#I expect them to rain hell one whatever force separated them

[sterekotypes]

Okay excellent points.

I like to think that it’s not even uncommon in the wolf world either. Derek grew up with the “you might not catch disease, but you could catch a baby, so practice safe sex” or something. Derek always used to roll his eyes because that happens to people like Josh from Satomi’s pack, not him.

He’s better than that, he thinks. And, of course, years later, he’s so eager to finally have something -anything- of Stiles that he’s not even paying attention when the condom breaks. All he can do is hope that he is not preg, and give a fake little laugh when Stiles says “Good thing you can’t get pregnant, huh?” as Stiles is walking out of the door.

Because being pregnant? That would be so amazing awful, and how would he even tell Stiles, huh?

He couldn’t possibly ruin Stiles’s life like that. Not when it’s just started. Not when he’s already taken Stiles’s teen years from him with all those supernatural crises.

Derek does what Derek does best. He clams up about it. Disappears from Beacon Hills for months 5-9, and comes back with baby Eli. He just stares at anyone who asks who Eli’s mother is, and eventually everyone just knows not to ask.

So, Derek relaxes into the silver fox we saw in the movie. It helps that Sheriff Stilinski takes it upon himself to help Derek. And if the Sheriff is helping because all he can see is himself trying to raise Stiles after Claudia died? Well, that’s no one’s business but his own.

And Derek is grateful because not only does he have help, but Eli can get to know his granddad and know what a loving pack feels like.

And, yeah, when Stiles comes to visit his dad it’s awkward. Unbeknownst to Derek, Stiles is heartbroken that Derek ran off and had a baby so close to when they slept together. Stiles thought maybe there could be more, but obviously Derek was not into him like that.

And the awkward is too much to handle, so Stiles comes by less and less. Until it’s been 10 years since Stiles had been home, only keeping up with his dad through FaceTimes, voice calls, and texts. His dad offering info about Derek without Stiles having to ask.

And that’s how they go on. Getting little bits of information from the Sheriff about each other.

And when Derek dies? Stiles tries to go home for the funeral, but he has a panic attack as he’s boarding the plane. The flight attendants won’t let him on the plane until he calms down. He does but he misses his flight. Meaning he misses the funeral. He didn’t want to go anyway. He didn’t want to see Derek lowered into the dirt. Not the way his mom was. The way Allison was.

But Allison came back, somehow. That’s what Stiles does on the plane ride back to LA, think about the “somehows” that would allow Derek to come back. And on the car ride to Beacon Hills, he starts to cement his plans. His eyes are burning with exhaustion from the drive, the plane, the tears. So, when he sees Eli for the first time in 10 years, he’s sure he’s hallucinating.

And when Eli gets a sniff of Stiles, he rushes to hug Stiles because he smells like pack. The kind of pack he didn’t have since his dad died, and he had to move in with Scott and Allison.

Stiles tries his best to keep Eli out his plan to revive Derek, but the kid just won’t mind his own business. And Stiles has a flash of being so grateful to his father for his boundless patience when Stiles was constantly getting into something.

And the more time Stiles spends with Eli the more he realizes just how similar he and Eli are. Stiles wants to feel flattered that Derek raised a boy who was just like Stiles, but all Stiles feels is scorned. Because here is living proof that Derek didn’t hate Stiles for his personality, and the more he thinks about it - the more confused he gets.

He stops being confused and starts being suspicious when he visits his third wolf pack and see three same sex couples with a pregnant partner.

Eventually it’s well over a year later. Eli and Stiles have been disappointed time and time again, but neither one wants to call it quits. So, they don’t. They push harder. Stiles is barely sleeping, hardly eating, and the Sheriff is getting more worried every day.

Scott, for his part, has been telling Stiles to just give it up. Move on. He’s been saying that from the beginning. At least Sheriff Stilinski and he lived and he should be glad that no one in his family died. Yikes.

That conversation did not go well. It started with Stiles ripping Scott a new one and ended with Eli living with the Sheriff and Stiles.

Eli nearly dies twice, sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong. Stiles tries but fails to ban Eli from the effort to revive Derek because Eli refuses to listen and sneaks in anyway. And Stiles can’t have his son going off and doing something dangerous on his own. He won’t lose two Hales to the Hale Martyr Complex.

One day, while Stiles is sitting on the stump of the Nemeton, something just clicks. Stiles presses his hands into the stump until they phase through. Until Stiles falls into the between, Bardo. And there is Derek Hale, smiling, waiting for Stiles to bring him back. Because Derek knew if anyone would, it would be Stiles.

This time when Derek Hale is resurrected, Stiles makes him swear he won’t die again. Derek, for his part, swore that when he got out of there. When he saw Stiles again, he would be honest. About everything.

So he is. He stumbles over his words. Can barely look Stiles in the eyes as he confesses his love for him and Eli’s parentage. His palms are sweating as he talks, but he muscles through. And when he’s done, Stiles kisses him. Hard. And when they pull away Stiles says “We will talk about this later. First, we need to go see our son.”

And Derek’s heart just cracks open and oozes over 15 years worth of love for Stiles that has been building up. Derek tosses his head to the sky and howls - long and loud. He gives Stiles a brilliant grin when Eli’s howl answers and just takes off through the woods towards Eli.

The wind and Stiles laughter whips through his ears as he rushes to his son.

And that’s what happened before and after the movie :)

Everyone on here talking about Stiles mpreg but let's think this through. What makes more sense, that Stiles carried Derek's baby to term and left forever? Or that Stiles knocked Derek up unknowingly on their single hookup where they both got so awkward afterward not able to express their feelings that he left for 15 years to avoid it and Derek was too self sacrificing to tell Stiles and became a single dad? And Derek, Mr. Strange werewolf biology who aside from general werewolf shit like aging differently and shifting, can also fully turn his body into an actual wolf. Now who is more likely to have this baby? A seemingly cis male human like Stiles? Or Werewolf Derek with his already strange werewolf biology?

[fuckit-hero-of-trains]

Sit by the fire until... Chapter 2

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25870150/chapters/81650737

Here’s the thing they don’t tell you when you get magically transformed into a bunny rabbit against your will by the corrupted darkness of the Sacred Realm: somethings, unfortunately, tend to stick.  

Now, Legend isn’t saying that he’s hiding a cotton tail under his tunic or that his soul secretly aches to frolic in meadows or spend his time sleeping in holes or whatever else it is that rabbits do when they're not busy being very confused and scared twelve year old Hylians.

No.

But that doesn't mean he was left unscathed by having his entire anatomy re-written in less than an instant.

Because of course he wouldn’t. Goddess forbid he ever catch a break for once in his life.

He was still pretty young when it happened, so Legend can’t remember if his teeth had been quite so bucked before the incident. Regardless if they were or not, they sure as Hylia are prominent now. Then there's also the fact that he never really grew into his ears, the damn things always just a shade longer than they should be for a regular Hylian.

Before he joined this wild cucco chase masquerading as an adventure, Legend would sometimes catch himself looking at Ravio wondering, Is that how I would have looked? Besides the hair and eyes, the merchant was supposed to be his mirror image after all. Zelda and Hilda were, so it stood to reason that he and Ravio should be the same.

In which case, the bucktooth thing was going to be a problem regardless.

The ears, on the other hand, are a completely different story. From the quick glances Legend has managed to steal of Ravio’s side profile, the merchant has relatively short ears himself, which just make the Veteran’s own look comically long when the two stand side by side.

And ugh, and that wasn't even touching on his… less physical changes.

 Namely, his cravings.

Noshing on some leafy greens while home alone doing some chores? A-Okay.

Getting caught by Warriors and Twilight absentmindedly chewing on the hay he was supposed to be feeding the horses? Ehhh, not so much.  

Goddesses, his ego still hasn’t recovered from the amount of jokes the Pretty Boy had made at his expense. And that’s not even mentioning the veritable mountain of carrots he found in his bedroll, no doubt courtesy of that flea bitten farmhand.

Regardless of the less than natural way he got these… attributes, Legend couldn’t say they were all bad. ‘Cuz sure, his ears were a bit longer than average, but he could also hear better than most of his companions, able to catch the sound of crunching leaves above even their loud bickering. Like wise, his eyes were sharper than others in the low light of dawn and dusk, allowing him to see things others would miss.

Frankly, both skills had helped keep him alive during his quests. He was thankful for them in a weird huh, guess that works kinda way, but thankful all the same.

But sometimes Legend wanted to wring the goddesses necks because really? Being turned into a rabbit couldn’t have fixed this particular problem?

This particular problem being his absolutely horrible pollen allergies.

“ A-A-A!”

Each rapid, involuntary inhale feels like a simultaneous punch to the gut and a gasp for breath, the air yanked into his body and then stoppered up. It leaves the veteran in a state of limbo as a paralyzing calm falls over him; lungs full of air, shoulders hiked up, muscles tensed.

For a second, everything feels lodged in place, frozen, like the Champion had used his stasis rune on him.

And–

Legend clamps his mouth shut and tucks his face into his elbow just as tension snaps and–

“- acheew! ”

Nothing but a soft, cut off sneeze slips past his lips, yet, the force of holding it back  still sends Legend bowing over. He stays there, hunched over for a breath as his body recovers, before he straightens back up, sniffing irritably as he tries to ignore the itch prickling at his eyes and the congested pressure throbbing behind his sinuses.

A chortling huff sounds next to him and when Legend glances down he can see Wolfie– or should he say, Twilight– peering up at him, mouth open and tongue lolling in a doggy grin, but icy blue eyes too pointed, too teasing, to be anything but human.

Legend's nose twitches tellingly as it begins to tickle again and the wolf gives another stuttering huff. A laugh. Legend can practically hear Twilight’s twangy, Awww. You sneeze like a bunny.

The bastard.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, dog boy,” Legend grumbles, wiping harshly at his face in an attempt to stave off another sneezing fit. “Don't you have trees to piss on or something?”

That earns him peeled back lips and a growl, but Legend just sends the other a responding sneer as strides past the grumpy wolf and out into the rolling field of tulips that stands in front of them.

Another huff, this one more annoyed than amused, sounds behind the veteran before the wolf streaks past him, loping through the flowers with his nose down and tail high.

Legend rolls his eyes.

Twilight loves to show his teeth, but the farmhand is quite literally all bark and no bite.

And besides, they both have better things to do than needle one another. If Legend is going to be miserable, he may as well take steps to make that misery as short as possible.

Afterall, they aren't out here swanning through a meadow of flowers for pleasure.

The last Dark Portal they had all walked through had, once again, separated them. Legend and Twilight were lucky enough to find one another quickly, though, now that Legend thinks about it, it probably had less to do with luck and more to do with Twilight’s nose.

After regrouping, they had tried to search for the others more that day, but a storm had them holed up in a cave overnight to wait out the deluge. They had gotten up early to start their search again today, but so far they had no such luck in finding any of the others in the forest.

Which just left the inexplicable meadow of tulips surrounding the wood.

Legend had been hoping that the rain would keep some of the pollen at bay, but nooo that would be too merciful, wouldn’t it?

If anything, the rain just made this whole experience more aggravating. Now, along with stinging eyes, a running nose, and a throbbing head, Legend also had the delightful honor of feeling the tulip stalks and leaves and petals sliding wetly across his skin, the annoying slap of his tunic smacking his thighs as it got more sodden by the second, and the disgusting squish of water between his toes with every step he took through this Wind Fish damned field.

And sure, maybe it was worth it to reunite with the other heroes, but really, would it kill the goddesses to make his life just a little bit easier.

A bark pulls Legend from his miserable musings. Twilight's dark tail stands out among the ocean of pastel pinks and yellows and oranges, wagging frantically twenty meters away. It disappears after a second, replaced by a muzzle and expectant eyes.

Twilight barks at him again.

He must have found something.

Finally, Legend thinks as he begins to make his way over toward the other, hopefully a reason to get out of this floral hell hole.

“What is it, boy?” Legend asks, voice going high and mocking as he takes delicate care stepping on as many flowers as possible, “Little Time-y fall down the well again?”

Instead of a growl for his effort, Legend gets a flurry of black flecks falling upward, like pieces of reverse snow, in his peripheral vision.

“You know,” Twilight says as he straightens to his full height, eyes half-lidded. Unamused, “You’re really not as funny as you seem to think you are.”

And before Legend can interrupt that– No, actually, you just have a dog shit sense of humor. Literally– Twilight continues, “I can smell the smithy all over this thing.” He nods down at a small tree stump breaking through the tide of flowers. “The scent is a bit old, probably from sometime before last evening, but still traceable. I should be able to find him from here.”

Legend eyes the stump for a moment, peering into the cracked hole in the top of the wood. Inside, he can see the round, red caps of several toadstools sprouting.

He can also sense magic. Close to that of the fairies– natural and glittering and smelling of moss– but not quite the same.

The Smithy’s doing?

Or a natural occurrence?

Regardless…

“Welp,” Legend says, straightening up, “Let's go find him. Couldn’t have gotten far on those little legs of his.”

“Again,” Twilight huffs, the black fractals already consuming him once more as he transforms, “You’re not as funny as you think...”

His voice distorts and fades into nothing as the magic swallows him whole, leaving Legend once again having a conversation with a very unimpressed looking wolf.

“I like you better when you can’t talk,” Legend tells Twilight as the other sets off, snuffling at the ground.

The other pauses to give Legend a look that would be more at home on a disapproving mother’s face, before continuing his tracking.

He also whaps Legend in the leg with his tail.

Hard.

The prick.

They continue on their trek together like that for a while, Twilight occasionally pausing to shove his nose into the dirt some more as he decides which direction to follow as Legend trails behind, keeping his eyes peeled for a quadripartite tunic and a head of straight, gold hair.

It isn't long before the farmhand turned canine breaks off into a light trot and then a jog, and then a full on sprint.

And stops just as suddenly.

Legend is out of breath by the time he slides to a stop behind the farmhand, but from a cursory glance around, there doesn’t seem to be a short, mouthy smithy anywhere in the vicinity.

“What happened?” Legend asks, still searching, turning circles as he cranes his neck, “Did you lose the trail?”

Twilight gives a light whine, grabbing Legend’s attention.

Then he does two full spins and sits primly, looking up at Legend.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Legend crinkles his nose at the canine. “Use your words.”

Wolfie rolls his eyes in a way that Legend didn’t think was possible for dogs and then stands.

The canine stares at him intently, as though making sure Legend’s eyes are locked with his own. And then he flicks his eyes over the yellow tulip he is sitting next to meaningfully. Then back to Legend. Back and forth back and forth, his eyes go for a full minute before he stops and stares at Legend once more.

Legend feels as his face wrinkles in confusion.

It's just a regular tulip, just like the thousands currently around them. Pretty enough, he supposes. The bulb seems to be a little wilted, like it's been weighed down by rain water perhaps, but other than that, nothing to sneeze at.

Or everything to sneeze at, if you’re Legend.

Legend gives the flower one more skeptical glance before turning to look at Twilight once more, brow raised.

“Pretty,” he assures the other. “Not sure how it helps us find Four.”

Twilight heaves another too human sigh.

