So good to me.”

“I need- more- harder please” you manage out, the achingly slow torture of what he was doing not enough, only making you desperate for what you knew he could give.

One hand is tangled in your hair and the other supports your lower back, angling you just the way he likes, “don’t want to hurt you.” He grits.

“You won’t-“ you feel desperate, the raw need he was radiating only managing to stoke your own.  You almost cry when he pulls from you completely, the cool air chilling your skin where his body had once warmed it. You sob uselessly. “Fox-“

“On your hands and knees, Little Mouse.”

You rush to comply. His hand smooths over your back as you get into position, fingers sliding down the base of your spine than over the round globes of your ass. He gives an affectionate squeeze. “Love your ass…” he mutters, voice thick with want. 

You wiggle your hips temptingly and Fox gives you a light slap that sends more sparks racing direct to your core. 

“Impatient.” There’s a fondness to his muttering you can’t ignore but you don’t have time to think about it because than he’s pushing into you and- oh Maker- you hadn’t tried this position with him yet and he’s going so deep, making you feel so full that you can barely breath. His hand smooths over your lower back, his thumb brushing across the pair of dimples on either side of your spine.

“Good girl-“ he grits, moving inside you. That feeling building inside you grows by the second. You focus on on the sensation, a ball of electricity crackling deep in your belly, ever expanding and engulfing as Fox continues to fuck into you. The hard snap of his hips, the rough thrust of his cock in stark contrast to the loving praise he doles out.

His name becomes a prayer on your lips, later you’ll wonder how loud you were? Could anyone hear you? In the moment, you can focus on nothing but the way your bodies connect to one another and the primal feel of him behind you.

“You're too far away, cyar’ika” Fox growls, frustration evident in his voice as he leans over you and wraps an arm around your waist. He bring you with him when he sits back up, your lower back arches obscenely so he can hold you and fuck you at the same time.

 Everything feels tight and tense. Too much and not enough. Your head falls back along his shoulder and he buries his face into your neck, growling against your ear.

“Tell me to stop. Tell me to pull out.” You would laugh if you weren’t so precariously close to the edge. 

“No” you manage to get the word out as his free hand slips between your legs and begins quick circles over your clit.

“I’m going to come inside you unless you tell me to stop.” He sounds almost desperate, afraid that he can’t control himself. Your body pushes back in time with his thrusts.

“So close- so close- Fox, do it” you plead, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. You're desperate and you need to feel him.

His strokes over your clit become erratic as words spill brokenly from his mouth. Praise and curses and feral sounds all twisting together. “Come” he demands finally, “be a- a good girl and come. I’m close- I’m-“

Fox’s hips stutter and you feel it, the way his cock jerks inside you, the warm flood of his seed filling and coating as he pulls you tight. You can feel the low rumble of his groan through your back, the way he bites down on your shoulder to hold the sound back.  The combination is enough to throw you over the edge and then you're falling apart too, keening high and long as lightning travels through your body, white-hot and fast. Your mind blanks out as you ride the sensations, feeling it more deeply, more intensely than any orgasm you’ve had before. It’s as if you’ve shattered into a million beautiful, glittering pieces and your slowly being pulled back together. A  tiny sob escapes your lips as Fox places wet open mouthed kisses across your shoulder, his cock still deep inside you twitching in time with your body. 

He strokes you softly, lovingly as his own movements inside you gentle. His voice is soft, soothing as your cunt continues to flutter around him, milking him for every last drop. A single tear rolls down your cheek. Fox wipes it away.

“Ner cyare… shhh… Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum” 

You don’t speak Mando’a but the words sound pretty, particularly coming from his mouth. 

“That sounds nice” you rasp out, your throat is dry and you swallow spit trying to correct it. Fox tenses then hums in acknowledgement as his arms surround you. He eases his spent cock from your body. You feel like a rag doll, boneless and pliable and he’s careful to move your limbs into a more comfortable position, laying you on your side and pressing in behind you in the tiny bed.

“It’s very nice” he says with a sigh.

“What does it mean?”

He inhales softly the scent of your hair and gives your hip a playful, if not exhausted squeeze. “It means nosy little mice should learn more mando’a.”

You're pretty sure that’s not the case but you're too tired to argue, safe and warm in your lovers arms, sleep takes you without a fight.

[thepandapopo]

A Step Through Time Ch 5: Promises

Synopsis:

The one where Felix is done with his younger self being a stubborn asshole and Sophie is determined to treat her fathers equally.

OR

In which Felix confronts his younger self and have a much needed chat while Sophie, who really should never be left alone, makes a not-so-great choice. Pairing: Sylvix

Chapter Index

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

If you had asked Ingrid a month ago if Felix would ever willingly allow someone, anyone, to touch him in even the most casual of ways, she would have laughed first, then immediately sent for Manuela because no one in their right mind would ever think such a thing.

So understandably, to say Ingrid is extremely shocked as she watches the older versions of Felix and Sylvain interact with each other is the understatement of the century.

“They’re disgustingly adorable in their own way,” Dorothea snickers from her seat on the dining hall bench beside her. “I don’t know whether I want to coo or puke.”

Ingrid wholeheartedly agrees.

Clearly fatherhood and marriage, or maybe it was being married to Sylvain of all people, has changed Felix – has made him more… domestic. The Felix and Sylvain of her timeline are already joined at the hip, regardless of how much they deny it, but married Felix and Sylvain are in a league of their own.

Everywhere Felix goes, Sylvain is always there beside him with the shorter man’s battle scarred hand tucked neatly into the crook of his right elbow, his left hand gently securing Felix’s own while also proudly showing off the glittery silver ring adoring his ring finger (his engagement ring, Ingrid reminds herself, as Sylvain had made very clear when he decided that the dining hall was a perfect place to scandalize the entire army with a borderline inappropriate kiss). And if little Sophie is with them, it is like an invisible thread ties them together, ensuring that he is standing no further than a hairs breadth apart from his husband with his daughter in his arms, or placing a hand on Felix’s lower back while he carries their little spitfire.

“I know that couples inevitably begin to adopt some of their partner’s characteristics and habits, but this is almost too much.” Ingrid frowns, finally bringing her forkful of food to her mouth after being frozen in place as she blatantly stares at the happy family. “It’s like Felix isn’t even Felix anymore.”

Across from her, Annette hums her assent. “It’s a bit unsettling, but it’s still really nice to see how happy they are. If you ask me, the really creepy thing is Sylvain’s stare. Have you seen it, yet? It’s like an exact copy of Felix.” Bits of buttery crust go flying from her fork as she waves it around to emphasize her point leaving Mercedes to pull out a handkerchief and mop up the stray crumbs that have found their way onto their once pristine table.

It’s true. Although Ingrid has not been on the receiving end of Felix’s (or Sylvain’s now, for that matter) deadpan glare for a long time, she has seen it directed at others – especially when it comes to anything regarding Sophie who is, clearly, extremely doted upon by her two fathers, even while they try to cajole her into finishing the rest of her vegetables.

“Sweetheart, you know you have to finish your meal first before you get your dessert.” Sylvain’s tone is low and chiding, but the softness of his expression very nearly undermines the authority of his words.

“I don’t wanna,” comes the sad whimper complete with puppy eyes and a wobbling lower lip. “It tastes yucky.”

“Aww, cut her some slack, guys!” Whatever else Balthus is about to say from across the table next to theirs is immediately swallowed back down when not only Felix, but Sylvain as well, levels him with a look so equally unamused that even Ingrid can feel the shiver run down her spine.

“Sophia Gabriella Fraldarius-Gautier. You know you cannot leave your seat until you’ve finished your plate.” Felix says, more stern than his husband sitting on the other side of Sophie, but still bordering the line of fond exasperation. With a grimace himself, Felix spears a few of the sprouts on his own fork and shovels them into his mouth.

“Papa is also eating them too, see? You can be a good girl and finish your food too, right, Princess?” Sylvain smiles affectionately but his voice is strained. It’s been the better part of an hour now that he has tried bargaining with his daughter and even the most patient of fathers has a limit. His eyes meets Felix’s briefly as an unspoken message flits between them before Felix nods stiffly and chimes in again.

“If you promise to be good and finish your vegetables for the rest of this month, we will think about letting you go see the market that is passing through town.”

Clearly, it is an effective bait and Sophie’s eyes light up like it’s Yule and her birthday all rolled into one.

“Really?!”

This is news to Ingrid. The last time Annette and Mercedes had mentioned it in passing to future Felix and Sylvain, testing the waters to see if they would be amenable to allowing them to take Sophie, it had resulted in a resounding ‘no’ and one teary child.

“This is war, Annie.” Felix had said in a no nonsense tone after a sniffling Sophia had been carted off to check out the pastries fresh from the kitchen. “She has only known a time of peace. Sophie doesn’t understand how dangerous it can be going out somewhere even as simple as a market in times of unrest.”

“But it’s not like we’d let her go by herself!” Annette argued. “We would be with her the whole time!”

“It’s not your babysitting skills that we’re worried about, Annie.” Sylvain said. His lips quirked upwards in a small smile that did little to lessen the gravity of his expression. “Sophie has a tendency to be ah, a bit of a curious child.”

Felix snorted. “Like someone I know,” he muttered under his breath.

“And so,” Sylvain continued, completely ignoring the barb from his husband even though he knows that later on in the privacy of their own room, he’ll get into how the curiosity may have come from him, but the utter fearlessness and stubborn will to do her own thing one hundred percent came from Felix. “Sophie has a bad habit of wandering off. Goddess knows she’s done it loads of times whenever Felix or I take her down to our local market. The only difference is that everyone there knows who she is and at the end of the day, nothing bad ever happens to her and she comes home with a treat or two and a pat on the head.”

“Well then, we can just hold her hand!” Mercedes says like it is the simplest solution in the world.

“We’ve tried that. We’ve tried literally everything under the sun short of actually tying her to us physically with a rope.”

“But what about-“

“No means no, Annette. We will not argue with you about this. It’s not safe.”

“But Feeelix-!”

And that was the end of that conversation. At least, until now.

But then again, Felix willingly reopening a topic he had previously considered closed is probably one of the lesser odd things that have been happening recently.

“Nuh uh, little missy. All your vegetables means all of them.” Sylvain scrapes the larger bits and pieces of vegetables dotting Sophie’s plate to the center, much to her dismay. The scraps amount to a decent pile of greens and not for the first time, Ingrid realizes just how wily and intelligent Sophie really is.

Raising a daughter with the will of Felix and the looks and intelligence of Sylvain will surely be a trial in itself, but that’s not a problem for Ingrid to worry about. Right now, she just has to worry about making herself scarce when Sylvain and Felix approach Mercie and Annie before she gets dragged into it as well.

----

“Why can’t Daddy come with us?” Sophie asks. Her eyes are wide and sad and Felix will never get used to how it makes his heart wrench. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Sylvain crouches so that he’s eye level with his teary daughter. “Daddy has to go to an important meeting with Uncle Dima, Uncle Claude, and Auntie By. But I’ll come find you and Papa if we finish early.” Sylvain smooths back the unruly crimson curls that are already starting to come out of the half updo that Felix had put in this morning. After years of doing his daughter’s hair, Felix has resigned himself to always fixing it halfway through the day lest it becomes a true bird’s nest at night after the wild adventures to be had.

“Promise?” Her lower lip is wobbling and Felix is starting to think that perhaps Sophie is a lot more aware of her influence on others than they think she is.

“I promise, sweetheart.” Sylvain smiles at his daughter before turning his eyes to Felix, a mischievous glint shining through. “Your Papa can vouch that I never break a promise.”

The wink Sylvain throws at him is met with an eyeroll and scoff, but Felix cannot stop the small quirk of his lips. Sylvain has always come through with his promises, both to him and to their daughter. It’s one of the things that Felix loves so dearly about Sylvain after all – there is nothing in the world that he values more than the trust of his family and friends.

“Sophie, go check to make sure you’ve packed your coin purse and a snack. I need to speak with your father for a bit. I’ll meet you at the gates with Auntie Annie and Mercie, okay?”

Sophie doesn’t need to be told twice. She is already vibrating off the walls, eager to get going and visit the market that she has been dying to see. “Yes, Papa. Daddy, I hope you come soon! I’ll buy you a present, so make sure you hurry, okay?”

Felix and Sylvain both watch as their daughter scurries away, red hair flying behind her as she weaves through the mid morning crowd to join Annette and Mercedes standing at the foot of the stairs leading to the Entrance Hall. When she arrives with a hop and skip, Felix finally feels the knot that has been building in chest since that morning abate slightly.

“Hey.”

Felix jolts at the warm hand that cups his elbow. “It’s okay, Fe. She’ll be safe with you. We’re not going to lose her.”

“I know.” Felix huffs, taking a step forward so he can rest his forehead in the dip of Sylvain’s collar. “It’s just... I can’t help but worry.”

Sylvain chuckles, “I get it, Fe. She’s certainly got enough mischief in her to always keep us on our toes. I don’t think she’ll ever grow out of it, to be honest. Goddess knows I dread the day when I’m going to have to beat back suitors and stop her from sneaking out to gallivant with stable boys.”

“There will be no gallivanting with anyone. Period. I would prefer not to stab someone less than half my age.”

“Oh, but baby you look so hot when you’re all riled up and murderous.” The shiver that runs down Felix’s spine is undeniable and after a lifetime together, Sylvain would know the effect he has on his husband even if it weren’t for the hand sliding to wrap around his waist and the other reaching up to cup a smooth, pale cheek.

“Fuck you.” There’s no venom behind his words. Only the breathy whisper of comfort borne from unshakeable trust and love.

“Gladly, but alas I have a meeting to get to.” The red head lets out a full belly laugh and ignores the half-hearted smack from Felix (which still smarts, because Felix at half strength is still stupidly strong with his damn training regimen).  “Are you going to talk to your younger self today?”

The atmosphere takes on a decidedly more sombre note, but it’s a necessary topic.

Felix nods. “Yeah. Annie convinced him to come with us to the market to check out the blacksmith.”

“I’m sorry I can’t come. It would be easier if I were the one to talk to him, but…”

“It’s fine,” Felix shakes his head. “The next battle at Fort Merceus is important and you were a big part of the strategizing. You need to be there to make sure they make the right decisions.”

“Even still. Talking to your younger self about feelings is going to be like pulling teeth. I should know. I’m your very own Felix-whisperer after all.” Sylvain closes his eyes and lets his forehead drop to rest against Felix’s; his soft breath tickling the midnight bangs framing his husband’s visage. “Our younger selves need all the help they can get. Sothis… I don’t remember us being such a disaster.”

“Neither do I, and yet here we are stuck trying to convince our younger counterparts that the other is very much interested.”

“For the record,” Sylvain smirks. The hand that was previously wrapped around Felix’s waist is now slowly drifting lower. “I’d like to say that I’m still very much interested.”

“Pinch my ass in public and you’ll lose your hand.”

“Aw, Fe. You’re no fun!”

It’s the twitch of Felix’s cheek that betrays his amusement. “Tch. Insatiable.”

----

Awkward.

That’s the only way that Felix can even begin to describe the odd, tense energy that weighs down their group as they walk leisurely down the long winding roads descending from Garreg Mach.

To be fair, most of the awkwardness is in part due to Felix’s refusal to speak to his younger self, instead choosing to contentedly watch Sophie hop and skip around the flowers dotting their path. Ever since Sylvain’s decision to completely disregard time travel etiquette, the younger Felix had made himself scarce, pointedly avoiding him and his husband as if afraid that he would catch feelings simply by being around them.

Ha. That fucker was already head over heels in love no matter how much he denied it.

“Sophie, when we get to the market, will you go with Annie and Mercie while I visit the blacksmith please?” Felix says it quiet enough that it sounds like it is a private conversation, but in the silence of the forest around them, it easily carries.

Sophie blinks, confused, but acquiesces. “Okay.”

Felix smiles and pats her head. He can practically feel the suspicion and irritation rolling off his younger self in waves, but he can’t really bring himself to care.

He needs to address this issue now because Felix knows better than anyone else just how obstinate he can be, and if he’s right, there’s a very good chance that this younger version of himself will take his feeling for Sylvain with him to the grave out of pure stubbornness.

So when they finally arrive to the market, Felix doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he wants to talk to his counterpart – alone. He kneels and gives Sophie a quick hug after he makes her promise again to not wander off by herself before standing off to the side in the direction of the blacksmith, his arms crossed and waiting patiently while he watches young Felix scowl at the sheer number of people around.

A brusque nod from young Felix and suddenly they are face to face, and there is no denying the discomfort starting to roil in his gut.

Maybe he should have waited for Sylvain to talk to him after all.

“Well? Spit it out.” Despite asking Felix to talk, his younger self pushes past him roughly and begins stalking towards their destination.

“Stop being so stubborn.” Young Felix whirls around at him with a look of incredulity.