And then he reaches up,  takes the sleeve of Legend’s tunic between his teeth, and yanks.

“Hey!” Legend yelps as he’s dragged down into the dirt, “Watch the teeth! The embroidery on this thing took forever to do and even longer to enchant!”

Twilight pays him no mind, pulling him down and forward, closer to his chosen tulip.

Legend tries his best to keep his face away from the damn thing.

“I swear on The Three, if your slobber stains–”

Legend’s words crumple up and die in his throat.

There’s something in the tulip.

At first glance, Legend would identify it as the Smithy's earring. The small feathered one that he takes special care of. The one that Four refuses to tell Legend the origin of, besides his cryptic, “From a friend.”

Legend would say that it was just the earring, but… but it isn’t.

Rather than being completely red with a white tip, Legend can see that this little feather is only mostly red. Right before the tip, a darker red plumage takes over, followed by purple and blue and green.

Also, rather than being attached to the small, golden chain and stud Four uses to fasten the jewelry to his earlobe, it’s attached to a body.

A very, very small body.

By now, Twilight has let go of his sleeve, but Legend both doesn’t notice and doesnt care, all of his attention fixed on the little creature before his eyes.

From what he can tell, the little creature is asleep, curled up in the bulb of the flower, his feather tail tucked up near his nose for warmth. Looking past the plumage, Legend can see that the little guy has a very rat-like face, complete with a small, twitching pink nose, long whiskers and–because the creature is shivering– long, chattering rodent incisors. Oval shaped ears stick out from the creature's head, a mix between mouse-like and Hylian.

And framing those ears is shoulder length, soaking wet blonde hair.

Blonde hair held out of the little guy's face by a green headband.

And…

And he’s wearing the smithy’s tunic?

“... Four?” Legend whispers in amazement.

And just saying the other’s name out loud is like a spell because suddenly Legend can see all signs. The little guy has Four’s bag over his shoulder and the Four Sword at his hip. That same magic that was by the stump– the not-fairy, fairy magic– completely surrounds him, dusting him in the same way he is currently dusted in yellow pollen.

“Is that you, Smithy?” Legend asks a little louder.

But rather than startle awake, the small creature– Four, Legend reminds himself– simply hunkers down more fully into the flower, curling up more fully as his shivers increase.

“He must have transformed in order to speak with the Minish around here.”

Twilight’s voice, even though it is a whisper, gives Legend a start. He hadn’t realized the other had transformed, nor had he seen the farmhand crouch down by his side.

The other isn’t looking at him as he speaks, cool blue eyes instead locked on the fitfully sleeping smithy, face concerned.

“He once told me that the Minish are insatiable gossips. He must have transformed to try and find us.”

The concern on the farhand’s face darkens the longer he stares.

“He must have been caught out in the storm,” Twilight says grimly.

Legend tries to imagine what that would be like. To be the size of a mouse and out in a storm. Tries to imagine what it would feel like for gale force winds to pull at drag at him, crushing him into the dirt one moment and yanking off his feet the next. Tries to imagine dodging back and forth between tulips, avoiding the head sized, stone cold rain drops pelting down from the sky

It's not a pretty pictograph, he’ll admit.

And ugh, Legend really isn't a fan of what it's making him consider.

He spares another glance at Four.

And fuck, the little guy shivers and shivers and shivers until the fower he is sleeping in is shaking with it.

And then, he sneezes, the sound coming out tiny and squeaky and weak.

Son of a bitch.

With a sigh that is as weary and reluctant and annoyed as he can possibly force it to be even though the vetran is feeling none of those things, Legend takes hold of the flower near its stem. As gently as possible, he digs his nails into the soft green there, cutting the flower from the ground while keeping it intact.

He hands it to Twilight, who takes it from him with gentle, if slightly confused hands.

With one hand, Legend flips open his shoulder bag. With the other, he rips his hat from his head with a motion probably a tad more violent than is really called for. He arranges the hat inside the bag, making sure to cover his items with the soft fabric while also shaping a soft bed.

Without looking up from his work, Legend extends a hand out to Twilight.

Makes a grabbing motion when what he wants isn't immediately in his hand.

After a second, Twilight slowly places the stem of the flower back in Legend’s hand and the Veteran gently lowers it in the small nest he had created, making sure the bulb sits in a place both shielded from the sun and extra comfortable thanks to the extra fabric padding beneath it.

In one smooth motion, Legend takes a hold of the strap of his bag, pulls it carefully off of his shoulder, and places it on the other side of Twilight’s neck.

And then, he reaches down and touches the dark stone hanging from the necklace around the farmhand’s throat, letting the darkness flock around and consume him.  

When Legend blinks open his eyes, Twilight is looking down at him smugly.

He is looking down farther than usual.

Also looking smugger than usual.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, shaking out his fur before hopping on all fours to get closer to the bag.

“I didn’t say anything,” Twilight replies, not bothing to wipe the smug look off his stupid face even as he lowers the bag to the ground for easier access.

“Yeah you did,” Legend hisses quietly as he clambers carefully into the satchel, settling down the nest of leather and items and hat.

He pulls the flower closer to his side where it is warm.

Inside, he can feel as Four’s shivers begin to lessen.

"Cute," Twilight laughs from above them.

"Fuck you," Legend whisper spits, though he makes no move to push Four's flower away. If anything, he pulls it closer when he hears the smaller hero start to make small, chittering snores, surprised the smithy could sleep through such a racket.

Twilight, thankfully, doesn't comment, instead pulling the top of the bag loosely closed to give them some shade. Then, Legend feels as he gently lifts the satchel back up, slings it slowly over his shoulder as to not disturb the contents inside, and begins walking, hopefully back in the direction of the forest.

Legend can still hear the farmhand laughing to himself from within the bag, but without the others' eyes on him, he finds he doesn't care.

The pollen still itches at his eyes and nose and Legend can still feel the pound of his sinuses even now.  But something about the shade and warmth and soft rocking of the bag makes it hard for him to mind.

Four gives a harty twitch, kicking a petal directly into Legend’s face.

And even that doesn't dissuade the veteran from his task.

Instead, Legend sighs and pulls Four even closer, relaxing despite the discomfort.

He’s got dirt on both Twilight and now Four, the two heroes with sticks most firmly inserted into their asses. He can get out of whatever chores and lectures they try to pin him with.

Yep, he thinks , distantly. That's why he did this.

For the blackmail.

And no other reason.

[janetbrown711]

"Wait- where are you going?" Wakko

If Wakko heard another word about that stupid disneyland prince, he was going to scream.

Every since that party he was all Yakko would talk about. Except in the rare moments where Yakko would instead talk about Disneyland and its "fascinating history".

"Wakko, did you know they were in a war just a few years ago? It was between-"

"Max is first in line in his kingdom too, I wonder what that means for-"

"Wakko, did you know their colors are blah blah and blah?"

"Wakko did you know Max has brown eyes-"

"Wakko, Max blah blah blah blah blah-"

Every. Single. Conversation.

Sure, at first it was fun (hilarious, even) to poke fun at Yakko and his newfound crush, to make him act stupid for once. It was also really funny when he teamed up with Dot and forced him to interact.

But now? Now he was confident he was regretting that move with every fiber of his being. It never ended- just "yakyakyakyak" about Max. Hell- Wakko was pretty sure if he ever saw the guy he'd bite his face off just so Yakko would finally stop talking about him.

Wakko tried asking his mom to ask him to stop but she just chuckled and said it's a harmless crush and the yakking about Max will go away eventually.

Weeks passed, and nothing changed.

So, to punish Yakko, Wakko purposefully stopped hanging out with him. If he wanted to talk about his stupid crush he could talk about it with Dad or Dot or someone- ANYONE who wasn't him.

...

Another week passed and it was like Yakko didn't even notice. He never looked for him, never got confused when he suddenly left a room, none of that. At diner, he'd hardly even glance at him. His head was too full of that stupid prince to even notice.

He spent a lot more time with his mom instead, which he didn't hate. He loved cuddling with her or curling up on her lap during a meeting, while she stroked his ears softly. Plus- sometimes she'd actually ask for his input (something Yakko clearly had no interest in as of late). At least he felt useful somewhere...

Oh yeah, and he went to see Doctor Scratchnsniff, but... well... eh? Wakko didn't really like him and how he'd poke at him, and Wakko usually just preferred to cuddle up to his mother while in the office instead of talking. He was weird. Wakko didn't like that.

Be that as it may, Wakko still enjoyed the time he spent with his mother after a year of having her gone, and was happy she was trying her best to make him feel better.

However, all that changed in an instant, when one morning at breakfast his mother announced she and Yakko were taking a trip to Disneyland together, leaving the rest of them behind.

"What? Why?!" Wakko shot up in his chair. Everyone turned, shocked at the sudden outburst.

"It's for diplomatic reasons, Wakko. It's part of my duty as Queen to get acquainted with our allies, and it's important for Yakko to do so too," Lena explained lied to him.

"It's for that stupid prince, isn't it?!" Wakko glared daggers at his older brother.

"Well- i- uh-" He fumbled, which only made Wakko angrier.

"Wakko, please," Lena placed a hand on his shoulder, which he brushed off, jumping down from his chair and running out of the dining room.

Where exactly he was going he didn't know, but he had a feeling no one was going to chase after.

He ran for a very very long time, before realizing he should probably slow down, but before he did he crashed headfirst into none other than Doctor Scratchnsniff and the two of them went crashing down.

"Ahh... Wakko? Are you okay?" The doctor asked, rubbing his head. Wakko looked at him silently, before sniffling and rubbing his head too.

"Something the matter? Is it about Yakko?" He asked. Wakko frowned.

"Ah... I see. It's his trip, ya?" The doctor said, getting up. Wakko growled, staying on the floor.

The doctor sighed. "My doors are always open if you need an ear," he said before leaving. Wakko continued growling until he was out of sight.

He did not like that man.

Eventually, he heard footsteps behind him and he dashed into the nearest room, which was stone and dark and empty. He made sure to lock the door behind him and held a hand over his mouth so no one could hear him breathe.

"Wakko?"

It was his mom.

"Wakko, darling, I don't mean to abandon you... it's just... as queen, there are certain duties I must fulfill that you can't always follow," She said softly.

Wakko remained silent.

"Your brother and I love you very much, you know that, right?" She placed a hand on the door.

She could say what she wanted, but he knew they planned this on purpose. To go see that stupid prince. Ugh.

Eventually, the queen sighed. "We'll be back by tonight. I'll still be able to tuck you in if you want."

He remained silent, stewing.

"I'll see you tonight... I love you," she said, before leaving.

Wakko waited a while in there. It was an overcast day. Not heavy enough to rain, but enough that the room was grey and barely any sunlight was getting through, leaving him cold and mostly in shadow.

Wakko didn't like being alone. In the cold. In the dark. Against the stone flooring. It sent chills down his spine and a heavy feeling in his chest.

It reminded him of the tower.

After a long time, he eventually got up and wandered aimlessly, not knowing what to do without his mother and storming far away from Dot and his father, who were probably doing their own thing by now.

Eventually, he made his way to a familiar doorway. He hated it, he hated it more than anything. It was a reminder of his grandmother- of her cruelty and hatred...

But every so often out of pure painful boredom he'd go and visit it.

Not the actual room- his mother had that locked with a real big lock and key, but just... the base. He'd sit there, and stare at it. Expecting something.

What he expected he didn't know.

Maybe for his grandmother to pop up and drag him back there for Yakko to have to save him again.

Maybe for it to collapse in front of him because of its uselessness.

Maybe for it to open up once more and he can look at the familiar prison once again, and feel... whatever this was some more.

Wakko grumbled and pulled his hat lower as he stared at the door to the entrance.

"You having a staring contest?" The voice of his younger sister caught him off guard.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" He asked, wiping his face. Dot sat next to him.

"Yakko's being dumb lately," She said, curling her knees to her chest. "He keeps talking about that prince."

"I bet he's not even that great. I bet he smells and has a stupid laugh," Wakko huffed.

"I bet he's dumb," Dot agreed.

"Yeah, he is dumb," He crossed his arms, thinking a moment.

"We need to stop them," He said. "Before he separates us from Yakko for good."

Dot blinked. "You really think he's trying to do that?" She asked, the question striking a nerve.

Wakko nodded. "Why else would Yakko not want to hang out? It's just like before... with Her," he seethed. Dot gasped, understanding the gravity of the situation.

"We have to separate them. For Yakko's own good," She said. "But... how? Mom and Dad are on his side," She pointed out.

"We'll have to find our own ways, but with our minds combined, I'm sure we'll figure something out in no time," Wakko said confidently.

"Yeah!" Dot said confidently. "We'll stop him and Yakko will be back in no time."

And so the two then swore an oath that no matter what, they wouldn't let this foreign prince- this Prince Maxamillion- take their brother away from them no matter what it took.

Now all they had to do was think up a plan...

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 The End

[buckyownsmylife]

Secret Love Song - Matthew Gray Gubler smut

The one where there’s only one bed and you’re dripping wet.

Warnings: smut, p in v, no foreplay on this one, unprotected sex (do not recommend), idiots in love, 1 bed trope, curses, dirty talk

A/N: Day 9 of kinktober prompts: 1 bed and see-through clothes!

Matthew’s P.O.V.

I should have known that bringing her out here would be a mistake. I’d done it with the best of intentions, of course, but now that we were alone, in the middle of the woods, in a cabin with a single bed while a storm raged outside the wooden walls, I couldn’t really remember my own reasoning.

Why did I think a weekend getaway alone with my best friend would help me get over my not-so-platonic feelings for her? 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” I tried again, scratching the back of my neck while I tried very hard to ignore the way her white dress clinged to her beautiful body, the rain making it more transparent than any innocent clothing item should be. “I swear, the description said there were two rooms! I don’t know what happened…”

I was beyond frustrated with the whole situation, much more than it was rationally justified, but I’d been struggling with trying to keep appearances with the woman I was very quickly falling in love with, and this whole situation wasn’t helpful in the slightest.

“Matthew,” she called my attention, a cold hand suddenly on my forearm, making me look at her in the eyes for the first time in a while. “Relax, it’s not a big deal. I mean, you definitely should get a refund when the weekend’s over, but we already drove all the way here and I really don’t want to get out there again right now.”

As if to punctuate what she’d just said, a lightning stroke right outside the main window overlooking the lake we were supposed to hangout on, and she all but jumped on my arms, effectively sticking our wet bodies together. 

“S-sorry,” she whispered, immediately letting go of me, and I found myself shivering more from the coldness that the absence of her touch brought than the iciness I should have felt by having the wet fabric of her dress against me. “I just really hate lightning,” she explained, avoiding my eyes as she looked around the floor we were dripping all over, and I couldn’t help but to smile.

“I know.” That made her look up at me again, and for a second, nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said. It was one of those moments where words felt absolutely meaningless, and time seemed unreal, as she stared back at me with those bright eyes I loved so much. “Of course I know. I’m your best friend.”

Way to break my own moment.

Clearing my throat, I destroyed the connection by looking around the room in the hopes of finding anything that could distract me from how much I wanted to kiss her right now. “Hey, so, do you want to take a shower?”