“Being ‘stubborn’?” He glowers. “I’m not being stubborn. I’m not being anything except for a pawn of fate apparently because my whole damn future has already been decided for me!”

Ah. So that is the core of the problem. “Your future hasn’t been decided. That’s the whole point of me being here – so that we can make sure that things do happen as they originally went.”

“Oh, so I’m just supposed to accept the fact that my life becomes sickeningly domestic –“ he all but spits the word out like poison, “- and I’m trapped in a life that I never wanted?”

Felix narrows his eyes. “So you’re saying you don’t want this life? You don’t want peace for Fodlan? You don’t want to actually feel happy for the first time your goddamn life since Glenn died?”

“Who the fuck are you to say whether I’m happy or not? I’m happy when I have a blade in my hand, not when I’m being carted around like a… like a stupid trophy wife!”

“First of all,” Felix is proud of how level his voice comes out despite his urge to throttle the man in front of him, “I’m you, so of course I know what you want. I lived that life already.”

He pauses for a bit and then decides to go for a different angle – one that he knows has always worked with him when Sylvain tries to talk him down from stabbing some of the more pompous nobles during trade talks.

He takes a deep breath to ground himself. “But you’re still you. I can’t say I know exactly what you’re feeling, but I can imagine because at the core of everything, I know what I used to be like back then. And I also know that no matter what timeline I exist in, there will always be one thing that remains constant.”

It’s true. There is one truth that Felix knows will span the test of time and space no matter what version of himself he is dealing with.

“…Are you ever going to tell me what it is?” Young Felix mutters angrily, breaking their brief standstill.

Marriage really has made him soft, Felix thinks as he feels the corners of his mouth curl up in a smile. He can practically hear Sylvain in his head telling him about how he probably has his ‘dopey love face’ on right now and his eyes are all ‘melted amber’. What a sentimental fool.

“I think you know.”

“Ugh,” Young Felix scowls and turns away to glare at the bucket of swords in front of the blacksmith’s stall. It’s an admission if Felix has ever heard one, and he knows that his younger self does know.

Despite what the majority of Fodlan thinks, Felix is quite capable at reading people’s emotions. He knows when people feel uncomfortable or when they might need a kind word, but for the most part, he just doesn’t care enough to coddle them because he knows it will only do them more harm than good. Which is exactly why he decides to jump straight to the truth.

“It’s okay to love him, you know.”

Young Felix freezes. The stiff set of his shoulders hunch up almost protectively and he stubbornly stays facing away from him.

“I know…” Felix swallows the lump in his throat, “I know that it’s hard to even think about letting anyone in after Glenn – how hard it is to trust someone enough and believe that they won’t just leave you like everyone else inevitably does.”

Felix touches the obsidian ring on his left hand. He spins it absently and the smooth slide of the black band against his hand grounds him.

“Mother… Glenn… and then Father…” Felix has long made his peace with his father’s death, but there is still the faintest of stings in his heart when he thinks about it. “They all left us. But Sylvain has always been there. He was there when Mother died. He stayed with us for weeks after Glenn died. And he never pitied or babied us when Father died. He was just there.”

It’s a bit hazy, most memories from the war blur together honestly, but Felix does remember the days after the battle at Gronder with crystal clarity – those few painful days after his father’s sacrifice. No matter how many times he told Sylvain to leave, no matter how he yelled at him or tried to chase him away, Sylvain stood by him, steadfast and most importantly, without judgement.

He simply let Felix be.

And that was exactly what he needed.

“He’s the biggest idiot in Fodlan, but you and I both know that Sylvain does everything in his power to care for his friends and family.” Felix says it like it like he’s stating the obvious. “He’s also irresponsible and completely reckless, and Goddess knows that moron wouldn’t sustain half of his injuries if he just trained more, but he does remember our promise. And he’s doing his best to keep it while also making sure we stay alive.”

Felix steps forward so that he’s now standing side by side with his younger self. From his peripheral vision, he can see the furrowed brow and tightly pursed lips that he knows only happens when he begrudgingly agrees.

“I know you don’t believe in a fated future. Honestly, neither do I. But if there’s one thing I can tell you for certain, it is that loving Sylvain, and being loved in return, is the best thing that will ever happen to you.” Felix allows the warmth in his chest to bloom. While that feeling may have scared him once upon a time, he’s learned to become fond of it because he knows that the only reason he can feel this way is because he has come so far and conquered all his demons along the way.

“You’re disgustingly sentimental.”

“Maybe so, but I can still kick your ass.”

Young Felix snorts, “maybe then I’d actually have a good spar for once that isn’t against the professor.”

Felix laughs quietly, the heavy weight on his chest lifting just as the tension eases out of Young Felix’s stance. The truth is out there, and at least his younger self isn’t denying things anymore, but ultimately it will be up to Young Felix to decide the path he wants to take.

Felix Fraldarius is many things, but most importantly he is not a coward, which is why despite not having verbally settled the matter with his younger self, he knows with absolute certainty that Young Felix will never turn away from Sylvain, especially not when he’s been given permission to chase that happiness that he’s longed for.

----

Sophie decides very quickly that the market is her new favourite place. Forget the kitchens and all their yummy baked treats, the marketplace has all that and more.

Everywhere she looks, there is something new to see. Stalls upon stalls are lined with various treasures and fancy looking things that no amount of tears would help escape the wrath of her fathers if, by some stroke of bad luck, she is unfortunate enough to break them.

“Auntie Mercie! Look, Balloons!”

Sophie tugs on the healer’s hands eagerly, careful not to let go and wander off though there is a tiny whisper in her heart that tempts her so. The large inflated animals sway merrily in the breeze, and with the hustle and bustle of the environment around them, it almost looks as if they are dancing with excitement.

“Oh, aren’t they adorable? Would you like one, Sophie?” Mercedes claps her hands together, looking just as delighted as Sophie feels and soon, the trio of females is making their way through the surprisingly large crowd that has gathered for this lively gathering as a reprieve from the war.

“The fox,” Sophie pulls on Mercedes’ hand even more urgently the closer they get. “I want the fox, please, Auntie Mercie!”

“What about the cat, Sophie? That’s one is pretty cute.” Annette giggles. The red headed mage ducks and peers left and right at the variety of floating animals attached to the belt of the balloon vendor. There is already a gaggle of children forming around the man as he hands ribbons off to parents in exchange for gold, and although Sophie feels like she might burst if she has to wait any longer, she knows to wait her turn for the man to address her.

“Hello there, young miss. And what can I get for you today?” When the man finally turns his kind face towards her, Sophie cannot tear her eyes away from her goal. “Perhaps a bird? Or maybe a puppy?”

Sophie’s voice comes out breathy and excited. Reaching a hand up, she points eagerly, “the fox please. Can I have the fox?”

“Of course! Why don’t you reach out your hand for me and I’ll tie it to your wrist?”

Obediently, Sophie sticks out her left arm and watches, enraptured as the white ribbon loops delicately around her wrist, loose enough that she can slip her hand out if she really wanted to, but tight enough that the balloon will not fly away. Reaching into the small coin purse attached to her hip, Sophie carefully counts out the appropriate amount and hands them over.

“Thank you!” Sophie calls out after the vendor as Annette and Mercedes begin leading her away from the throng. It’s much too crowded now, but the little Fraldarius-Gautier cannot help but feel comforted by her floating guardian. Papa did always say that her Daddy was ‘sly as a fox’ after all, and it feels like her father is there with her when she sees it.

“Do you think Daddy will like it?” Sophie mumbles shyly when they’ve walked far enough that the screams of delighted children are nothing more than a whisper in the distance.

“I’m sure Sylvain will love it!” Mercedes says sweetly. The healer looks at Sophie with a mixed expression, almost like she is trying to solve a puzzle that she can’t quite figure out, before Annette interrupts her with a gasp.

“Mercie, there’s the sweets vendor that we’ve been looking for!”

Sweets? Sweets are good. That sounds like something Sophie is definitely interested in.

“Come on,” Annette urges. She grabs Mercedes by the hand and by extension, also Sophie, who is clutching onto her other one, and she drags them with haste towards a brightly colored stall laden with pastries and sweet treats of all kinds.

The saccharine smell wafting from the baked goods makes Sophie’s mouth water, but her eyes dart from one flamboyantly decorated cupcake to another, helplessly unable to pick a favourite.

“Hey! I remember you two!” The friendly looking lady behind the counter smiles as they approach. “You ladies came by my stall the last time I was in town, didn’t you?”