She took a second to answer, but when she did, I felt like my heart was going to beat right out of my chest, through my throat. “With you?”

My head whipped around to look back at her so quickly that I swore I got whiplash. “What? N-no! I-I just meant, y-you should probably get on the shower already, I don’t want you getting a cold…”

She was pressing her lips so tightly they were starting to look pale, and it made me stop talking all at once. “You were kidding,” I realized, and then her giggles escaped, warming up the room and my heart at the same time.

“Of course I was, Matthew. But would it be so bad?” My eyes grew twice their size at her question, until she started laughing again. “Oh my God, what is going on with you? Why are you acting so awkwardly around me, Gube?”

Groaning, I ran a hand through my wet curls, looking up at the ceiling in the hopes of finding the courage to get through the night. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Y/L/N. Go. Under the shower, please.”

She was still giggling as she picked up her backpack, stopping on the threshold of the bathroom door to look back at me and say, “Ok, but I’ll be waiting for you.” And with a wink, she was gone. 

I gawked at the closed door for a long time, trying to understand what the hell was happening, if she was still joking or if she really wanted me to follow her into the bathroom. I hadn’t heard the sound of the door locking when she closed it, but could that really mean that she wanted to…?

I spent so much time staring at the stupid freaking door that I only realized how long I was standing there like an idiot when I heard her twist the doorknob, appearing right where I’d last seen her right after.

“You’re still there?” She asked, looking sincerely worried about me while drying her hair off with a towel. Before she could approach and make my head even more screwed up than it already was with the smell of her shampoo, I jumped into action, grabbing my own backpack and taking long strides towards the bathroom.

“Yeah, just… gonna take a shower now…”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Matthew had been acting weird for at least two months now, and I had no idea what was happening, if I’d done something to offend him or hurt our friendship in someway or another. Just the thought of that being a possibility made me feel physically ill. 

I didn’t want to lose Matthew. That was the whole reason why I’d been trying to keep my feelings for him in control. But now I was wondering if I’d even managed to do that, or if I’d screwed it all up and he was just too great to tell me about how awkward I’d made things between us. 

Because that was the only explanation I could come up with to justify these weird vibes that had taken over the once perfect connection we shared. He’d realized I had a crush on him, and now he didn’t know where to go from here. 

But I wasn’t ready to give up on him yet.

We’d left the curtains open so the moonlight could still illuminate the room a bit, as we made our way to the single bed in the room. Thankfully, it had stopped raining, but the eventual thunder that struck through the room warned us that there was still more to come before we fell asleep.

“Night,” Matthew whispered before turning to the other side, wrapping himself up on the covers that were available to us. My heart hurt as I looked at my best friend and considered all there was to lose if we left things unspoken, unresolved. 

I’d hoped this idea of his to take a trip just the two of us would take away the awkwardness and restore what we had, but it was clear that wouldn’t be the case. Not without some actual effort from at least one of us.

“Matthew,” I started, turning to put one hand on his shoulder, but at the sight of him flinching at my touch, I quickly removed it, dry swallowing at the hurt in my chest. At least, it gave me the strength that I needed to keep on going with this conversation. “We really need to talk.”

I was actually expecting some resistance from his part, but after a few seconds of silence he let out a sigh, pushing away the covers that were over his body and sitting up on the mattress just like I was. 

“Yeah, I think so too.” The room felt heavy, far too uncomfortable with this silence that neither of us seemed to know how to break. Just when I was about to open my mouth to speak, another thunder echoed throughout the room, making me jump on the bed and fall over Matthew.

“I’m sorry,” I said, but we were laughing, and just like that, the mood was shifted and we were back to being best friends again. “I miss you, Gube,” I admitted in a single breath, getting lost in those hazel eyes that I knew so well. I heard it when his breath hitched, but he didn’t push me away, which I considered a win. No, instead, he collected my hands in his and started to rub them with his thumbs, and it felt so good to have his touch on my skin again, so right, that I almost felt like I could cry.

“I know, sweetheart. I missed you too.” I wanted this moment to stretch. I wanted to remain in it forever, I didn’t want to have to break it by starting up the conversation I needed to have, because I didn’t want to face the reality of being in love with my best friend, who would never love me back.

But I knew I couldn’t. I had to be a grown up and deal with this. We needed to talk about it, before it was too late. It was now or never. “I know you know I’m in love with you.” Ok, maybe too abruptly. I could see that by the way his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Look, Gube, it doesn’t have to be weird. I’ve been feeling this way for ages, and if you’ve only noticed these last few months, that means we can get over this. I don’t want to lose you. I want our friendship to stay the same.”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on. You’re in love with me?” He asked, and now I was confused.

“Of course I am, but you knew that…” Whatever it was that I planned on saying, it was interrupted by Matthew’s hands on each side of my face, his lips on mine. He swallowed whatever it was I intended to say, and he kept swallowing each of my attempts to break us apart where I hoped to understand what was going on. “Matthew, what the hell is going on?” I finally managed to ask when he had to let me go so we could both take a breath. 

Matthew’s P.O.V.

“You love me,” I repeated, like a dumbass, still having the hardest time believing my luck. This amazing woman, who I was lucky enough to call my best friend, actually loved me too. 

“Yes, I do,” she confirmed it, although she was frowning. I knew she was confused, and I wanted to explain what was going on inside my head, what I’d been hiding in my heart for so long now, but I also desperately wanted to kiss her until we both were out of breath again. So before she could ask anything else, I leaned over her, fusing our lips together, and forcing her to lie back over the bed, before I climbed on top of her.

She tasted like the mint toothpaste she had lended me because I’d forgotten mine and I never thought I’d love a simple taste so much. I suppose it was due to her, though. It was because the lips I was currently prying open belonged to the most beautiful woman I knew.

When it came the time to separate again, I opted to keep my lips on her soft skin, first giving her a quick kiss on the cheek - something I’d done countless times before, but it’d never made my heart so full as in that moment. Then I kissed just behind her ear, appreciating the way her breath hitched as I allowed my hands to slowly explore her body, carefully pushing up the t-shirt she had worn to bed.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” I admitted, hearing her moan at my words or at the pressure of my hardened cock against her navel. Just the warmth of her skin was enough to drive me crazy. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Her eyes met mine then, and I could see she was trying to find some sign of mockery on them, but I was too busy wanting to feel her, all of her, against me at last. “I’m in love with you too, Y/N. I’ve been in love with you for so long. Please, let me show you.”

She looked up at me slack-jawed, one of her hands right over my speeding heart on my chest. After what felt like an eternity, she nodded, allowing her body to fall back on the bed, before pushing up my shirt, signaling she wanted it off.

“Please, show me.” I didn’t need to be told twice. After throwing my shirt on the floor, I worked on getting hers off her body, quickly doing the same to her little shorts. Then she was naked in front of me, sprawled over the bed, just like I’d dreamt about so many times before, and I couldn’t believe it.

“You’re so beautiful.” And she was. She was prettier than anything I’d ever seen, more perfect than I’d ever imagine her to be. “I want to kiss every inch of your body.” By the satisfied little sigh she let out as I caressed her body with my hands, stopping to gently grope on her breasts, it didn’t seem like she minded my plan.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Matthew’s stupidly pink lips engulfed my pebbled nipple and I fucking cried out at the warm sensation, even before he began to pull and suck on it. I was just so fucking sensitive, every nerve end on edge at having my best friend touching me like this, saying everything that I’d wanted to hear for so long.

I still couldn’t believe it, but it’s not like I had the time to let it sink in. And I wasn’t crazy enough to stop this from happening. Whatever it may happen in the morning, I was going to allow myself to enjoy this evening, enjoy the feeling of his huge hands running over my body, the weight of his on top of mine, the pressure of his long cock against my lower belly as he subconsciously rutted against my bare pussy, his eyes connected to mine, sparkling with emotions I couldn’t begin to understand. 

“Matthew, please…” I begged, needing to feel him inside of me now. I couldn’t handle the foreplay, not right now, not after how long I’d waited for this. “Please, get inside of me.” That seemed to surprise him, by the way he let go of my breast with a wet sound, still not stopping with his exploration of my body, though.

“Are you sure?” He licked his lips as his hands went lower and lower, until he was cupping my wetness. “I don’t m- Oh.” I had to bite my lip to suppress the giggle that threatened to escape and perhaps ruin the mood at the surprise in my best friend’s face over just how wet I already was. But then he continued to touch me, rubbing his fingers from my hole to my clit before coming back down and pushing two of them in, and I writhed over the covers that had been hastily thrown around the bed, my moans floating around the room. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Hearing Matthew cursing was already an arousing situation for me, but when I was the cause for it and he was knuckle deep inside of me, I felt like I was losing my mind as I jutted my hips up, trying to keep the friction going. 

“Yes,” I whispered, enjoying the lust-filled gaze he was directioning me. 

“Who made you this wet?” He asked, and I swear, if I could, I would have laughed, but as it were, Matthew’s digits brushed right over that special place deep inside of me, and my moans turned into whines. “Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy. Hold your knees, spread them open. I wanna see you while I take off my pants.”

Just being this vulnerable, my glistening pussy completely exposed to him, made me even more wet. I was about to beg him again when his flannel sweatpants suddenly dropped to the ground, and I was looking at the most beautiful cock I’d ever seen. He was already dripping precum, and my mouth watered at the sight, but at the same time, my pussy clenched around nothing, desperately needing that thickness inside of it.

“Just fuck me already, Gubler.” He was on me in a second, one hand rubbing the head of his cock on my clit, while the other caressed my face. I could feel his heavy breathing on my skin, raising goosebumps where it touched.

Matthew’s P.O.V.

“Are you sure about this?” I had to ask. I couldn’t deal with myself if she were to regret this in the morning. “We can stop now, if you want. We can pretend this never happened. But if we go through with this, I won’t be able to let you go. I’m warning you now so you can make your decision.”

When she rolled her eyes, I felt my chest warm up as a huge smile took over my face. “I swear to God, Matthew, if you don’t get your dick inside of me…” I didn’t let her finish, immediately thrusting in until I bottomed out. Her mouth fell open, her thighs automatically closing in around my body.

“You were saying,” I jested, waiting for her to adjust to my intrusion as I nibbled on her earlobe. The only response I got was the thrust of her own hips, signaling that she wanted me to move. “I love you, Y/N,” I whispered in her ear before I abided by her wishes, slowly but passionately starting to fuck her into the mattress.

“I-I love you two, Gube. Fuck, you’re so deep.” I took advantage of her throwing her head back in pleasure to bite on her neck, eliciting the most delicious gasp from her. 

“Yeah? You like how I feel inside your little pussy?” The way she groaned at my words made me smile, prompting me to pick up the speed of my thrusts. “Do you like the way I fuck you, baby? Is it everything you wished for?”

“Yes, yes!” She repeated over and over again, moving her hips to meet my thrusts. “It’s even better, Matthew, fuck!” Sweat was dripping down my forehead and onto her face, and she simply licked it away when it reached her lips.

“I want to stay right here forever,” I warned her, leaning down on my forearms so I could connect our lips once more. “You have the best pussy, God!” Suddenly, she gripped my biceps, carving her nails on my skin. By the way her moans were spilling out of her lips, I knew she was getting close. “You wanna cum, baby? You gonna cum for me? Milk my cum inside this perfect pussy?”

I sneaked a hand between us so I could press my thumb against her clit, drawing quick circles over it, and in seconds, she was trembling, crying out my name as tears spilled from her eyes and I had to grit my teeth to force myself not to shout as I followed her, cumming inside of her.

“We good?” She asked when we were finally able to speak again, our breathing patterns now back to a regular tempo, and I had to laugh. Before throwing myself next to her in bed, I leaned down to kiss her nose and her lips once more, pulling her warm body so she’d cuddle me.

“We’re more than good. We’re together now. It’s perfect.”

[silma-words]

Hey if you’re still accepting prompts then can you do #2 and #19 from prompt list 1