Annette flushes and nods. “The sweets were so good, we just had to make a return visit and pick up some more!” Despite her embarrassment, she is already reaching out to grab a fluffy looking cream pastry that looks more like a cloud than anything else.

“I’m so glad you like them, miss. Business has slowed down recently because of the war. Not much extra money to go towards frivolous things like sweets anymore, you know?” Sophie frowns. War? What war?  “Regular patrons like you are always appreciated.”

“Oh, and look at you, you sweet little thing,” Suddenly the attention is turned towards Sophie and any lingering confusion flies out the window. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Sophie!” With her fathers’ voices in the back of her head telling her to mind her manners, Sophie flashes her brightest smile and bobs gracefully into a quick curtsey. “It’s very nice to meet you. Your sweets look so yummy!”

“They’re the best in all of Fodlan, that’s for sure!” The kind looking lady proudly puffs her chest. “Have you ever tried some, little miss? Since it’s your first time, why don’t you go pick one and I’ll let you try it on the house.”

“Really?” Sophie’s eyes round with excitement. Daddy was right – being well mannered really does bring good things!

There are so many choices to choose from that it feels a little bit overwhelming, but eventually a beautiful deep red velvet cupcake topped with a mountain of chocolate frosting and a small candied cherry catches Sophie’s eye.

She likes cherries. She likes cupcakes. That’s two in one, isn’t it? It’s a perfect deal.

“Good choice, little miss. That’s our red velvet cupcake with black forest icing. It’s one of our more popular cakes; especially with the ladies.” The sweets lady holds out the cupcake to her and Sophie quickly lets go of Mercedes’ hand to receive it.

The monstrosity of a cupcake is so large that it takes Sophie both hands to hold it, taking great pains to not drop it nor smear any icing on her dress. She still remembers the scolding Papa had given her over the grass and mud stains in her dress a couple of weeks ago and is not eager to repeat that experience.

Above, her red fox sways gently to and fro, moving every time Sophie maneuvers her hands to nibble away at equal parts frosting and icing. She has long since tuned out from the conversation between the nice sweets lady and Mercedes and Annette, instead choosing to savor and enjoy her treat while it lasts.

Sophie is halfway done her cupcake when a raucous of children shrieking with delight steals her attention back in the direction of the balloon man. There, in the middle of a cluster of children stands a rather short and odd-looking man carting around a small trolley packed with stuffed animals, and at the very bottom, shoved against a dopey looking tiger and a rather ferocious lion is a black cat stuffy, complete with slitted golden eyes stitched painstakingly above some wiry whiskers and a kitten pout.

It’s the most wonderful stuffed kitty Sophie has ever seen. She has a present for Daddy, but what about Papa? Surely Papa would also like a gift – it’s only fair since Daddy gets one, right? Right. Her fathers had always taught her to treat everyone equally, and Sophie feels like that must include her family as well.

Annette and Mercedes are still engrossed in conversation with the Sweets Lady, but now their arms are full of bags laden with goodies they are no doubt brining back to the monastery. An itch like no other claws its way up Sophie’s chest and she really, really wants to ask for permission to go see the toy merchant, but she doesn’t want to interrupt what looks to be a very lively conversation.

One quick glance back makes the anxiousness double as the man begins to move towards an intersection across the courtyard from them. If he goes any further, he will turn the corner and Sophie will lose sight of him.

The gleeful squealing of laughter is getting farther and farther away now. She really should tell Mercedes and Annette where she is going, but she’s running out of time and Sophie will be absolutely heartbroken if her Papa is sad that he did not get a gift from her as well.

It will only be for a quick minute. She isn’t going very far. All she will do is go up to the merchant and buy the cat stuffy and return back to the sweets stall in no time at all.

Right?

.

.

.

In that split second, Sophie makes a decision.

She turns back towards the bustling market square and runs.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

I'm so sorry for the delay with this chapter! I wanted to post it during my xmas holidays but I got so caught up with other things (read: sleeping) that I didn't get any writing done at all. I hope you all enjoy the chapter. Thank you again for being so patient with me and reading up until now. Things are about to get rocky so I hope you're all prepared.

The SylVix PDA thing was actually inspired by art from @emilyliuwho on twitter. You can see the post here.

If you would like to be added to a tag list, please PM me!!

Tag list: @pato-social

[misterewrites]

The Heart of Civilization (Welcome to the Underground!)

Summary: Abigail's first experience of the Underground's capital is nothing like anything she's dealt with before but luckily she's got two guides. While the group decides how to handle their current arrangement, Oliver comes up with a surprising solution.

Hello everyone! It's done! I'm no longer behind schedule! E HERE WITH THE NEXT CHAPTER OF THE UNDERGROUND! WOO! Sorry it's been a chaotic, long few weeks. But I hope you are all doing good. So here we go the first major arc of the underground. Enjoy! I hope you are all safe, washing your hands, wearing your masks, get the vaccine if you can and keep each other safe! Comment, reblog, tell your friends. All that is super helpful for me and I love feedback. That's it for me, have a great week! E is out! Gonna nap!

Read this chapter or the whole thing if you’re curious with the link found below

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/77710460

Cities were never silent. It was impossible to be given how much life was concentrated in a single location. Even smaller towns and villages in the middle of nowhere were always bursting with the sounds of the living: Cheery drunks, clanking armor of the city guard patrolling, the odd night owls who could never find rest under a starry sky. The life and soul of any place were the people.

So naturally Abigail was taken aback by the immense silence.

She knew there was sound given how sudden she was buffeted backwards by a wave of unseen force. Archie and Oliver felt it too given how their bodies jerked but unlike her, they had been expecting it.

There was a strange disconnect between Abigail’s senses and her brain as it tried to piece together what exactly was going on. She was actually starting to get a headache as her mind tried to make sense of conflicting information.

Her eyes watered and burned at the soft light that emitted throughout. It wasn’t as warm or bright as sunlight but it was close enough to make Abigail feel stuffy in her thick riding cloak. Oliver took off his cloak and began helping Archie out of his so Abigail followed suit, putting it away carefully in her backpack.

She asked how was there light down here but her words were muted and felt strange leaving her mouth like she was simply mouthing her question to herself.

It should’ve been noisy given that there were dozens of people on the stony street: children of various races running about playing different games among themselves, adults huddled together their faces serious with concern or relaxed at ease yet all were muted with a quiet that was inescapable.

Abigail knew this must’ve been the outskirts of the city given the conditions of the clothing and houses here. The only thing the homes shared was a ramshackle look to their construction and a strange mark written in their surface: Some were made of stone, others wood with a rare building made of metal. Short squat homes built deeper into the ground that were clearly dwarf design clashed horribly with the tall, gravity defying stacked one room story floors that were elvish hobbles.

Abigail pursed her lips, unsure what to make of this whole situation when Oliver’s voice appeared from nowhere, distant and echoing like he was speaking from the other end of a tunnel.

“You okay?”

Abigail jumped, flailing about wildly at the noise that cut through the quiet.

“Don’t do that!” Abigail shouted, annoyed, but nothing came out.

Oliver chuckled to himself soundlessly as he gestured to her with two pointed fingers.

“Haven’s Nest is the biggest city in all the Underground.” His voice crackled “You noticed it in the tunnels, no? How far sounds can travel in a confined space? Imagine trying to live in an entire city like that. You’d lose your hearing within a day. Well less given how much you like talking to people.”

Realization dawned on Abigail as she pointed to the strange items nestled in her ears.

Oliver nodded, his fingers still outstretched “Magical filters. They protect your ears from being overwhelmed by the noise or annoying conversations.”

Abigail thought for a moment before pointing two fingers towards Oliver.

“Is that why…?” she flinched at sudden reemergence of her voice “Wow that’s really off putting. Is that why they just hand them out at the entrance?”

“Mhm. Bad for tourism if you went deaf visiting the capital. Haven’s Nest: come to lose your money, leaving with 50% less hearing.”

Abigail stifled a laugh “So if I point like this?” she gestured with the two fingers “I can talk to people one on one. What if I want to talk to a bunch of people?”

“Make a fist. It’ll let you talk to and hear everything in the immediate area.”

Abigail looked at her hand before closing it into a fist. She winced as the city life popped back into existence without warning: The children shouting and cheering at their losses and victories, small talk about work and how members of the community were doing, unhappy grumbles about the price of food these days and the lack of respect the youth held for their elders.

The city was alive once more.

“Do we have to wear these the whole time?” Abigail asked, opting to keep her fist closed for simplicity's sake.

Archibald shook his head tiredly as he pointed to the strange symbol that were scrawled on every building’s surface.

“Sound bubbles.” Oliver explained “The magical symbols create a little pocket barrier around each building so you can only hear what’s happening inside. It be pretty infuriating if you need to sleep with the filters on. They don’t exactly stick in your ears perfectly.”

Archibald agreed.

“Oh okay. And the…”

“Lights?” Oliver cut in with a knowing smirk “Dwarfish design. A lot of important business happens in Haven’s Nest so a day night cycle is helpful. Harsher light for the day and softer glows for your shady night business.”

“Your shady night business” Abigail glared at Oliver before glancing upwards. Now that the bard pointed it out, she could see what he meant: Hundreds of smooth glass panels were packed tightly together on the ceiling of the cavern. Many of them gleamed with the warm light that bothered her when she first came in but she also noticed some were blackened, either powered down or broken from constant use.

“I take it this is the only place in the underground that has this level of dwarfish engineering.”

“Only non-dwarf city. Dwarves are a little hoardy with their tech.”

Abigail nodded “So this is the boonies, right?”

Oliver gave a mocking look of pride “Look at you knowing your terms. Yeah, this is the less fortune part of town. Still pretty nice all things considered. Up ahead is the Merchant Ward. Well ward is a misnomer but it’s the closest word I can come up with.”

“Looks like someone needs to up their vocab.” Abigail teased.

Archibald chuckled softly.

“And you.” Oliver gestured to the archer “What’s the plan now?”

Archibald eyes shone with understanding. He motioned for Abigail to help and handed her his pack as he began to search for something within. It took a minute but soon Archibald produced a crumpled up envelope. He handed it to Oliver while gratefully smiling at Abigail.

Abigail smiled back as Oliver tore the envelope and read the letter.

“Dear Greenfield and Bard, tis I! Borrick Copperstone. As you now no doubt have discovered, my boy Archie isn’t the most talkative person.”

Oliver spared Archibald a playful look “No kidding.”

Archibald waved Oliver’s comment off.

Oliver cleared his throat, his voice becoming booming and cheery as if mimicking the old dwarf “So I have written this letter with the following instructions. Archibald will be taking the 5 gold payment and I expect you to buy him a fine meal! As promised. In addition, Archibald has been given instructions to wait at the Right Hook inn in the Merchant Ward. Feel free to drop him off or you may part ways once in the city proper. Thank for your business and I wish you safe travels!”

Archibald reached to take the letter back but Oliver slapped his hand away with the paper.

“No.”

Archibald tilted his head quizzically.

Oliver narrowed his eyes “I don’t want you crying to your boss that you got injured on the job and we just dropped you first chance we got. We’re taking you to the Right Hook and we’re gonna keep an eye on you until we are sure you’re better. Right Abigail?”

Abigail was caught off guard by the sudden shift to her but she noticed the knowing glint in Oliver’s eyes “Right. Right! It’s only fair given you risked your life for us. I mean I still need to figure out what I’m going to do next and Oliver’s competition is in a few days so we don’t really have a reason to split up just yet.”

Archibald flushed a lovely bright pink.

“So it’s settled!” Oliver beamed “We’re taking to you Right Hook, get you rested, Abigail will buy you that meal she promised Borrick.”

“Hey!”

“You were negotiating” Oliver pointed out “You made the deal now you have to honor it.”

“I hate you.”

“And” Oliver went on without acknowledging Abigail further “We’ll get you to a cleric tomorrow, maybe do Abigail’s side quest and I still need to sign up for the competition.”

“My side quest?” Abigail’s face scrunched up thoughtfully “Oh! Cecilia’s wizard mentor person. That guy. Wait, how did you…?”

“So we take it easy today then we’ll go out tomorrow. Sorry solider boy you’re stuck with us a little longer.”

Archibald’s face was one of sheepish embarrassment but he smiled appreciatively all the same.

Abigail pursed her lips “Why don’t we do it today? It’s only afternoon if I’m reading the dwarfish sunshine right.”

“We almost died.” Oliver spoke plainly, shooting at glare at some people’s gaze who began to wander their way “I don’t know about you but I don’t wanna deal with anything else except a good meal and being alive.”

Abigail thought about for a moment. She could feel the tension in her body, her arms and legs were stiff. She was okay for now but the idea of doing more things today left her feeling drained.

“Yeah good point. We should take it easy for now. I’m not used to life or death situations.”

“I noticed.” Oliver turned to lead the group “Though it’s not like they get any easier.”

“What?”

“To The Right Hook!”

-----

At first traveling was relatively easy: The outskirts of town held only one path and it was simple to get her bearings situated. However the trouble started when they reached the Merchant Ward of the city.

Without warning the mismatched, battered homes became sleek, colorful uniformed buildings. Traditional human designs of varying heights and hues littered as far as the eye could see, each with the same symbol Oliver had pointed out. While the ceiling was narrow above the outskirts, here the cavern opened impossibly wide. Countless dwarfish panels of light were held high above in differentiating states of decay, blazing nearly as bright as the sun. The road became less stony and move cobbled as the paths branched out in every direction. People of various lifestyles hustled back and forth as the sounds of the city washed over her. Even the little Abigail could hear reminded her of the capitol on the surface, the sheer chaos that existed in larger, more populated places.

Oliver seemed to know where he was going. He would look at these towering signs with names written upon them. Street signs he called them. Abigail never heard of such a thing before but she was grateful for their existence.

As the trio traveled deeper into the Merchant Ward, Oliver began pointing out the various sections of the city.

“Over there.” Oliver pointed to a far off road that curved upwards through a tunnel “is the Clifftop Distract. Rich people turf. Anyone of value or wealth are squirreled away up there.”

“Of course.” Abigail murmured softly to herself. Somethings never changed.

“To the east past the Merchant Ward is East Haven. More homes less business but there are few inns, pubs, stores out there for all your shopping convenience.”

“Like a little village?” Abigail questioned, trying to see if she could equate it to something she knew.

Oliver paused for a moment “Actually yeah. Like a little village next door. Better off than the boonies but not as fancy as Clifftop. Middle of the road as it were. As you can tell, Merch Ward is a little chaotic. Not many people like the idea of living here.”

Abigail raised an eyebrow at a fist fight between a gnome and a dwarf “Couldn’t guess why. And past East Haven?”

“The east gate out of town. Haven’s Nest only has three gates: West in the outskirts, south for the Merchant Ward and East. The west and east are for public use but the south gate is only used for deliveries, soldiers, supplies, patrols etc etc etc.”

“How much further to the Right Hook?”

“Should be round here somewhere, right Archie?”

Archibald nodded in confirmation before pointing a nearby building.

The Right Hook was a wooden building painted a dark red and five stories tall. While the wood outside seemed aged and faded, the doors and window were new as if they had just been replaced. The sign that hung over the doorway was in a fancy font and showed an outstretched hand in the middle of a punch. The hand, ironically, was the left.

“I like it!” Abigail beamed cheerfully “It’s got character.”

“I believe that’s what we call a mistake.”

“It’s charming.”

“It’s wrong.”

“You’re wrong!”

Archibald softly laughed to himself as he followed the arguing pair inside.

The trio took off their filters, carefully placing them away in their pockets for later use. Abigail could feel her ears pop: Every laugh, word, noise was crisp. She could hear the sounds of all within the building but the chaotic symphony of the city remained outside.

“Now what?” she asked, rubbing her aching ears.

“Order some food. I’ll check us in.” Oliver offered “No doubt Borrick probably paid a room for Archie.”

Before Abigail could fathom what Oliver had just said, the bard disappeared deeper within the building.

“Always fun with Ollie huh?”

Archibald snickered then winced as he held his stomach.

“Sorry” Abigail smiled softly “Must be sore. Let’s find a table.”

Archibald and Abigail scanned the room and quickly spotted one nearby. The pair made their way over when Archibald pulled out the chair and gestured for Abigail to take a seat.

Abigail giggled while she sat down “Thank you good sir! I’m glad someone is a gentleman here.”

Archibald flushed as he pushed her chair in and took his own across from her.

-----

Food and drinks were ordered and brought out by the time Oliver returned, a quiet thankful look in his eyes as he noticed the third plate of meat and vegetables steaming in front of an empty seat.

“Thanks” He muttered quietly, sitting at the table.

“You okay?” Abigail watched him carefully “You look like you’re experiencing emotions.”

“I know I hate it.” Oliver gave a cocky smirk and returned to his usual self “Borrick paid for a full week for our good friend Archie so he’s cover.”