N/A: Thank you so much for the prompts Anon, and sorry for the delay! I hope you will like this, and that you are ready for some angst! :)

~~~~~

Choices: Bloodbound

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Ellie)

Rating: PG / Warning: None

Genre: Angst

AU Chronology: Bloodbound AU (after book 1 – the events of book 2 never happened) – ‘Inevitable - Arc II: About time’ (Masterlist) - Sequel to "The right thing to do" and “Seventy-two”.

Summary: She was ready to leave everything behind, but Adrian shows up at her door step.

Inspired by prompts #2 and #19 from Prompt List #1: 2: “Please don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry”; 19: “I think I’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me”

Words: 2900

**Disclaimer: Characters and background plot are the property of Pixelberry.**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picking up the pieces

What the hell was he doing here? Why now? Why did it take him that long to do what she had been hoping he would for over two months? What was he expecting of her? Drop all of her plans and crawl back to him after he had shattered her heart?

Unable to control the flow of questions that were rushing through her head, Ellie was shaking. Her back still against the door that she had quickly shut in Adrian’s face after finding him crouching on her doorstep, she could not stop the flow of tears either.

It had been so hard for her to wrap her mind around Adrian’s unilateral decision to end whatever was blooming between them and find a way to pull herself together, she now felt dragged back to that night in his apartment where he had delivered the blow. Just like that night, she felt her body being twisted and pulled apart in every direction from the inside, confusion mingling with anger, hurt, heartbreak, and love.

Why did he have to come back here and plunge another knife into the wound had barely started to heal? Wasn’t she doing what he wanted? He wanted her to chase her dreams and get out in the world without him tying her back, and that was what she was forcing herself to do. That’s why she had decided to take a leap and try her luck away from America, on neutral ground. Why would he change his mind now that she was about to leave? Had he always expected her to remain in his midst, close enough so she would never forget him? Close enough for him to reach her if he ever changed his mind? Or had he been waiting for her to come back to him all along?

*Ellie… please… Please come home… I miss you*

The sound of Adrian’s voice from the other side of the door tore through her. It brushed aside the million questions that had been invading her head as it reminded her how defeated he had looked at her feet in the corridor just a few minutes before. It was such a clear contrast with the resignation that she had read in his eyes the night he had delivered the blow.

She had believed him when he had claimed that this decision had been difficult for him as much as for her, but somehow part of her had tried to convince herself that he did not want her as much as she wanted him. That he had known that she was in it deeper than he was, and had been kind enough to end it before she relied on him too much. He had never hinted as much, but to her, it made more sense and hurt a little less than to believe that he had been really willing to sacrifice what they had just to give her a chance at a normal, mortal life. He had claimed he wanted her safe. But safe from the dangers of supernatural beings, or safe from the heartbreak that he would inevitably cause her?

Now that he was here, begging for her to come back to him, she was even more lost than when he had left her with no hope to convince him to let her stay. Her entire body physically ached at the thought of Adrian waiting desperately for her to answer his plea. But the idea of facing him filled her with dread.

Would she be strong enough to push him away? Did she want to? Would she even be able to reason properly and decide what to do with him standing before her?

She could feel his presence behind her despite the wooden door separating them. It was heavy. It was familiar. It was tearing a hole through her chest at the thought that he might turn around and leave before she could hear what he had to say. She could not ignore him a minute longer.

Drawing a deep breath, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, straightened herself and fumbled with the lock with trembling hands, bracing herself as she slowly opened the door. The guilt and yearning that she found in his eyes the second their eyes met drew her breath away, as if she had taken a punch straight to her guts. As much as she had wanted him to hurt as much as she did, it was a sight that made it all even worse. God, she cared way too much for that man.

“Adrian, I…” she started feebly, not sure what she really wanted to say. “I don’t understand what you want from me… I did as you asked…”

His silence was terrifying. He did not seem able to move away from the door frame, staring at her in shock as if his earlier plea behind the door had stunned him as much as it had her. Or was he surprised that she had accepted to face him, one last time?

“Adrian, please…. You have to explain, I… I… what the hell do you want?”. She had aimed her last words to be sharp and assertive, but they only came out as a desperate whisper. That seemed enough to shake him from his trance.

Closing the space between them, he wrapped his arms around her without a word, cradling her against his chest so tightly that she thought he might crush her. He let out a heavy sigh, burying his nose in her hair and swaying them both gently from side to side, as if trying to shake a nightmare away. A nightmare that they had both shared and were desperately trying to wake up from.

Ellie wanted nothing more than to let him sooth that ache away and forget all about the past two months. She would have never thought that the feel of his body against hers and the scent of him surrounding her could have so much power, stronger than any balm, any medicine, or any drug that had ever been designed to relieve unbearable pain. She felt like she could just fall asleep right there, lulled by the vibrations of his heartbeat and by the way his chest was heaving against her ear with every dragged breath that he took.

“I am so sorry, Ellie…” he finally spoke, a soft whisper blowing through her hair.

*I am sorry*. Words that she had been craving to hear from his lips but that now sounded like a joke to her ears. No matter how good it felt to be in his arms again, she could not forget the pain and anger that had been eating her up for weeks because of him. She could not let him win her over like this so easily. She would never forgive herself if she did.

Pressing her palms flat on his chest, she gently pushed against him to force him to take a few steps back and let her look at him in the eyes.

“What are you sorry about, exactly?” she asked, her voice sturdier now that she felt confident enough to confront him. “Sorry that you pushed me away? Sorry that you hurt me? Or sorry that I am leaving because of you?”.

She could see the hurt flashing through his eyes at her words, although guilt was still masking his beautiful features painfully.

“I am sorry for all of it, Ellie.”. There was no hesitation in his voice. No lie and no false chivalry. She could tell that he was offering her the whole truth. “And I am sorry that I never left you a choice in this, that I assumed that I would know better what would be good for you… I was so wrong… so wrong…”.

He tried to reach for her, but she took a step back, wincing, and shaking her head slightly.

“What makes you think now that you were wrong? Has anything changed between now and the night you told me I needed to move out from your life? Am I any less mortal? Are you any less of a vampire? Is your life any less dangerous now?”.

Adrian looked like she had slapped him. Turning against him the arguments he had used to make her leave was the last thing she wanted to do, but she knew she had to. His words were engraved in her mind forever, and she was convinced that not even Scholar Jameson would be able to erase that from her memories. The words had burned so slowly and so bright through her skull throughout the past two months that they had become a truth that she had forced herself to accept.

“No, you’re right” Adrian conceded. “These things have not changed. There is still so much that I wish a life with me could not deprive you of, but… what changed is that I thought I could be strong for the both of us by letting you go, but… I was fooling myself… I cannot stand the idea of you moving away while I never really gave you a choice in this….”

“So…” she started tentatively, raising an eyebrow betraying her confusion. “This is about giving me back my right to choose? I could either go and start a new life somewhere else, or stay here and get back to you?”

Adrian nodded silently, letting the idea sink in her head.

Not having to make a choice had somehow made things easier for her before. She could not have done anything else but to move on. But now that he was here and offering her a way back to him, she was clueless about what to do. She felt raw, exposed, vulnerable. His piercing blue eyes seemed to be digging through her soul, trying to read her mind and to find the emotions she had been desperate to hide.

“What do you want Ellie?” he asked softly, raising a tentative hand towards hers to reach her cheek. “This is what I should have asked you from the start, and I am sorry I didn’t. So I am asking you now: what do you want to do, Ellie? What does your heart tell you to do?”

She closed her eyes, letting her cheek lean into his touch, forcing her breath to calm down to find the strength to finally pull out of her these words that she had wanted to say for so long. “Adrian, I think I’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me.”

She felt her body weaken at her admittance, feeling more vulnerable and exposed than ever before now that her heart was on display before him, bare and beating erratically in despair.

As if knowing this, Adrian instantly wrapped his other arm around her waist to pull her back against him, preventing her from seeing the reaction on his face, but allowing her to feel him tremble against her, and to hear his heartbeat mirror the irregular pattern of hers.

But she could not stand the silence. Nor could she stop the flow of thoughts and doubts that now seemed to want to pour out of her soul now that her love for him was all out in the open.

“Maybe you were right, Adrian.” She whimpered against his collarbone, repressing the urge to cry at the realisation that Adrian’s doubts and worries had now taken siege in her mind like weeds with ever-growing roots. “Maybe us was all too much, all too soon…. I don’t…. I think it would just consume me if I stayed and then you changed your mind and pushed me away again….”.

She felt Adrian jerk against her, his hold on her tightening dangerously as she heard him swallow painfully. “I won’t… I promise…”. His voice was rough, nearly strangled, betraying the emotions that were clearly overtaking him.

“How do you expect me to believe that?” she insisted, blocking her tears by burying her eyes into his shirt as deep as she could. “The situation is the same… nothing has changed… you think that now because you think irrationally but… we both know your doubts will never truly go away…”.

For a moment she thought he had stopped breathing, his hand in her neck tightening to the brink of pain, and his face sinking at the top of head as if he was trying to smother his breath in her hair. When he finally relaxed and released his hold to bring trembling hands around her head, there was nowhere left for him to hide his tears as he leaned to rest his forehead against hers.

“I will never push you away again… I promise… I don’t think I could even if I wanted to…” he breathed against her lips, his tears now falling freely from his lashes to her cheeks, a vivid testimony of the truth behind his words.

Bringing her hands to frame his face, she gently stroked her thumbs against his wet skin, before tentatively pushing forward to get closer to his lips, close enough to feel their shaking breaths mingle and their damp eyelashes brush each other’s skin.

“Please don’t cry”, she murmured with a feeble smile. “I can’t stand to see you cry”.

When their mouths finally met, it was the most gentle and careful caress that she had ever experienced. It was like discovering the softness of his skin for the very first time, and the way he moved against her felt like he was exploring every inch of her lips one at a time, as if trying to draw a map so that he could never forget his way back to them.

Their kisses were short, a little weak and breathless, the salt of their tears gradually invading their mouths as they could not refrain from caressing each other’s skin, smearing the wet trails of their tears with their fingertips.

This felt so familiar and yet so foreign, the intensity of what she felt threatening to make her crumble at his feet if he ever released his hold on her. Would she ever be able to reason and think straight when she was in his arms? In this moment, she did not care. All she wanted was to relish every breath, every shiver, and every tremor coursing through him, pressing her body as close to him as she could to let him feel how much her love for him was possessing her.

“Ellie...” he whispered against her lips between two kisses, his gaze betraying the exhaustion he felt from everything that just happened, but filled with a softness that seemed to wrap her like the softest fabric that could ever be made. “You have no idea how much I love you and how much I missed you...”.

If she had dared to doubt his words, his next kiss would have proved her otherwise, as she felt his entire being shake with relief and the tension instantly leave his bones, as if these unspoken words had been a burden that he would not have been able to carry any further. His warm lips had captured hers avidly, hungrily, gentle but yet urging and demanding, roaming and pressing against hers as he was relinquishing the last remaining bit of restraint that had been holding him back.

Ellie was gasping for breath but she did not care. She was blinded by the raw emotions that were washing over her in the darkness of the room. Mere minutes before, it had been like she was being slowly dragged underwater, weakened and bared by her admission that she loved him. Now, it felt like she had finally been yanked out of the terrifying depths by the strength of a few words, Adrian’s confession filling her lungs like the air she had been gasping for.

“I missed you so much”, he kept repeating between kisses, unable to stay still or silent anymore, and probably eager to make sure she believed his promises to never push her away again. “I missed you so much, please... come home with me”.

Staring into his eyes as she was finally able to steady herself and catch her breath, she could not repress the smile that was starting to form on her lips at the sight his beautiful dishevelled face, love, warmth and tenderness finally finding their place back in her chest after weeks of being forbidden to take a seat too close to her heart.

She was not entirely sure yet what she was going to do with her choice, but she surely could not ignore what she felt for Adrian anymore. Tonight, they had laid the shattered pieces of their hearts at their feet, and picked up the largest pieces, hand in hand, willing to start putting them back together one at a time. Whether they could mend their hearts together, side by side, or whether they would have to do this alone, was something that only time would tell. But for now....

“I am home”, she simply answered his request, her voice soft and calmer now, her eyes darting across his face to take in all of the tiny perfections and imperfections she had missed so much. “Stay with me, please, Adrian... Stay with me tonight”.

~~~~~

N/A: Thank you again Anon for the prompt, and thank you for anyone who read it all the way! This segment is far from over, so more should come soon, hopefully!