“But…” Abigail chimed in “I’m hearing a but.”

“You’re going to have to room with him.”

It wasn’t obvious who was more surprised by this information: Abigail or Archibald. Abigail’s eyes went wide and she could feel a blush spread across her cheeks while Archie simply choked on his drink and began coughing his lungs out.

“WHAT?!” Abigail and Archibald caught each other’s eyes “I...I-I don’t….I mean I don’t mind but…”

Archibald kept choking.

“Relax, it’s not as bad as you think.” Oliver began with a lazy wave of his hand “It’s...well big. On the 5th floor. It’s like a mini home I guess. It’s one room with two separate bedrooms inside. I think. It was a little confusing but I’m betting it’s for whoever is coming to pick him up. You know, to get a day’s of rest before they have to travel back.”

Abigail opened her mouth to protest but Oliver kept going “They only had one other room: A little broom closet on the second floor so be grateful I didn’t shove you in there and decide to bunk with my best friend Archie.”

Archie shot a glare as he finally cleared his throat.

Oliver grinned playfully “It’s only for a day or two until other rooms open up and we can all get our own separate, real rooms.”

“Well.” Abigail twiddled her thumbs “If it’s only for a few days…”

Archibald said nothing, opting to drink his water and hoping no one noticed the red in his cheeks.

“Well then it’s settled!” Oliver said with a hint of finality as he began digging into his meal.

-----

Despite the less than ideal sleeping arrangements, the trio managed to relax: Food, drinks, chatting idly about little things.

Night came quickly and true to Oliver’s warning, Abigail could feel exhaustion ebb into her bones.

The trio made their way to rest and as they dropped off Oliver to his little tiny room, they couldn’t help but ask.

“You sure?” Abigail eyed the broom closet distastefully “You could always sleep in our room. With Archibald.”

Archibald pointed to the floor jokingly.

Oliver gave tired chuckle “I’m good. I’ve slept worse places. Besides I need a break from all….this”

He motioned to the both of them. Abigail was unsure what he meant by that. Archibald simply shot daggers at him.

“Go” he shooed them away “Go and let me get some rest before I gotta deal with both of you in the morning.”

“Okay…..night Oliver.”

Archibald waved goodbye and the pair vanished up the stairs.

Oliver slipped into his room, a small place with a bed on one side and some walking space on the other. A window as wide as the room itself hung on the other end.

A tiny broom closet indeed.

Oliver locked the door behind him and placed his bag onto the floor. He took a moment to hide his lute and the more valuable possession he had, both monetary and sentimental. He cracked his fingers and neck before opening the letter the innkeeper slipped him. Oliver mentally mapped out the location scrawled on the paper then ripped it to shreds.

Oliver brushed clean his outfit from the day’s grime and made his way over to the window. The dwarfish panels shifted to night mode: the warm bright light of the day replaced with a cool, silvery glow that darkened the underground. He pulled out the magic filters from his pocket and put them on. He lifted the window and was grateful the barrier kept the sound outside from coming in.

“Thank god it’s the second floor” he murmured to himself as he began to climb out.

-----

4 hooded figures were huddled in the darkness of an alley, deeply engrossed in their conversation.

The tallest, a muscular woman, fidgeted unhappily “We been waiting for 30 minutes. I don’t think the guy is gonna show.”

Another cloaked figure, a woman a head and half shorter than her companion gently took her hand in her own “Sweetie you need patience.”

The muscular woman flushed in embarrassment “I know Flora but you know how I get antsy when I gotta wait. I hate waiting!”

“I know Terri but we must wait. He will be here. Correct Tyrell?”

Tyrell, a younger gentleman of 20 scratched his chin thoughtfully “That’s what the message said. Came in this morning on the West Gate board. Said he was traveling with some people but he’d meet up with us within the hour of the meeting time.”

“Ugh” Terri groaned “We should get a move on. The party isn’t going to last all night and we got work to do. We need to find the...”

“Wait.” The last figure whispered quietly “I hear something.”

The group held their breath, fists clasped tightly so they can hear what was approaching.

It was faint but Terri could hear the soft patter of footsteps. They moved with such a gentle foot that only Terri’s years of survival training allowed her to catch it.

Terri stood up to her full height, her thick muscular arms tensed for a fight as a shadow inched closer to the group.

“Show yourself!” Terri shouted, falling into a fighting position.

Oliver stepped out of the darkness, his hands lazily in his pockets.

Flora eyed him carefully “Very weird to be wandering back alleys, no sir?”

Oliver cleared this throat “My name is Oliver, First Chair Soprano in The Choir.”

The group shared a surprised look with one another. Their missing fifth member had finally arrived.

“Now.” Oliver spoke with a mischievous smirk “Who we robbing for the greater good?”

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Voracious | Todoroki x F!Dragon!Reader

So may I please have an nsfw todoroki/dragon!reader in a fantasy au where they’ve known each other for quite a while and then for the first time, he sees her enter her heat, and using with what he’s learned abt dragons he takes “care” of her.

Todoroki’s breath fogs in front of him as he views the fall of tiny fluttering flakes of snow. The magisters had predicted that this winter would be early and heavy. As the city prepares, he can’t help but worry for people like you, who live without a heated home or even the bare essentials. Education tells him you have the means to keep yourself warm but for how long? Dragons had to get cold too after all. Probably. He’d have to ask.

Todoroki decides to gather steal blankets and cured meats from the castle in case you needed them before sneaking out and traversing the dense forest on the edge of the city. Upon arriving at your cave, he spots you gathering the last of fallen autumn leaves on the ground into large piles. It is something he never saw you do before but your dead focus on the task, to the point you didn’t even acknowledge him, awakens his curiously. 

“What are you doing?”

“Building a nest,” you reply and look to him. Observant by nature, he sees you eying the sheets in his hand then the material you had gathered. Todoroki keeps his thoughts to himself when it comes to the unconventional methods you had of creating warmth. If only he could invite you back to the castle; but with his dad there, he couldn’t risk you being turned into a war idol. “Can I borrow that?”

“Yes. I brought it for you and some other…” he tries to explain but you promptly snatch the blanket, spread it out, and start piling leaves onto it in a makeshift basket, leaving him confused but strangely motivated by your determination, and he kneels down to help.  

“This will work,” you mutter happily to yourself. “Keep the egg nice and cushioned.”

“Your egg?”

“Yes. I need to keep it safe.”

Todoroki pauses, the admission causing him to grimace as he feels something deep inside him crack and compress into this empty feeling above his heart. Despite the two of you promising to share everything with each other, he had not one memory of you ever mentioning a lover. He couldn’t figure out why it would bother him so much to find out, but it did. Barely able to stop this bitterness from broadcasting itself through his voice, he asks, “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Lucky guy?” you repeat, puzzled. Then, you click your tongue as you finally understand. “Oh, I don’t have a partner,” you answer, and the heaviness that was making it hard for him to breathe began to lighten little by little. Now, it was replaced with confusion, which you easily picked up on. “I mean there will be once mating season starts. I’m preparing in advance for the unpredictable. As for you, I’d advise making yourself scarce for a few weeks when that happens unless you want to be mistaken as rival and challenged.”

“They could try,” he mumbles, thinking he could easily take out any dragon that wanted to mount you if he used his ice magic. It worked on you well enough the first time you met after you thought his horse would make a good dinner. 

 “Good. You can weed out the weaklings for me.”

Todoroki smacks his lips, the tightness from before slowly returning as he thought about the prospects of you having a child with someone soon. Even with your casual almost excited flare, he quickly realizes that it would be unlikely that you would know your mate beforehand while he often considered running away at the prospects of being placed into an arrange marriage with another person, let alone bare a child with them. “How do you deal with it?”

“Deal with what?”

“Mating season,” he explains as he twists and hauls the blanket full of leaves over his shoulders, slowly walking back to your den with you. “You don’t usually know your mates or if you’d like them. Doesn’t it ever bother you?”

Faster than he could ever expect, you answer, “No.”

Stopping in his tracks, Todoroki scowls at you. Sensing his unease, you stop too, tilting your head at him curiously as he scrunches his face. “No?”

“What?”

“How could it not bother you? What if…you didn’t want to mate with them or if…you liked someone else or someone liked you?”

You shrug. “I don’t understand why that would matter, whoever is stronger would be my mate.”

“That easily?”

“Yes. I’m not sure what you do not understand—Oh,” you gasp. “I forgot it’s different for you. You humans tend to get really attached to your mates. It always amazes me that your species manages to survive that way.”

Todoroki scoffs. “Since when is it a crime to want to be with someone who actually cares about you?” 

“It’s not. It’s just unnecessary in the grand scheme of the world to care about that sort of thing especially if it creates a burden to do so.”

“Does that mean you think our relationship is unnecessary?” he demands, the hurt final breaking through as he clenches his fist at his side. 

“You have to admit it’s not conventional.”

“But, I’m convenient for you.”

“Yes, but I do like being your friend as well,” you answer honestly, not one to notice your own bluntness even for the sake of someone else’s feelings. “Look. Our world is harder than yours, so we owe to our children to give them the best odds of surviving that world. I don’t expect that as a human you’d understand that, but that’s the way it is.”

Unsatisfied with the answer, he throws down the makeshift carrier and glares at you. “You’re right. I wouldn’t get it,” he replies, storming away from you and returning to the castle.

The next few days, he spent sulking, agonizing over the fact that your relationship could have been one only born from convenience. Though, there were times he thinks that you enjoyed his company. Shouto could only think of a few times he was happier than when he was with you, and now he was more miserable than ever now that he had fought with one of the only people he had considered a real friend, something he had hoped for so long when he was alone in the castle for so many years.

It took longer than he expected for him to realize the reason he got frustrated wasn’t because of his anger at you. He didn’t blame you for following your natural instincts or your response. He understood that humans did live differently. Rather, he was jealous because you didn’t think to choose him because no matter how close you were, he was still sadly a weak human in your eyes.

Deciding to swallow his pride, Todoroki once again snuck out the castle late one night to find you and apologize. However, he wasn’t expecting to catch you huddled over yourself in a fetal position, your tail curved between beautiful strong legs when he arrived. In a few seconds, he registers what you’re doing as your tail slides to and fro. Your chest heaves, each desperate pant causing a puff of smoke to leave your mouth, the same as him when he gets too cold and the water in his breath condenses. Those short strokes turn into sporadic thrusts across your naked body, and he flushes as you whine. The sound was so gentle and sweet, the soft little purrs becoming the cutest thing in his memories about you.

Eventually, he decides to give you privacy before you catch him and decide to show him the opposite of your cute side. Slowly, he backs away, and he almost makes it scot-free until he steps on a buried branch. He turns to face your direction as soon as it snaps. Your eyes find him faster than he expects from such a light crunch. 

You stand, walking his way, and he gulps, trying not to get distractive by the beautiful bounce of your breasts (as he can finally confirm that you do get cold if the swell, stiff peak of your nipples were anything to go by) and the swing of your hips as you sway towards him. As you get into speaking distance, he readies himself for the lashing you were bound to give him but instead, you lunge.

Hitting the ground, the air is instantly knocked out his lungs. Todoroki grunts, closing his eyes in pain as his head throbs. Slowly regaining himself, he opens his eyes to looks up at you. Glossy eyes meet his back before your tongue slides across your lips, plump and bruised from your own biting, before pulling back in over pointed teeth. The unusual display fills him with a sense of panic and fear he’s never experienced. Shouto never noticed how strong you were until he was pinned to the frozen ground of the forest floor. Pinned underneath your raw strength and the heaviness of your entire body, tail and all, he has time to briefly remember his sister once asked if he thought you were dangerous. He answered, “to livestock maybe”, but that’s how he felt right now, like a piece of livestock. 

You lean down over him. Todoroki shudders under the flurries of bites that array his skin in shades of sangria. It was as if you were trying to devour him as you hungrily bite and suck marks into his ivory skin, leaving rings of teeth marks along his neck. He whimpers in both pain and arousal. He reaches up for anywhere to hold you. Landing on your shoulders, he holds you back, but being touched made you rumble lowly, almost reminiscent of a purr. His heart speeds up as if it hadn’t already been racing a marathon. He groans as you shift again and sink your teeth deeper, breaking his flesh. The shock causes him to react with a rush of cold that rivaled your fire element, and you snap away with a yelp. 

“What’s wrong with you! Why would you do that?” 

“Me? What’s wrong with you?” he huffs, shocking you as you see him panting underneath you, his chest rising and falling hard. 

“Sorry…I thought you were someone else.”

“Someone else?”

“Yeah, you see, I’m still—” 

“In heat.” he finishes, and you nod. “Still?”

“I haven’t had much luck in the mating department.” Pulling away, you return to a seated position of squeezing your tail between your legs to fight off the urge to pounce him once again. “Never mind. Why are you here anyway?”

Todoroki scowls, bowing his head as he shovels his fingers through the dirt and snow. “About that. I wanted to apologize,” he starts, but his explanation goes unheard as your lustful sighs catch his attention. He blushes as you start to grind your tail against you again like he wasn’t even there. Shouto tries to look away, but he couldn’t keep from glancing over as he overhears your blissful sighs. You didn’t look like you were listening to a word he was saying anymore. “Uhm, (Name)?” Slowly, you fix your gaze on him, almost making him choke on his spit. “If you’re that desperate I could stand in as your mate if you want me to.”

Your eyes flit up and down, studying him as if you were thinking about it. Thoughtfully, you chew on your inner cheek. Then, you say what he feared. “But you’re a human.” 

Ignoring the sting of your first rejection, Todoroki scoots a little closer to you, his hand steady as he reached out to touch you. You flinch, making him gulp as you looked at his hand on your shoulder. “I know I’m not exactly what you wanted, but you just need stimulation, right? I’m sure we’d line up.” 

“Are you sure? My species can get pretty sexually aggressive during mating season,” you warn – like he hadn’t realized that when you first mounted him. 

Confidentially, Todoroki replies, “I can be aggressive.”

To his surprise, you snort, laughing lowly at him, and he scowls, knowing he might be rejected but he wasn’t expecting for you to outright laugh at him. You stop giggling and kneel forward onto your knees. He blushes as your face comes to his, so close that he could feel the natural heat on your breath. “You’re a cute little human,” you say and shove your lips against his. Shouto goes back on his back again from the force while you happily take up the space between his legs. 

Shouto busies himself with what he wants most: exploring your body. He slowly circles his fingers at your waist, mesmerized in the way your body went from the smooth warmth of skin to the leathery texture of your sunburst scales. But you need more than those light strokes. Taking in his fresh scent, you tremble with excitement at the smell of heat rolling off his left side. 

Roughly, you move your lips against his, not holding back just as you had warned. Your teeth pulled on his bottom lip. It leaves light splits in his skin, which you happily lick. Following your lead, his best idea was to meet you with equal force or else be torn with your affection. 

With a growl, Shouto bites down on your tongue. He hears that sound again, that purring, and decides to suck on the warm appendage in his mouth. Your hands come to his neck, where on a dragon there would be scales to protect him from your claws dragging along his skin. The first line of blood spring from him; and almost apologetically, your tongue laps at his wound.

“Shouto,” you mumble softly.

“I’m all right.” He uses the opportunity to roll you over and gain some small semblance of control. You could turn the tables back on him again any moment but when his hips rock against yours, you buck and moan at the intense yearning it unleashed in you. 

You reach up, pulling at his shirt while your mouth still voraciously attacks his. You try to force his buttons off until impatience caused you to rip at his coat and nails draw into his skin. “Slow down,” he hisses, second-guessing his decision as your mouth wetly covers the patch of exposed skin. You want more, need him more, so you tattered his clothes to reveal more smooth skin.

When you pierced through, he instinctively lit your skin with ice. You whimper and squirm away, your breathing heavy. 

Todoroki saw the perfect way to even the playing field and slid his fingers over your stomach again. “Claws off or I’m going to punish you again.”

“Shouto, don’t play with me. I’m not in the mood,” you huff, and he hums in response. 

“You look like you’re in the mood to me. You look like you were about to cum right there earlier,” Shouto teases, unfurling your tail to slide his fingers between your lower lips, and he sucks in air as your wetness immediately overtakes his thick fingers, trailing behind his touch in thick, clear strands. “Absolutely amazing,” he whispers, groaning to himself. “You look good enough to eat.”

“You’re going to eat me?” you ask, squirming as he kisses down your stomach, gentle lips brushing your smooth skin. Why would he even kiss you there? He begins to kiss your thighs, making you shudder as the cold air hits the wet spots he left on your flesh. 