If you liked it, any comments and/or reblogs would be deeply appreciated! J

~~~~~

Tagging @adriansbiss , @itsjustwinter , @shanzay44 , @purvishraick, @thefrenchiemama

@choicesficwriterscreations

[marmolady]

Her Reason

Main Pairings: Shamir x Catherine

Summary: In the wake of Lady Rhea's death, a lost and grief-stricken Catherine frets after Shamir.

Word Count: 2542

Warnings: Grief and loss. Also, I haven't written FE3H before, so don't expect a masterpiece.

*throws at @greengroove and runs away, hiding face*

____________________

The rainstorm that had rolled in further shrouded Garreg Mach in gloom. The downpour came as if to wash away what had been, whether those left behind were ready for that change or not. A sombre atmosphere hung within the monastery’s ancient walls, and nowhere was it more potent than in the audience chamber; where weeping prayers in hushed voices were magnified in their number. Save for the distinct air of mourning, it could have been a scene from before the war. And… save for the absence of the church’s most prominent figure. Where Lady Rhea once stood, a wall of flowers and wreaths paid her tribute.

Few felt that absence more than the archbishop’s most loyal knight. It had been a long time since Catherine had found herself so aimless… bereft. More years than she’d worry herself to count. No doubt it had been noted by her partner, for it was a long time as well since Catherine had been so quiet.

Shamir’s sadness was different. It wasn’t for Lady Rhea-- a fact that she’d never hidden-- it was for her, Catherine. Just this morning before heading out on the mission, Shamir had referred to Lady Rhea with the proper and respectful honorifics, clearly not out of any reverence for the late archbishop-- no way!-- it had all been about treading carefully with Catherine’s emotions. From someone so stubborn…. Well, Catherine knew a thing or two about stubbornness herself, and she knew that some small, subtle acts against the unyielding grain held a lot of weight. If it weren’t for that weight, Shamir’s lack of sorrow for the passing of Lady Rhea might not have been bearable. It wasn’t fair, Catherine knew that, but it was what it was. At least Shamir was honest. She’d take that over the falseness of some of the nobles in ‘mourning’ any day. On a practical level, it meant that Shamir had been able to step up; proving to be a vital force amongst the knights during this period of transition, while others had been made undeniably vulnerable in the wake of their profound loss. It was no secret that this situation was not to last; Shamir, like Catherine, was at a cross-roads. All either of them knew was that it was a transition they would ride out together.

To be honest, Catherine wasn’t sure why she’d come up here. Perhaps it was just a habit that refused to die; when she was lost, Lady Rhea had the answers. But all she found here now was a dull sense of finality. Her purpose for so many years simply no longer existed.

The sound of the rain suddenly became a roar upon the high-vaulted roof. Catherine had to stop herself from flinching. As much of a hindrance that she might have been, and however much both Alois and Shamir might have protested, she’d rather be in the thick of a mission than waiting behind; not knowing what battles were being fought in her absence… not knowing how her partner was faring. She and Shamir were a team for good reason. It was a rare foe that could best their potent combination of belligerent force and sharp precision. There was no doubt that Shamir was perfectly capable without Catherine-- hell, no one could argue against that prowess with the bow-- but… some things were too important to be gambled. Shamir was too important. In this storm, visibility would be compromised….

“Oh, Catherine--”

“Flayn! I didn’t see you there.” Catherine startled, but recovered masterfully. One would have thought being partnered with Shamir for years would have made her immune to being snuck up on… apparently not. Or, she was really off her game.

“How wonderful to see you! It has been a few days… I do not believe I have even glimpsed your face in the dining hall. Not that I…. Well, it is hard not to struggle with one’s appetite in the wake of….”

As Flayn trailed off, her warm smile became sorrowful, but no less kind and genuine.

“Nah, appetite? I don’t even know what that is anymore. It’s a strange feeling for me. All the fire’s just… fizzled out. It’s as if I don’t even know which way is up.”

That was certainly true. It was the same shock that had been so staggering when Lady Rhea had disappeared all those years ago, but the glimmer of hope that driven the fight was now extinguished. And after tasting the sweet relief of finding her alive and-- not well, but alive counted for something, didn’t it?-- but they’d saved her, and then…. It wasn’t just a bitter pill to swallow; it was gutting. Catherine was totally lost. The only thing that made sense anymore, the one thing in all this chaos, was Shamir. How strange that, from the right person, some well-placed snark could court a smile-- even though it be a shaky one. And behind it all, the aloof quietness and the deadpanned jibes, Shamir cared for her. Right now, it made all the difference.

Just get your ass back here safe, partner.

Flayn’s expression was full of concern; no doubt picking up on Catherine’s worry. “If you feel yourself at a loose end, you could do worse than to take the time to care for yourself,” she said gently. “I find a good meal is fine place to start.”

If she could hold anything down…. Actually taking the time to eat a proper meal would, however, kill some time. And maybe she was hungry? Probably just the dread she was feeling, but a bite to eat couldn’t hurt.

The dining hall was bustling; apparently the wild weather had made the lure of a steaming bowl of onion gratin soup simply irresistible. Next to the mournful quiet that permeated the rest of the monastery it was jarring. Well, Catherine had wanted to be distracted.

It was all too easy, though, for the layers of voices to become just an unintelligible roar. The smiling faces grated on Catherine. This was just too normal. It was best she didn’t talk to anyone; just eat her fill and get out of there. She was in no mood for mincing words with anyone who had the nerve to gab away over a meal as if everything hadn’t changed, as if everything wasn’t wrong. These people could take a leaf out of Shamir’s book….

There it was. All of five minutes, and guess who’s on your mind again?

In the wake of Lady Rhea’s passing, it probably only made sense that she was fretting over any possibility that she might lose the other shining light in her life. You could never assume you were going to win any battle, but out of action, Catherine could do nothing except to assume everything was fine. That Shamir was safe. And she couldn’t just do that; the uneasy feeling wasn’t shifting.

She’d just have to deal with it. Thinking about Shamir. All through this wretched storm.

And there was a lot to think about. The proposition that Shamir take Catherine’s hand in marriage had not been forgotten-- not remotely. She cared for her partner deeply, she loved her, and the only future she could see out of this wreckage was the two of them together. There was nothing truly left for Catherine here-- her devotion had not belonged to the church, but for its head--; to disappear with her blunt and prickly Shamir into the sunset was a tantalising lure. But it wasn’t fair. How was Catherine to trust her own judgement when the throes of grief had her on the edge of snapping? That grief-- the price of it-- was not Shamir’s to bear. It would be all too easy to give in to comfort and spare the forethought….

But, a little voice in Catherine’s head stubbornly insisted, you know who you are. You know who you are with her. Any ‘doubt’ is an excuse. You’re just afraid to feel too much; afraid of giving everything and being once again left with a jagged empty space in your heart. Like the one left by Lady Rhea… the one left by Christophe.

If she hadn’t gotten so flustered and just said ‘yes’ then and there, would she be sitting here now? Imagining all that could go wrong on the field of battle in her absence? Perhaps Shamir would have stayed behind with her. Perhaps they’d be huddled together in a quiet corner, sharing a pint… Catherine mourning and Shamir commiserating. And they’d tentatively map out a future. A future different to what Catherine had seen for herself, but not in that they’d be together. That was something she could still believe in. She’d been presented with the perfect opportunity to express her feelings. Why hadn’t she just said ‘yes’?

Soup downed as quickly as possible-- no doubt indigestion would follow-- Catherine made a beeline for the front gates. The sun was going down, the rain slowing; the chances of the mission stretching out any longer than nightfall were slim. Even in a tempest, how long did it take to put down a few wolves, monstrous proportions or not?

As if by clockwork, from out the now-drizzling rain trudged a small group returning from the mission, mud-splattered and --in some cases-- bloodied.

Shamir was not among them.

No, no, no, no no….

Dread hit Catherine like an icy fist to the gut… clenching until she was totally winded. Too roughly, she pulled Byleth aside as they stepped through the heavy doors.

“Where’s Shamir?”

“The group became separated in the downpour--”

Of course it did. Damn it! Not waiting to hear more, Catherine strode off. “Fuck, Byleth! Well, it looks like a nice evening for a walk. I’m going for a bit of… fresh air.”

One hand on Thunderbrand’s hilt, ready to smite whatever creature had lain waste to her partner, Catherine powered on in the direction of the mountainside village the beasts had been threatening. Her angry panting breath caught in her throat, unable to move past the cold, hard lump there.

This was her fault. This was her….

--Thnk--

An arrow whizzed in front of Catherine’s face, finding its mark on a tree at the side of the path and making her skid to a halt.

“Is there a reason you’re striding off alone into the forest?”

And Catherine breathed. There she was, sheltering in the trees… perfectly fine. Safe. Thank the goddess. Thank the fucking-- She ran. She ran and took Shamir in her arms.

The force of the embrace swept Shamir clean off her feet and left her winded. Always nice as it was to see Catherine, this was somewhat excessive. Nevertheless, she hugged back firmly. All this upheaval… to be swept up in the arms of the person she loved most in all the world was admittedly a most wonderful comfort.

“...Anyone would think you’d convinced yourself I’d got killed out there….”

Catherine stepped back, and shifted her weight, sheepish.

Sheepish? Catherine? Oh.

Shamir shook her head in disbelief. Jeez, Catherine was really not okay. “Do you think Byleth would have left me-- would have left anyone-- if the beasts had not already been dispatched?”

“What--? Am I the Byleth-whisperer now? Even they don’t know what’s going on in their head!”

Though admittedly, Catherine realised, Shamir had a fair point. There may have been a smidgeon of unnecessary panicking. What was wrong with her head? It was just the thought of her partner fighting off some slobbering beast alone, compromised by a storm…. If anything had happened because Catherine had been too caught up in grief to be there backing her up….

Shamir brought her numb, wet fingers up to Catherine’s cheek, cradling her there.

“If you need me to remain close, then close is where I’ll stay.”

… then kissed her, slow and deep.

When Shamir pulled back at last, she was met with a dumbstruck expression and without a doubt the fiercest blush she’d ever seen across her partner’s face. Oh, the satisfaction. It was not every day the great Thunder Catherine was rendered speechless. Shamir made a note to remember that trick. Not that she’d ever need an excuse to want to…. It had been a long time coming. Too long.

Catherine swallowed hard. She could feel her mind short-circuiting, but she wouldn’t let it happen this time. Not when that had felt…. She leaned forward, touched her forehead to Shamir’s. It did… feel like coming home. Something joyous, impossibly joyous was rearing up inside her, some swell of certainty and desire and love… a feeling so vast she could not cut it down with even the mightiest swing of Thunderbrand. Why would she even try anyway?-- this was glorious.

“I thought I could always read you…,” Shamir said as her partner seemed to return to her senses, “but I was never quite sure if you understood that I meant it. When I suggested we marry.”

“I wasn’t expecting it!” Catherine defended herself, arms raised. Her face still was a glowing red, she could feel it burning. “Trust you to be the one to take me by surprise.”

Shamir held Catherine’s gaze, trying not to get lost in those startling blue eyes, so alight with fire. She had so feared that fire might fizzle and fade. She’d protect that fire, tend it as she would the spark of her own life. She needed Catherine to know that she’d meant it.

“Someday we might lose this,” she said, voice hoarse. “Actually, scratch that ‘might’; we're not naiive. All things end. But for as long as I’m breathing, all I am is yours. We’re in this for the long run…,” A sparkle came to her eye, as she met Catherine’s, an adoring smirk to her lips, “…partner.”

“It’s a relief that you meant it-- it would have been a wickedly cruel trick in light of the fact that I love you.”

“You…?” Shamir’s breath hitched.

“Love you.” Catherine affirmed. “I… love you.” Was it normal for her heart to be beating this hard? It was going wild, as though she was storming recklessly into a battle of impossible odds. She could hear it over the goddamn rain…. But it was nice. Oh, it was nice. “Heh,” she chuckled. “It actually feels pretty good to say it out loud. You should try it sometime.”

The vulnerability behind that dare wasn’t lost. Shamir could almost hear Catherine holding her breath.

“Catherine. I love you.”

Sputtering a breathless laugh, Catherine pulled her partner-- her lover-- into another embrace. Holding her like she’d never let her go. Because there was not a fucking chance in hell she ever would. She had her reason to keep fighting there in her arms.

“We could take a further dive into blatant sentimentality,” she said. “There is a chance I alarmed Byleth enough that they’ll come searching, and see how hard I’m blushing right now. My reputation will be destroyed forever!” She pulled away, painful as it was. It was, though, in aid of something bigger. “Or you could always just… kiss me again.”

The day’s last rays of the sun pushed through the clearing clouds, creating a sparkle on a rain-drenched land.

And Shamir kissed Catherine again.

[cheezritsu]

Elegy for the Living

Fushiguro x reader

One of the tenets you’ve created for yourself when you became a jujutsu sorcerer was that you would save everyone—criminals, bullies, junkies, the like. You were no god; judgement was never yours to give. And yet, Fushiguro Megumi is trying his damndest to break every single one of your beliefs, brick by hard, infuriating brick. It’s all fun and games, until it’s not.

Alternatively: enemies to lovers and back again, in five easy steps.

A/N: currently in the process of writing an Enemies to Lovers Fushiguro fic so here’s the first part:

It’s possibly only seconds after you’ve finished battle. Seconds, he thinks, because his chest is still heaving, because you haven’t moved an inch, not even to pick up the weapon that’s been left behind after the final blow. (His blow, which made lamented card float lamely into the grass. It sits there, the five of cups, his disapproving frown aimed at you.)

Your feet are still, as if nailed to where you stand. The clouds begin to drop rain over the two of you, the run off puddling around your grimy combat boots. That’s how long you stay staring at the dismembered figure; you can only assume it was once a person by the puzzle pieces of body parts left behind after the attack. A hostage, a possessed person, a cursed item. A human being. Or, what was one.

Megumi’s steely eyes hold no reverence, instead watching your movements as you mindlessly reach into your uniform pocket, pulling out a small carton. You shake the box once, and the slim stick reveals itself.

Megumi’s skin prickles. “Hey,” he says, stepping closer to you as you continue to numbly place a cigarette between your lips. “We need to get going. Ijichi’s coming with the car soon, we have to meet him back at the entrance.”

There’s a flicker of blue light that emits from your fingertips; cursed energy, ignited like a flame. Megumi sneers at the misuse, watching in disgust as you take the first few puffs. “Unbelievable,” he mumbles. You tear your eyes away for only half a second to give him a withering glare, and then they’re back where they started.

But they twitch. There’s anger that fuels the blue flames licking your fingertips, and you can’t help but wonder.

“Why’d you attack it with divine dogs before I could secure him?” You don’t even acknowledge his look of bewilderment. “If I’d been able to separate them—“

“You couldn’t have.” He snaps. The tightness in his jaw is visible; it makes the sharp line his face even more defined, while at the same time marring the his boyish handsomeness. Does being a hardass come naturally? Or does he force himself to be this way? You mull over the question as he berates you, catching his customary reply:

“You’re not even close to being strong enough to save everyone.”

Megumi’s truths are white noise, barely decipherable from the drizzling rain. Underneath the awning of this abandoned high school, you’re safe from the onslaught of rain, but the body is not. It sags as water soaks into the clothes—a seifuku, black with white stripes. Blood floods the grass, trickling in rivulets down the sidewalks, sloshing into the gutter. You breath in, as if you’re sighing, taking a long drag of smoke that makes your lungs burn and your eyes finally shed the tear that’s been welling in the corner. The body’s going to bloat in a few days if it keeps raining.

Megumi, not privy to your inner thoughts (and frankly, unsure you even have any,) grabs your left arm. “Are you even listening?”

“How come whenever demons attack it’s always in shitty weather? Ever noticed that?”

Perhaps it’s the way your fingers separate, all of them equally spaced out as your right hand reaches up to drag the cigarette from your lips, that makes Megaumi pause. As the cigarette slides between your digits, a trail of blood stains the pure white. You haven’t wiped your hands yet. You go cross eyed from looking down, examining where the blood on your hands stains the cigarette. Your eyes glaze over, as if throughly entranced.

Megumi tears his eyes away, lest he be caught up in the same hypnosis. “We don’t have time for your stupid questions.”

You scratch your forehead with your thumbnail, humming slightly. “That just means you don’t know either.”

Cold wind sweeps through the thin fabric of his uniform. He looks at you with a pinched frown. “No, it means I don’t care. Let’s go.”

He’s done asking you anything. He heel turns away, leaving you—to do what, exactly? Your unerring stare never leaves the quartered girl, her mouth open to the clouds, like the dammed souls of hell crying for their saviour.

(Did you think that savior would be you? The mocking voice sounds unsettlingly like Megumi.)

Or perhaps, more likely, in her final moments of living she screamed for the safety of her mother, like any little girl would. Like she would.

“Damn,” you sigh, finally squatting down to collect your card. Your knees create a symphony of cracks, and you groan like an old war veteran when you stand back up.

When you spot Megumi, he’s leaning against one of the poles under the awning, his attention turned to the road. He doesn’t see you light another cigarette, inhaling slower this time to ride the drug out.

He only slightly turns his head when your feet start idly sloshing the water where you stand. The pointed toe of your shoe draws words he can only guess before they wash away.

“What are you doing?” He asks, both to get you to stop and from a deep seated curiosity. “Writing,” you say briefly. The cigarette dangles precariously from your barely open lips, your hands splayed out beside you to keep balance.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I gathered that much.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“What are you writing?”

A quick bite of a response loads itself on your tongue, but you hold back. Instead, you divulge the truth to him, knowing it’ll make him angrier.

“Things that deserve to be forgotten. Pain,” deft strokes write the kanji, and Megumi sees it take shape. “Agony. Memories. Sorrow.”

You finally take the cigarette out, the stick already half burnt. His eyes narrow upon it, his blood boiling as you waste your dexterity on vent poems in the rain. Perhaps this is your most vexing quality; your almost childish insistence to succumb to whatever emotion moves you at the moment. You’re as fickle and fragile as the wind, pretending you’re made of stone.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” He suddenly asks, though not for the first time. The first time he asked was far less judgemental than it was now. “Why do you always make things worse?”

Worse for who, you have to ask. You cough, trying not to outwardly cackle in his face. The idea of bringing Megumi misery makes you nearly giddy. The bubble of excitement dies down the moment your eyes catch his expression: brows pinched, eyes flashing dangerously until they give a lidded glare, his mouth turned in an upward sneer. The look saves just for you, just when you’re alone.

“I don’t think anything could get worse than this,” you tilt your head towards him, pointedly blowing smoke. “Besides,” you tack on. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” You laugh again at his response, and his shoulders tense, expression slipping into a boyish anger. “It’s not about you, it’s about the fact that you exacerbate your bad emotions like you want every other demon in a five kilometer radius to find us.”

“Exacerbate,” you snort childishly. “Now that’s a five dollar word.”

His posture has straightened, shoulders defensively squared and facing you. “When are you going to admit you’re not made for this, huh?”

Your shoulders shake with another laugh, this one hollow and bitter. He stands in front of you, expectant, voice laced with an air of maturity he doesn’t have the right to posses. Not even if he was born decades before you, a millennia before you.

“Made for this,” you repeat slowly. “Like the gods themselves crafted you, Fushiguro Megumi, from the mud under my shoe to fight demons.” You relish in the hitch in breath you elicit from him, even if it is followed by the individual cracks of his knuckles. You meet his gaze, and your combined cursed energy signature fluctuates; those same demons in the five kilometer radius must be fainting in its wake.

It doesn’t deter either of you. You’re both as still and stubborn as bulls. It feels like having a stare down with your own reflection, and it is agonizing to know this truth. To know he is your mirror.

“You weren’t made for this either, Fushiguro. You made yourself. So you must forgive me for not suppressing any and all emotions, like you.”

The curl to his lip drags upward even further, like the snarl of a wolf catching its prey. “You can barely keep it together after a grade 2 mission, and you want to come at me?” There’s something cruel in his eyes when he says it, something that wants to dissect your flaws and put them in a glass cage to repeatedly gawk at. Your eyes drop to ground, unable to bear the lens he views you with.

“You’ve lived with sorcery and demons for so long, and you’ve never gotten used to it. So why do you keep pretending like you can do this when you can’t?”

You blow smoke towards your feet. It vanishes quickly, evaporating into thin air. You stare into it, as if your memories are scripted in fog, abs you can make them disappear just as easily.

Megumi scrutinises your face for every micro expression that flits across your features, and he’s disappointed when all he sees is confusion. Like you don’t know the answer either.

He clicks his tongue, training his eyes back to the road. You stay staring at your feet, unblinking, lest you close your eyes see her decomposing body behind your eyelids.

A sudden realization shocks you as you bring the cancer stick to your lips for the first time in minutes. You’re only a quarter of the way through, leaving it forgotten. But there’s a warmth in your veins and a steadiness to your hands, some non-nicotine induced high. You smile callously at Megumi, who stands stiff as a board, pretending not to glance at you from the corner of his eye.

Unfortunate, you think. Seems I’ve found a better drug.

You take a drag off the cigarette. It’s feels like nothing in comparison. You burn through half of it, so that when you open your mouth, smoke curls out like a simpering dragon; elegant, dangerous, intoxicating. Megumi gapes as you grin, and something in you burns.

“You’re fun to argue with.” You snuff the cigarette between your calloused fingertips, putting out the ash in the box careful not to litter. Megumi’s expression is so priceless, you laugh when you say “Let’s do this again sometime, yeah?”

[laypis]

rating: mature pairing: bakugou katsuki x gender-neutral reader word count: 8.2k warnings: swearing, violence, medical imagery note: crossposted to ao3 here

masterlist • next

summary:

A comet will only truly shine when passing by the Sun. After a mission for the Hero Public Safety Commission goes terribly wrong, you're taken in by Bakugou Katsuki, your former high school rival, to recover. However, when you’re forced to confront a brewing conflict between two sides of the Hero world head-on and fend off a criminal organization hellbent on slaughter, will you die out or burn bright? A Pro-Hero Bakugou x Pro-Hero Reader fic, featuring a reader with a slug Quirk. Reader is gender neutral/nonbinary but AFAB. All characters depicted are 18+.

Chapter One

It was raining.

It often rained on your missions. You've never been sure of why, but it did. That wasn’t a surprise to you.

Most of those missions didn’t involve you laying on the ground and bleeding out, that part was new. You can’t say this is how you foresaw your end to be. You’d hoped it’d be more peaceful, perhaps a bit warmer. You watched with bleary eyes as your bright, smashed phone screen next to your head blinked frantically with an onslaught of messages from your last known contact. A serene smile befell your face. You’d worried someone. You hoped he’d forgive you, in the end.

Your eyes closed.

You were surprised again to wake up not to the soothing, ethereal light of the afterlife, but to the obnoxious lights of a hospital room instead. You blinked several times, looking about in dull alarm. Was this a mistake? Was Heaven taunting you? Around the room, bundles of flowers and well-wishes spilled from every corner. Bouquets of all shapes and sizes, stuffed animals, and get-well-soon cards with words you couldn’t read from this distance. Your eyes settled on a figure sitting in an armchair towards the corner of your small room. The figure was slumped over like a ragdoll, a soft snore emanating from them.

You ached to call out to them, ask them if this was truly what the end looked like. You’d always thought it would be much more tranquil than the beeps of heart monitors and the gnawing pain in your side from where you’d been slashed.

“Where...?” you managed to rasp out. You heard the figure snort, then grunt before straightening up. After a pause, a low, masculine voice met your ears. It was astonishingly familiar.

“About damn time.”

⁠—

As it turns out, you hadn’t passed away and gone to the afterlife. According to Bakugou Katsuki, you’d almost died, and he’d carried your nearly lifeless and bleeding body to the closest hospital while you were unconscious. He’d explained all this once you’d awoken from what you understood to be several days of drug-induced slumber.

Now, the two of you sat in his fancy car, a carry-on bag at your side full of the meager toiletries you’d convinced the nurses to let you take. The orange and red glow of the underlights in his dashboard illuminated your feet as you stared downward at nothing.

“Oi, Snot-For-Brains, you alive over there?”

Bakugou’s brusque question brought your eyes up to meet his for the briefest of moments. You tilted your head, the medicine left in your system making it difficult to speak. You fought the all too familiar delay in time that seemed to grow by the second.

“Still here,” you offered softly, the corner of your lip quirking upwards into something akin to a smile.

“Good. I don’t need anyone dying on me in this car,” he answered before his eyes returned to the road ahead. "Just paid the damn thing off."

You smiled.

“I’ll try not... to.”

Besides the soft music from the radio, the car was quiet. It had turned dark before the hospital got all the paperwork finished in order to release you. You didn’t mind. The dark was where you thrived, after all. Where you’d almost died. The moon was peeking out from the clouds among the silhouettes of lighted buildings. It was barely noticeable past the streetlights that would pass, but you noticed it. Your eyes locked on the little semicircle, drawing strength from its willingness to shine. Bakugou broke your trance when he spoke again.

“What happened, slug?” was all he said.

“A lot. I’ll... tell you more when I... can,” you murmured. Bakugou accepted your answer more easily than you’d expected. He didn’t pry, his eyes turning back to the road after glancing at you a few times.

“Do you, uh, need anything special? A humidifier, or whatever?” he asked. The question made you chortle.

“No...” you smiled, lifting a hand to hide your mouth. “I’m not... that frail.”

“Tch, no kidding,” he agreed in a low voice. When he caught you looking at him oddly, he glared at the road. “I mean, you did just survive nearly getting cut in fucking half!” he sputtered. The smile behind your hand grew.

“I’ll... be okay,” you told him. “Look.” To make your point, you wiggled the two sets of antennae atop your head gifted to you by your Quirk. They were slower to respond than you’d like, but they moved to your command, with the smaller set twitching and the larger set pivoting like ears. Bakugou had glanced over in time to see you move each pair separately. You saw a shiver run up his spine.

“Creepy,” he muttered. The insult didn’t bother you much. You were used to hearing it. Having a slug Quirk wasn’t considered flashy or beautiful, but you knew the extent of your own capabilities. Your gaze lingered on his profile, outlined by the streetlights above. His jawline had filled out over the years, but there was still a hint of his former boyishness in his face.

You looked down at the broken phone in your lap. It barely maintained a charge, it was basically ruined, but you’d managed to message Mina Ashido. She was overjoyed to hear from you. You could tell she was holding in her questions about what had happened to reassure you. You’d asked a favor of her, and she’d obliged without any hesitation. You wondered if you’d ever be able to repay her for all her kindness over the years of your long friendship, the two of you had been attached at the hip since middle school. You loved her dearly, though had never said as much out loud. The lingering warmth the conversation brought you was enough for you to stay awake during the remainder of the car ride.

When you arrived at Bakugou’s apartment complex, you weren’t expecting squalor, but nor were you expecting the lavishness that assaulted you at every turn. The delicate organs peeking from your long hair were bombarded with new information. Your companion had earned his place in the hero world. Being the up-and-coming number 2 Pro was nothing to sneeze at. At the same time, you never pegged Bakugou for the rich living type. Some part of you was relieved when you came upon his actual apartment. A penthouse suite, but furnished sparsely and simply for a practical person. Much of the furnishings were black, but again, that could be expected considering who lived here.

As Bakugou swept you further into his place, you peered around. It was meticulously clean, of course, and the kitchen was weirdly enormous. Well, considering who it belonged to, maybe it wasn’t all that weird.

“You’re taking my bed. And I don’t wanna hear nothin’ smart about it,” he barked as he started moving around to pick up odds and ends. “You need more blankets, they're in the hallway closet. It's the second door to the left. Bathroom’s connected to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Now get your ass cleaned up and go to sleep. You’re a fuckin’ mess.”

Ah, so even his bedside manner was deplorable. Good to know you were in such capable hands.

You had to resist the overwhelming urge to roll your eyes. Though, you couldn’t deny you were weary. Your disastrous wound and the medicine they’d pumped you full of the past few days had taken an enormous toll on your body. Recovery hadn’t been easy. Not to mention the effect all the drugs had on your Gastropod Quirk.

The protective layer of mucus that normally covered your hair was watery, and threatening to stick to everything it touched. It felt as disgusting as it probably looked. Bakugou had already warned you back at the hospital not to get any of that “snot” on his things. The fact you felt like you were underwater didn’t help either. Your head hadn’t stopped swimming since you’d woken up properly for the first time in the hospital room. You usually liked the water, but not when it was all in your brain.

“Right,” you drawled, your dark eyes watching Bakugou in distant fascination as he swept some stray mail into a pile on the table next to the door. He either noticed your hesitation or got tired of it, because as soon as he finished, he took a hold of your shoulders and began to guide you toward his bedroom down the hallway.

“What the hell did I just say? You got more snot in your ears than usual or something?”

You shot him a glare that was promptly ignored.

“Look, just clean yourself up and if you’re hungry I’ll fuckin’ feed you, but then it’s bedtime. Got it?”

“Oh, is it... past your... bedtime?” you remarked. You were spun around with such force you thought you were going to pass out. Once the dizziness faded, your eyes locked with bright ruby hues.

“Listen here, slug. If I’m gonna play babysitter to your ass for who knows how long, then you go by my damn rules. Don’t make this more fucking difficult than it already is.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. You couldn't help but wonder what he meant by that, his choice of phrasing odd. However, even you knew when it was time to back down. You heaved a long-suffering sigh. You were too tired to pick his brain. Not only that, but you'd walk away with more questions than answers, that you were certain of.

“Your... flair for... drama... has not left you,” you mumbled. Bakugou’s grip on you tightened minutely, as if he were holding in the urge to blurt something obscene like he usually would. To your astonishment, he kept it together.

“Whatever. Go wash up, you smell like a wet dog that rolled in hell knows what.”

With that, his grip on you ceased. He sharply turned away from you, returning to the living room with a low huff. You tried shoving aside the strange feeling of missing those large, rough-hewn hands encompassing your lithe shoulders as you trudged to where he told you the bathroom would be.

Being alone in the bedroom of your former high school rival was an experience. Whether it was a good experience was up for debate, but at the moment all you could focus on was the door connected to the room that was slightly cracked open. Light was flooding out from it, signaling you to pull it open and reveal a spotlessly clean master bathroom. It had both a shower, and a tub.

How fortuitous for the man who can’t seem to get over calling you playground bully level insults. It was still a welcome sight, however, knowing you had private access to the entirety of the room until Bakugou would inevitably darken your door wanting to know if you’d finally passed on.

Without hesitation, you carefully peeled away your old clothing and bandages to reveal what you’d not been wanting to confront since you left the hospital. The whole reason you’d be holed up with your own personal nurse shark for the foreseeable future.

It was stitched with all the care in the world, an ugly blemish dyed with yellow iodine and old blood, staining your glossy tan skin with a sickly and unpleasant tinge. It split you from the top of your left hip upwards until the final end met the bottom of your sternum, spanning the whole width of your abdomen. You stared at it in the mirror for a long minute, absorbing every detail of it.

That criminal's blade had torn you asunder. Yet, here you stood in Katsuki Bakugou’s bathroom with breath still in your lungs.

By all rights, you shouldn’t be alive.

The thought echoed in your head, foggy and perpetual in the darkness of your mind. Onyx irises met each other in the mirror as you peered through pale bangs at yourself reflected inside the glass.

You looked like a ghost. And, truthfully, you should be one.

Eventually, your logic caught up with you to helpfully remind you that staring at your life-threatening injury in the mirror wouldn’t get you clean or fed.

Resigned, you padded toward the shower to start the water. It fell cold on the hand you held out to check the temperature. You had no doubts Bakugou probably liked his showers hotter than the devil’s teat, but you certainly did not. As soon as the water wasn’t cold enough to make you shiver, you shook the moisture from your hand to grab your bag. You plucked the sample-size shampoo bottle from the top of the pile inside and slithered under the waterfall.

You kept your mind empty as your body went through the motions of cleaning. You did, however, come back to reality long enough to watch the protective layer of mucus covering your hair slough off into the drain.

You hoped, somewhat bitterly, Bakugou had good plumbing. A new layer would form in its place, a stronger layer,  protecting your hair properly instead of acting like a sticky hand fresh from the package at an arcade.

You sighed when you felt the appropriate amount of time had passed before your host would inevitably come looking for you. You were clean enough. You’d managed to wash away the sterile hospital scent and replace it with something lightly floral and refreshing. Your natural scent of wet leaves would make its return once you dried and rested, you imagined. A small comfort. The only good scent was your own.

Though, the strange sweetness permeating all of Bakugou’s home was becoming familiar to you. Albeit reluctantly.

I should give Bakugou more credit, you thought. He did save me from the clutches of death, and all.

Once you’d had enough of ogling your wound again in the mirror before wrapping it up, you came upon a dilemma. Dilemma being the mildest of words to describe the problem.