Shouto kisses the base of your tail, drawing his tongue over the edges of your scales to lick away the flood of fluids, and you gasp as the rough texture of the top of his pink tongue sinks between them to the sensitive flesh in between. Todoroki chuckles, mismatch eyes watching the erotic lift of your hips, knowing that he was the one to make you buck. Shouto glides his fingers into you, watching the erotic display of his fingertips breaking the barrier of thick cum and sinking into your slick folds. The soft croon you release makes him shudder, a bolt of excitement running through him. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

“What are you—oh, OH,” you moan, lolling your head back as Shouto covers you with his mouth, his tongue scooping up your taste, and his nose inhaling your scent. He glances up, watching your eyes, clouded and lust-filled, on him, observing his every move with awe and apprehension that leads him to believe no one ever taught you much in the way of foreplay. 

“Your taste is unreal,” he comments, smirking as your chest heaves and your breathing becomes heavy with smoke again. You whimper as he grabs the top of your legs, snatching you closer, his nails snagging against your scales and making them prickle. “I wish I’d known it was this easy to make you mewl like a kitten,” he smirks then slides his pink muscle between your lips.

“Don’t call me a kitten,” you growl, moaning as his back arching as his warm lips suck around your clit. Knowing it wouldn’t hurt you, his left palm lights with flame as it drags down your skin, making you cry out as the fire tingles on your skin and warms every nerve. 

“This is my kingdom. I’ll call you as I please,” he states, dotting frost across your skin to make you whine louder. Warm thighs close around his had as you shiver, smothering him in the smooth heat. Shouto thinks it’d be better to feel them around his waist as he drives into you. Your hands come down, gripping his hair and pulling it in tight fists as you fight to hold back your moaning. Todoroki hisses and nips at your clit in retaliation to the pain he felt pulling at his head. 

Yelping, you begin to grumble as you feel your orgasm building up before the two of you could properly mate. You felt embarrassed to actually be feeling weak from this, much like a mewling pet as his tongue skillfully dips and swirls inside of you. You tremble as it overtakes you in a flash, draining down your legs as your pussy pounds with the strength of your own orgasm. 

“You did such a good job, kitten,” he says, licking his lips clean of your fluids before sliding his tongue over each finger one by one. You groan, finding him attractive despite the obvious differences between the two of you. 

“I said don’t call me that,” you demand still panting heavily. 

“You’re not the one in charge.” You ‘hmph’. He smiles mockingly, threatening to light you with chills again until his fingers ghost over your stiffened nipples then tweaks them, one cold and one hot, each reaction completely opposite but both making you whimper. “If you tell me you want me nicely, I’ll give it to you.”

“Cocky bastard. Take your clothes off already.”

“Don’t curse,” he reminds you. “Or do you want me to punish you again?”

Growling, you use your strength to tackle him over and pin him by the wrist. You lean close, forehead touching his as you glint your teeth at him. “I think you’re forgetting who’s stronger here, human.” 

“Are you so sure about that?” he says, jerking against you, and you push him down harder.

“Yes.”

You bring your claws down to rip through the rest of his coat, leaving tattered lines that reveal what royal genes and training crafted. He shivers as you leave rippling muscles and supple pink nipples exposed to the elements. “Oh, don’t fret, I’ll keep you warm,” you tease as he flushes from the bitter bite of wind stinging his cheeks. 

“You should worry about yourself,” he warns, and your leg chills with his power. 

“You can make it come out your feet?” you ask between chattering teeth. He fights back against you – your disadvantage that you can’t fire back at him due to fear of burning him to a crisp as you rolled together for dominance. 

He turned over on you. “I’ll use my fire later if you’re good, how about that?” he asks, sparking flames to flicker over your skin, and you whine, gasping as it tickles through your body. 

“Damn it…” you moan as the heat overtakes you, right after you had just come. “T-That feels good.”

He chuckles. “I’ll make you feel even better,” he answers, undoing his pants, and you smile at him as they come loose, gasping in amazement. 

“Ah, it’s so cute.”

“Cute?” he scoffs.

“Yes, it’s so small,” you coo, giggling at him as you lean up to curiously squeeze, making his cheeks redden. “Don’t you have a knot?”

He narrows his eyes at you, irritated at your remarks. “It’s normal-sized. Bigger, actually.”

Your mouth widens in surprise. “Oh, human men get smaller, even cuter.”

“Don’t call it that,” he hisses, pushing his cock into you, slipping into your heat center with a rough thrust. 

You gasp, choking as you inhale roughly. “Ah, you’re so sudden, I’m still sensitive.”

“But it feels good, so why don’t you be a good girl and cum on my cock for me, kitten,” he teases, squeezing and kneading your jiggling breasts as he rocks his hips into yours, pushing deeper and deeper. Growling, you wrap your legs around his waist, bucking upwards. 

You pull him flushed against you, moaning when his warm body hugged against your bare skin. Burying your head against his neck, you sink your teeth in to bury your groaning at the pace of his cock repeatedly stretching and stroking your core while he pants, low and husky, into your ear. 

Your legs spasm with the rush of fluid out of your core, and he curses so softly when you clenched around his throbbing cock, urging him to release with you until you were both satisfied with your union. 

“That was…better than expected,” you admitted, relaxing as your aching subsided. With one strong push, you lift him off of you to get some space to catch your breath.

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know,” you answer with a coy grin that makes him scoff. You laugh in return before acknowledging the shivering the cold around you induced now that you were finally able to cool down from your heat a little. Shouto takes it as an opportunity to pull you against him again.

You readily curl up against him for the time, knowing it’d be impossible for him to shack up with you until the end of mating season like a normal mate. You purr softly and lick his cheek affectionately. 

“Uhm, (Name),” he begins, flushing from the affection of your grooming. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, but do you remember how you said humans get attached to their mates? That’s because we humans tend to mate for life.”

You stop. “You do?”

“Yes, we do,” he says, and you wrinkle your nose in suspicion. 

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, we do.”

“I never heard that.”

“I’m the human here, so I think I get the final say on what’s our culture.” 

“You’re a strange one,” you answer, “But, I don’t mind just for mating season,” you agree, kissing him again as you push him down into the snow. “Let’s get one more in for today,” you demand.

Todoroki sits on the garden bench, restlessly staring at the castle wall as the snow flurries drift down. Sighing, he wonders what you’ve been up to over the last few weeks he’s been on house arrest  under the eyes of the knights ever since his father didn’t take well to him coming home in the early morning with new wounds each time.

He wonders if you would let him stay with you if he was to run away this time, but somewhere in his mind, he doubts that would work out. It would only put you both in danger. 

Then, he hears a voice, softly sweet yet somehow confidently demanding, and he looks up from the ground to see you standing before him. 

“(Name), what are you doing here?” he whispers harshly, reaching out to pull you down but you step away before he gets the chance.

“I needed to see you.”

“But, why, how did you get in? There are guards everywhere.”

“You mean those clinky ones out front? I don’t think they’ll be getting up any time soon.”

“You can’t go attacking the knights.”

“It’s not like I killed them. Calm down,” you demand with a huff before reaching around to pull out something from an old satchel he’d give you. “Here.”

You hold at an oval object the size of a small melon and carefully place it into his arms. Shouto holds it up, running his fingers over the jagged horizontal lines of red and blue that decorate the object. 

“What is this?” he questions curiously.

“It’s your egg.” 

Shouto jumps, clutching on tighter to stop from dropping it in surprise. He was completely unaware that the two of you could have kids. He’s never read or heard anything about half-breeds before, and he wasn’t planning on becoming the first case of such either. “My egg, like you gave birth to this sort of egg?”

“Duh, what did you think mating season is for?” you remind him sarcastically as he panics. “I need you to watch it for me so I can go hunting.”

Todoroki gulps, unsure where to even begin taking care of this sort of thing, let alone how to hide it in the castle. “Uhm…but aren’t women supposed to watch their egg?”

“Humans share the responsibility for their children, right?”

“Sort of.”

“Well, if you want to stick around and follow this mating for life thing, then you should help take responsibility for your egg,” you explain. “It would be much safer and cozier in your fancy house, don’t you agree?”

“But, how should I—”

“Just keep it warm and don’t break it for god’s sake,” you answer, make your way towards the wall, and leap to the top of it. “In the meantime, I’m going to go catch dinner.”

“Wait,” he orders but you already drop to the other side, leaving him and his future half-breed offspring alone together. He sighs and glances down at his egg. His heart jumps when he feels a slight jerk under the protective shell, making him smile softly, and he cradles the egg towards his left side to keep warmer. “Let’s keep you safe for when she gets back,” he promises already thinking of a spot he can keep his child hidden. 

Todoroki supposes the only thing left to do was to start thinking of names.