You had no clean clothes.

Mina had promised you in a text earlier in the day she’d drop by your apartment and grab you enough clothing to cover your, hopefully, short stay at Bakugou’s place and bring it to you. You’d agreed, stupidly perhaps, that she could do that tomorrow when she had a chance.

Your hand wiped over your face, a scowl affixed on your expression, and heaved a sigh. You’d have to borrow something from Bakugou.

Finding a towel big enough to wrap around your willowy figure wasn’t an issue at least. You steeled yourself for facing the owner of the house, taking in a deep, calming breath. Could things really get that much worse?

As it turned out, yes, because the moment you opened the door you were face-to-face with your gracious host who looked like he’d seen a ghost the minute he laid eyes on you.

“For fuck’s sake, where the hell are all your-!”

“Gone.”

He paused, his expression frozen in a contortion of both anger and ... embarrassment? You hadn’t seen that look on him very much in all your years of knowing each other, but he still wore it about as well as a fish wore pants. He reached up to run an agitated hand through the short, buzzed locks of his hair.

“Before you... lose your temper... be reminded I came with nothing but... the clothes the hospital so kindly let me... take. Mina... promised me she would bring more. Tomorrow,” you explained, painstakingly slow as you fought exhaustion, irritation, and pain to form coherent sentences. Bakugou stuttered out something under his breath that sounded strangely like an apology before shaking his head and tearing around his room to find something for you to wear.

“Right. Fine. Whatever. I’ll give you something of mine, but it’s mine, got it? I get it back whenever Racoon-Eyes brings you your own shit,” he grumbled as you watched him rifle through a drawer for something that was even close to small enough to fit you. “And try not to get any damn slime on it!”

An amused smile tugged at your lips. You leaned heavily on the door frame of the bathroom, eyes never leaving Bakugou as he finally pulled out a pair of shorts and an oversized black t-shirt from his dresser’s bottom drawer. As soon as he checked them over (for cleanliness, you assumed), he tossed them your way.

“Here. I don’t wanna hear any complaining about size. It ain’t my fault you’re a stick,” he said, pointing a finger at you with the usual scowl on his face. Compared to you, he’d beefed up in the time you’d spent apart. You noticed it whenever you caught the ripple of muscle through his toned arms.

“Me? Complain...?" You did your best to sound scandalized at the very idea. "You may... have bad manners... but I don’t,” you chided, clumsily catching the bundle in your arms.

You cursed the slip, because you heard Bakugou scoff instead of taking the bait. Were you so wrong for wanting some normalcy between the two of you? You’d traded barbs like cards back at U.A. but clearly Bakugou had other ideas at the moment. You didn’t catch the deepening of his scowl at the comment, too occupied with looking over the new clothing you held.

“Just get dressed, dammit,” he said before storming from the room. Well, at least some things never changed.

Once you were finally settled in fresh clothing, you sat at the edge of Bakugou’s huge bed, tying up your hair into a looping ponytail so that it would be out of your way. It would hopefully also prevent your hair’s natural slime coat from getting onto Bakugou’s clothing while it reformed.

How he slept in such a monstrosity was a mystery to you. The bed was easily three times the size of your own at home. Looking at it closer, it seemed it was fit more for someone like Hawks, whose quirk made it tough to fit in a normal bed. Not really an angry bachelor, as was Bakugou.

The thought of him sharing a bed with anyone but the covers was a funny thought to you. But it turned sour when you felt an odd pang of jealousy at the idea.

Had he shared a bed with anyone else in the five years you’d not seen each other? It would only be reasonable to expect as such. He may be gruff and have all the charm of a bulldog, but he had needs… or so you thought.

Right?

You shook the thought from your mind, bringing a hand up to hold onto your aching head. What had he mentioned earlier before marching you to his bedroom? Food? You hadn’t eaten a decent meal since before you were hospitalized, and that had been… Oh. That was several days ago, now. If your fuzzy memory served right, Bakugou was an... adequate cook. You hated admitting that much, but if he was offering to make you something, then you’d be a fool to turn it down.

Picking yourself up from the edge of the bed, you shuffled out of his bedroom and into the dim hallway leading out toward the main part of his penthouse.

“You ask... if I’m dead... yet you disappear like... a ghost?” you muttered to yourself as you saw not hide nor hair of him in the living room.

A cacophonous rattling of plates and a curse in the direction of the massive kitchen drew your attention. It seemed he was a step ahead of you on the matter of food.

You strolled to the kitchen’s ample island, sitting yourself in a bar seat as quietly as you could while you focused your gaze on Bakugou’s form hustling about the stove top. The drugs remaining inside your system were dulling your senses and your pain, so you hadn’t smelled the food before. However, now that you were close enough, the enticing scent of something light and hearty met you like an old friend. It reminded you again how long you had gone without food, evident by your stomach lightly rumbling.

At first, Bakugou didn’t acknowledge you directly. He must have realized you’d slipped in somewhere along the way though, because he addressed you as he stirred something on the stove without turning to you.

“Pinky told me you don’t eat meat,” he stated, his voice even and, surprisingly, calm. “I’m making vegetable curry. I’ll make sure your portion is up to your wimpy standards, so I don’t wanna hear nothin’ about how hot it is.”

You blinked. You hadn’t realized Bakugou had spoken with Mina at all, let alone about your diet.

When did that happen? While you were effectively dead to the world? How long had Bakugou been thinking about becoming your personal nurse? You suddenly had a lot of questions for your host.

Still, it was true, meat was near indigestible for you. Spicy food rarely agreed with you either, but you knew Bakugou liked everything as hot as his temper.

“I... see. That’s... uncharacteristically considerate... of you,” was all you could think to say.

"Hah?" Ah, there it was. "You really think I'd be such a selfish asshole after all this?" he growled, still not looking at you as he picked up fervor in beating the vegetable sauce in the pot instead.

"You do not... have a fantastic track record... of doing so, no," you pointed out. "You made... Kaminari cry... by giving him that... abominable ramen you enjoyed... in high school. And laughed."

Bakugou was quiet at that. When he did speak again, he stopped stirring.

"That shit was funny, and don't you try and act like you didn't laugh like the rest of the peanut gallery," he grunted. "And it wasn't 'abominable'," he mocked, "it was the only good, cheap ramen at that shitty school!"

The familiarity and comfort of his banter won a tiny smile from you as you rested your head against your arm. You watched as his movements slowed back to a more professional pace.

"Fair enough," you relented. Bakugou gave a hum of satisfaction.

“Drinks are in the ‘fridge. Get whatever you want,” he told you. You slipped off your chair, moving to the large, double-door refrigerator. It was filled with clearly fresh groceries, vegetables of all kinds spilling out from various places, and packages of what seemed to be seafood, and tofu. A shelf in the door was full of nothing but a plethora of hot sauces of every label and brand. You wrinkled your nose at the sight, trying to focus on finding the drinks. They were located in a plastic drawer at the bottom, but you merely selected a bottle of water that’d caught your eye before closing the fridge.

You stood for a moment, watching Bakugou at the stove. From here, you could see the steam rising from the pot of rice. You also saw that he had set aside a pan of curry from the main portion. Was that for you, or him? You couldn’t quite tell. You had apparently stared too long, because Bakugou turned his usual glower on you.

“What?” he barked. You clutched your water bottle to your chest, the cool plastic bleeding through your shirt.

“Nothing,” you replied. “You just... look at home among all the... pots and pans.”

“The hell? You tryin’ to say I belong in the kitchen?” he pointed the large utensil in his hand at you accusingly, a vein popping in his neck at the insinuation.

“Of course... not.” You held up your hands in surrender. “You’re the one who... always brags... about your cooking. You seem... comfortable... when you’re making food.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed at you as he tried to think of a reply, but when something simmered in front of him, he turned back to it with a disgruntled sound. When it was clear he wasn’t going to answer with anything more than a scowl in your direction, you decided to make your way back to your former seat at the island with drink in hand.

The kitchen grew quiet after that, barring the sounds of Bakugou working and the gentle bubbling of the curry. You’d noted that he didn't use an automatic rice cooker, he did it all himself. Impressive, but likely just another detail of his skills to boast about.

In the silence, you remembered the manners you'd boasted about earlier. Specifically, being thankful to your temperamental host. Despite his bedside manner needing improvement, he'd truly done a lot for you. More than you'd thought him capable of. You hated owing people, but there's comfort in the way Bakugou made it so you couldn't protest his "kindness" as he knew you might.

After some thought, you finally eke out the phrase that had been on the tip of your tongue since Bakugou had offered to take you in until you were healed enough to return home.

“Bakugou?” you asked tentatively. He stopped stirring the rice to turn around, pinning you with his usual wrathful stare as he obviously expected another snarky comment.

“Thank you,” you bowed your head to him with your hands clutched in your lap, eyes downcast. A faint blush dusted your cheeks, and of course it would. Your sensitive antennae gave the smallest twitch. You hoped that he understood you meant more than just the food. You didn’t see him turn back around, nor did you see the slight softening of his expression in reply to your gratitude. A beat passed before he answered.

“Yeah.”

⁠—

A plate of fresh, steaming curry with a side of rice was placed in front of you on the counter, along with a spoon. You raised your head to look at the cook and thank him, but he was already moving to sit across from you as he pulled a barstool to the other side of the island.

He set his plate down, bombarding your senses with the frankly offensive amount of spice he liked in his food. His curry was much more red than your own, which, by all rights, looked to be a tolerable level. You both mumbled a quiet thanks for the meal, then you picked up your spoon to start eating.

It was hot, but only in temperature. He’d managed to keep the spices to himself, it seemed. You found yourself smiling a bit at that. The taste was nice, but you still ate slowly. Bakugou didn’t play with his food, but you noticed him hesitating in taking a bite. You’d felt his eyes on you since the first spoonful. You put down your silverware.

“If you’re... expecting a review...” you started, a gentle, teasing lilt to your voice.

“Shut up and eat!” he bellowed, then began to wolf down his curry like a starved man. It drew a soft chuckle from you.

The dinner continued in the silent way that dinners do, the clinking of spoons against porcelain being the only noise that cut through it. You had other things on your mind besides him, all of which were beginning to surface with more clarity as the food helped the medicine in your system recede. You were drifting when you heard Bakugou clear his throat.

“I know you said you’d tell me when you can, but what the hell happened?”

You shifted in your seat. That was sooner than you’d thought it’d be.

“I was... caught infiltrating a... criminal organization. One of the other... members... lured me out on a fake errand... and left me to die,” you explained. You didn’t want to go too far into details about your work for the Hero Public Safety Commission, not right now.

“You’re a stealth operative for the HC, right? Racoon-Eyes mentioned it once or twice.” You could hear the barely contained anger threatening to spill out in his voice. It was clear he wanted to know more, but he shoved a spoonful of curry into his mouth instead.

“Yes.”

“And still holdin’ number 7? Can’t imagine the public knows a whole lot about you, though,” he snorted. “You’re better off that way, trust me.”

You stopped eating to cock your head, fixing him with curious eyes.

“You’re... number 2, right? Is the public so... bad?”

Bakugou huffed.

“Nah, but they’re nosy fuckers. The media ain’t much better. Worse, if anything.” There was a pointed note of disdain in his voice. It reminded you of something.

“Yes... They make... quite a big deal... of the fact Endeavor is still... active,” you said, lifting a spoonful to your mouth. You’re startled by the sound of Bakugou’s own spoon clattering against his nearly empty plate.

“Yeah, I know. That stubborn old bastard says I ain’t ready for it yet and won't even tell me why! It’s bullshit,” he snarled, crossing his arms over his chest and staring you down. “I don’t know what the hell his problem is, but I’m gettin’ real tired of it. He’s gonna be pushin’ 60, what’s the damn point?”

You blinked a few times at him, then put the bite you were holding into your mouth. You chewed slowly. It’s a long enough pause that Bakugou raises a fine brow at you questioningly.

“People are... stuck in their... ways,” you replied. Your answer didn’t seem to satisfy him. If anything, it appeared to anger him further.

“What about you? I don’t see or hear shit from you for five damn years, and then you text me outta nowhere for help? The fuck is that about, slug?” You froze. The irritation at having the conversation turned on you once more was enough to make the delicate stalks on your head twitch.

“The HC is... hellbent... on keeping me a secret. In case... you hadn’t noticed,” you stated coldly. “Besides... I knew... your and Red Riot’s... agency... patrolled that area. You were... my first thought.” Your brows knit together behind your curtain of hair, and you were thankful he couldn’t see it. The reply made him bark out a cruel-sounding laugh.

“But me? Why not fuckin’ Pinky or, hell, even the Tape-face?” he growled as he angrily took a bite of his food. “Ain’t like they don’t work for me.”

You bid yourself to calm down as you racked your brain for an answer. Why did you text Bakugou of all people? You found yourself slightly regretting the decision.

“I knew... you would be... the one to know... what I meant in my message,” you finally said. He grunted.

“Texting someone the word help with coordinates attached ain’t exactly as mysterious as you think it is, slug,” he said, shaking his head. “Where the hell was the Hero Commission anyway? Didn’t they send you with any damn backup? Couldn’t you see that whatever dumb villain did that to you was gonna snap?”

“It was... too dangerous to send... more operatives,” you explained. “I was... a good fit.” You left it at that, his other questions hanging in the air. He noticed, because he stood up from his seat abruptly to lean over the island, braced on his palms, to glare at you from above.

“A good fit? That’s a fuckin’ laugh! You were bleeding out in a shitty alleyway, and no one would’ve found your corpse if I didn’t get there in time! What the hell were those higher-up idiots thinking, putting you in that kinda situation all by yourself?”

You gritted your teeth, temper boiling up through your veins. It felt like ice coursing through you. You calmly placed your spoon down on your plate, your half-finished food turning to ashes in your mouth. You rose slowly from your seat, and it seemed Bakugou had finally caught onto the fact he’d angered you. He withdrew a bit, but his glare was still just as piercing.

“I live in the shadows, and... that's where I'll die,” you clenched your fists at your sides. “It must be... so nice, to not have to... worry about that," you replied to him, voice low and frigid. "If... it's such a big deal to you, why... did you... come for me? Why... go through all this... trouble?" You gestured widely to the meal, the apartment, and yourself, clothed in his spare wardrobe.

Your questioning leaves Bakugou looking stunned. He gave an owlish blink, his scowl wiped away temporarily as his lips hang open without retort. You can practically see the hamster wheel turning inside his head, complete with a furious-looking rodent.

You fought an oncoming wave of stress-induced dizziness and nausea. You brought a hand up to your head to steady yourself and squeezed your eyes shut to block out the increasingly incessant lights, wrapping the other arm protectively around your middle. You give one last glance to Bakugou's deepening frown.

“Thank you for... the food, Bakugou, but I think... I need to... rest.”

"Oi⁠—!"

With that, you turn and stalk off to the dark reaches of his bedroom, leaving Bakugou with only his thoughts and the dirty dishes.

⁠—

You hadn’t left Bakugou’s bedroom since you closed the door behind you. Normally, you’d have been polite enough to at least help with the dishes, but the whole ordeal had upset you enough that you couldn’t think of anything more than your own spinning head. As the calm of the darkness settled over you, you felt yourself regretting your words to the man. After all, he had helped you. Yes, you were in pain. Yes, Bakugou had likely overstepped. At the same time, you’d practically thrown his kindness back into his face and spat on it.

You physically cringed at the thought. It wouldn’t surprise you if he threw you out the next day. Better enjoy this ridiculously huge bed while it lasted, you sighed.

You were sprawled out atop the bed, not even bothering to get under the covers. It'd been a few hours at least since the dinner. Once the nausea had passed and your head no longer ached, you were left only with echoes of your fraught conversation to plague you. Needless to say, you hadn't gotten any sleep since you'd laid down.

It certainly wasn’t as if you wanted to die the way you almost did. However, Bakugou made it hard to understand why he’d do all this for you. To his credit, he’d never been an easy person to understand. You knew his temper, you knew his bluntness, and you knew from your years together at U.A. what drove him, considering he never shut up about being the number one. The memories made you smile, the smallest quirk of your lips. At the same time, there was a part of him that he was good at obscuring. He was a straightforward person, that much was certain, but there was a piece of his puzzle you’d never quite understood.

You sighed miserably, rolling onto your uninjured side as you stared out into the darkness of his room. How did he sleep in this bed? It felt so incredibly empty. Perhaps he liked the space. Knowing what you did about him, it wouldn’t come as a surprise to you. He seemed the type to toss and turn until his body finally gave over to slumber. How he maintained a strict bedtime was a mystery to you with your chronic insomnia coupled with horrendous paranoia.

You buried your nose into his comforter, immediately breathing in that strange and sweet scent that lingered in the air throughout his penthouse. You’d finally figured out what it was.

His Quirk.

You’d read, somewhere, long ago, that nitroglycerin gave off a distinctly sweet scent. Some likened it to caramel, but his smell wasn't nearly that pure. Likely because whatever caused his sweat to be explosive wasn’t pure nitroglycerin. Still, the composition was similar, right? It would make sense. You closed your eyes. It wasn’t all that different from the damp foliage smell that your slime created, though you much preferred that smell over his at the moment. His was merely a reminder of whose house you were in.

You reached up to rub your temple. You’d have to apologize to him. You weren’t sure if that’d save you from being swiftly booted from his door in the morning, but you had some faith that Mina would be willing to take you in.

Lost in your drifting thoughts, you snuggled against one of his pillows and were assaulted by his scent. And a memory. A memory?

In your second year at U.A., you and Bakugou had formally faced each other during a mock battle at the Sports Festival. You’d lost by a hair, mostly because it was warm that day, and you’d dehydrated from both the fight and Bakugou’s fiery explosions. It was a pitiful defeat, in your mind, even if you’d placed 3rd in the end. It was also the first time you’d ever caught a glimmer of the side of himself Bakugou hid so expertly.

You looked at the scar on your arm. It was one of the few you had, now counting the one that would likely form across your abdomen from the villain attack.

In the dark, it wasn’t difficult to see. A faded, bright patch of skin over your tan complexion. In many ways, it resembled a star streaking over the night sky. It was long, stretching in ragged lines over the back of your forearm and ended in a distinct shape on the back of your hand. It was formed when you took a point-blank blast from Bakugou in a poor attempt to block the only way you knew how in the heat of the moment. You thought you could take the impact of the blast to throw that force back at him with your rubbery body. Instead, you were sent sprawling with a bloody arm onto the concrete stage.

You remembered trying to get up, struggling to get to your knees, not realizing the extent of your injuries. You were determined to let him see what you could really do. To let everyone see what you could really do. It was almost funny to look back on when your mere existence was so clandestine nowadays.

He’d stopped you by placing a firm, hot palm over your back and pressing you down into the hard stone. You were sure he was going to blast you into the ground, then and there. You’d watched with glassy eyes as the surrounding crowd was awash with jeers and calls for the referee, Mr. Cementoss.

Bakugou didn’t throw all his weight onto you, nor did he blast you. He only said three words that you barely heard before you finally passed out from the pain and exhaustion of the match.

“You did fine.”

After that, you’d woken up in Recovery Girl’s office with Mr. Aizawa at your side to tell you not to push yourself so hard next time. He’d drawn your attention to your now bandaged arm, pointing out that it was going to scar. You’d begrudgingly accepted his advice about understanding your limits. Sometimes, the best trick in a hustler’s arsenal, you knew, is when you should fold.

That being said, you never had been sure how you ended up in the nurse’s office. Your brows furrowed at the thought. Back then, you had asked Aizawa if he’d taken you, but he’d just scratched his neck and told you that he was watching from the stands without any indication of who had taken you. You’d later learn from Mina that she’d rushed to the stage to offer to take you. You assumed all these years later she was the one to haul you there. However, with your antennae surrounded by Bakugou’s scent, you were remembering a different version of events.

You hadn’t entirely passed out after Bakugou had claimed his victory. You were conscious in flashes, mostly from the pain in your arm. You do remember hearing Mina’s desperate voice, but she wasn’t yelling at you. She was saying something to someone else.

“Let me do it! Please Bakugou, you hurt them enough already!”

“Shut up, Racoon-Eyes, and get outta my way!”

The feeling of being braced over a large, muscular shoulder as you were carried. The growl in his voice as you were berated for your damned recklessness.

The next time you heard anything, you were being laid out on a bed while Recovery Girl frantically worked in the background. She was scolding your carrier.

“I’m fine, old hag! Just take care of them.”

A door slammed, and all was quiet at last. You finally succumbed to fatigue at the sounds of bandages rustling and kissy noises. Mina hadn’t carried you to Recovery Girl that day.

Bakugou had.

You jolted up, letting out a seething hiss as your wound reminded you that it was very much still there. You slumped, looking out into the dark bedroom with a grimace. You glanced at the closed door leading out into the hallway.

Compelled, you scooted off the bed, coming to stand in front of the door. You opened it quietly and were greeted with nothing but darkness. The tentacles atop your head swiveled as they took in your environment, allowing you to navigate the pitch black with ease until the hall opened out into the living room.

The only sounds were the distant hum of the city, and a ticking from an analog clock somewhere in the background. The soft noise of someone breathing was coming from the large, leather sectional that Bakugou had, the dim light from his windows allowing you to make out a figure bundled in blankets atop it.

You approached on silent feet until you were standing next to your unconscious host. You felt your expression soften. He was far more peaceful at rest than any other time in his life, the angry lines in his face nonexistent as he snored quietly.

You hesitantly reached out, wondering if you should even bother until morning. You had no idea what time it was, you’d been laying in bed drifting in and out of consciousness but failing to fall asleep properly. Your hand hovered over his shoulder, but you pulled away when you heard him snort.

Red eyes fluttered open at the interrupted snore, unfocused, before they settled on you and grew wide. In an instant, Bakugou was on his feet, his hand wrapping around your slender wrist and crackling ominously. You braced, ready to accept your fate when he finally rasped out your name in question.

“Fucking Christ. You’re goddamn lucky I didn’t blow your hand off, Snot-for-Brains,” he growled, voice husky with sleep.

“I suppose... I would deserve it,” you countered softly.

“Hah? What the hell are you talking about?”

You tilted your head. Did he not remember your little tiff earlier? At the gesture, it clicked into place for him.

“Oh. The dinner thing,” he said. His eyes met yours for a brief moment, assessing. Then, he shook his head, his gaze drifting to the side. “Don’t fucking worry about it.”

This was when he noticed he was still holding onto your wrist. He withdrew his hand like he’d been burned, leaving you to rub the spot while checking for damage. Thankfully, the only thing that remained was a warm sensation. It was a remarkable bit of restraint on his part. Bakugou cleared his throat, but you spoke first.

“I’m sorry. About... all that. I really am... thankful for all you’re doing for me. I... also realize you’re not obligated to... do any of it,” you murmured, hanging your head as you set your eyes on the floor. You heard him huff.

“Well, duh. I wouldn’t be doin’ it if I didn’t want to,” he stated, his arms folding against his chest. “But from now on, try not to kill yourself. I’ve seen enough of your dumb, passed out ass to last me a damn lifetime.”

Again, another strange choice of words from him. You lifted your gaze, dark eyes narrowing at him in the dimness. He wasn’t looking at you, determined to keep his eyes on something to his right.

“I’ll try,” you replied, letting yourself relax. You could feel a wave of exhaustion washing over you. You were relieved. At least it didn’t seem like Bakugou was going to shove you out the door in the morning. “Did... you want your bed... back?”

Bakugou looked at you in disbelief.

“Hell no! Which one of us almost got gutted like a damn fish, huh? You take the bed, idiot,” he stated sternly.

“I hate it,” you said bluntly. “It’s far... too big... for one person.”

“Yeah, if that person weighs less than a paper sack soakin’ wet, like you,” he retorted. He let out a frustrated sigh, letting his arms drop to his sides. “I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this, but would it make your stupid ass feel better if I was there?” You were taken aback by the question. You stared at the ground, then him.

It wasn’t a stretch by any imagination to say you’d had less than a few purely friendly thoughts about Bakugou in the ensuing years you’ve known him. For as atrocious as his attitude was, he was attractive, well-built, and had a decently handsome face. In your mind, one would have to be blind not to see that much. The idea that he’d be in the same bed as you in the real world, however, was not one you’d ever thought you’d confront.

“I...” you stuttered, uncertain of exactly what to say. In the darkness, you thought you saw the beginnings of a flush in Bakugou’s neck and ears. You had to wipe away the immediate idea you had about how pretty it looked on him.

“Just answer the damn question!”

You swallowed.

“That... might help. Yes,” you managed. You fiddled with the hem of your borrowed shirt, not looking at Bakugou directly anymore. You tried to fight the heat rising to your cheeks, hoping the darkness would cover for you should you lose the battle.

“C’mon then, we ain’t got all night,” he commanded as he started making his way to the bedroom. You followed in a daze, unable to believe you were about to share a bed with Bakugou Katsuki. Sure, you’d had something of a crush on him in your later high school days despite the rivalry the two of you maintained, but that was years ago, for God’s sake. Some higher power was clearly getting a laugh from this, and you cursed their name in your head.

You hesitated at the doorway to the bedroom, watching as Bakugou turned over the covers.

“Did you even fucking sleep?” he grumbled, more to himself than you.

“Not... really,” you answered from the door frame. He whipped around to look at you, pinning you with ruby eyes of disbelief that nearly glowed in the darkness of the room.

“Shut up, and get in,” he pointed to the bed. You strolled past him, feeling his glower on you as you climbed into the plush cocoon of blankets with a creak of the mattress. This was indeed far more comfortable than laying atop all the covers, you’d give him that much.

As soon as you had arranged yourself on one side of the bed, Bakugou laid himself on the opposite side. You were forced to face him due to your injury. He didn’t cover himself completely with the sheets as he sprawled out on his back. He tucked his hand under the pillow beneath his head, eyes closing. You couldn’t help but notice it left an empty, enticing space against his side.

Before you realized what you were doing in the haze of your pain-addled and weary mind, you’d wormed your way closer to him. You tentatively reached out to place a hand on his chest. He was so warm beneath your palm, the feeling of his heartbeat against it reminded you he was very real.  

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growled without opening his eyes. You blinked your way back to reality, about to remove your hand when he let out a low huff.

“If you’re gonna do this shit, at least follow through,” he groused.

You had to hold back the incredulity in your expression, even if he wouldn't have seen it anyway. Too tired to argue, you could figure out the meaning of his words. You mustered your courage. Keeping your hand against his heart, you slid over until you were tucked against his side with your face buried to his black wife beater. He was practically a furnace, his warmth permeating from where the two of you met against each other. You fought the urge to peer up at him and gauge his expression, fearful of what you might find there. You focused your gaze on his chest instead.

“Relax, idiot. I don’t bite.”

You didn’t realize how tense you’d been. He let out a deep breath, and you could feel his body relaxing alongside yours.

“Are you finally good?” You could feel the rumble of his low voice against your cheek. You nod.

“Good, now go the fuck to sleep. Tomorrow, you're helping with the dishes."

"Fair... enough."

You yawned softly. With eyes closed, you focused on the sound of his breathing. You were all too aware of the rise and fall of his chest under your hand, the slight quickening of his heart when you’d sidled up to him. A tiny smile graced your lips. Feeling safer than you’d felt in a long time, you allowed the gift of slumber to claim you at last.

[soulwillower]

teach me how • bill denbrough

(bill denbrough x reader smut)  

requested: BSJFOSKD bill teaching inexperienced reader how to masturbate? 🥺    +     hi!! would you mind doing a soft dom bill w the “i want the neighbors to hear you scream” prompt?? i get you’re probably super busy but if you have time :) thank you soo much!

warnings: swearing, smut, masturbation, oral (fem receiving), dom bill, hes soft tho, a lot of dirty talking, or like. bill telling the reader what to do, dont know, fluff at the end, unedited mwah

[losers + reader are 18+.]

2.4k words i think

♡

it was peaceful, for once. 

your house was silent, the only real noise being the patter of the persistent rain on the side of your house and the storm gutters filling with water. there was also bill's calm but filling presence, one foot away from you, sprawled on your bed. your best friend.

"what should i even do while they're gone?" you mumble, breathing in the scent of bill, even as he lay decently separate from you. your parents had just left for the weekend a few hours ago, and bill was over keeping you company. your stomach flutters as you watch him smirk at you. "i-i don't know. w-we can have a party." he suggests, but you shake your head profusely. 

"no way in hell, denbrough. i'm not letting the trashmouth, mike, or you throw a party in my house. i know better after the halloween incident." you state, giving bill a pointed look. he laughs, a melodic and beautiful sound - the kind of sound that you want to hear for the rest of your life.

"you had fun, y/n. d-don't be so lame." he teases, no bite in his words. "i g-guess that you can do a-anything. i m-mean, eat whatever you w-want, walk around naked, y-you can even have s-sex in the living room. or the k-kitchen- or your p=parent’s b-bedroom!" he says teasingly, a smirk on his lips. his grin so hot that you groan, but his words make you even redder.

"bill. that's disgusting. and you know i don’t have anyone to be having sex with. especially in my parents bed!" you say, a disgusted look on your face. he laughs again, flipping sideways to look at you and rest his head on his chin. he's so fucking charming, you swear he's going to be the death of you.

"f-fine, then. m-masturbate in your o-own room, i guess. b-boring." he says sarcastically, a cheeky grin on his face. you want to shove him, to roll your eyes, and to call him an idiot, but something inside you makes you feel the need to blurt out, "i wouldn't know how."

his eyebrows immediately shoot up and he wheezes, "wh-what? wait, wh- are you s-saying you've never t-touched yourself?"

you turn red as you shrug, "i- i just... i'm not sure what to even do."

he just shakes his head in surprise. "but you - how could you - so you've never, l-like.. y-you've never-"

embarrassed, extremely embarrassed, you shake your head. "no." you say, looking into your lap, "i just feel like i won't be able to do it right, like. like i need a guide." you say, and the air falls static. t

he rain on your window simultaneously fades and becomes impossibly louder as bill shrugs in a forced-casual manner. 

"i mean, i know how to d-do it. n-not that, i'm l-like, s-s-suggesting that i-"

you look at him and cut him of, "can you show me?" you ask and his mouth snaps shut. his cheeks redden but he nods, again trying to look casual, and you think there is nothing, nothing casual about this. but you really love it.

"y-yeah, y/n. n-now?" he mutters, eyes skimming your body and already making you shiver. you feel nervous but you definitely want it. "yes, if that's... if that's okay." you mumble.

he grins, "o-okay. a-anything for you, y/n."

you sigh with a small smile but then it gets silent again. "so... um, how do i- how do i start?" you ask, already feeling aroused as bill leans up on the bed, watching your splayed body on your bed in front of him as if taking in every single feature. 

you feel yourself flush deliciously under his hungry gaze.

"w-well, you have to be c-comfortable." he says, biting his lip as he looks at you. you shrug, slightly unsure and only guessing what he means. so in a surge of confidence you peel your shirt off, leaving you in a sheer bra. 

his eyes widen and he lets out a staggering breath, giving you butterflies - because nobody has ever looked that way at you before.

"f-fuck." he whispers quietly before nodding. "good, y-yeah, okay now just... t-take your f-fingers and...touch y-yourself where it feels good." he mutters lowly. you know you're dark red so you shut your eyes, hand slowly snaking down between the valley of your breasts to your shorts, rubbing yourself over them.

 it starts to feel good and you apply a tiny bit of pressure, the sensation making your hips buck slightly and a small moan to escape your lips. you don't even have time to feel embarrassed because bill's speaking up, making you open your eyes.

"fuck, yeah. th-that's - that's g-good, y/n." he mutters, staring at you while you slowly rub yourself over your shorts. "j-just like that."

his words make you ten times wetter, you can feel it as you whimper and he shifts slightly next to you as he watches. "and if y-you're feeling l-like it, then y-you t-touch yourself u-under your c-clothes." he says it so lowly, as if he's intently focused on your body, that you again feel that surge of confidence that bill brings out of you and you bring your hands to your hips, slowly pushing your shorts and panties all the way off, letting out a shaky breath as they hit the floor.

"holy shit." bill mutters quietly and you can't look at him, instead shutting your eyes as your fingers find their way down to your center. he definitely wasn't expecting you to take them all the way off. 

"s-start with o-one finger." he says and you immediately obey, your finger swirling slowly in your heat, feeling how slick you've become and gasping as you nudge your clit. bill hums, "yeah, baby. th-there you go. that'll feel g-good."

his words egg you on and you're slipping a finger inside yourself, gasping at the feeling as you clench around your finger, your thumb rubbing your clit lightly.  you whimper as you realize that you love having bill tell you what to do - it makes it all so much hotter. you thrust into yourself slowly, bill mumbles, "a-add another when y-you're ready."

so you do after a few pumps, fingers so slick with need that they slide in with relative ease. you start to pump into yourself and the small, "good g-girl" that escapes bill's lips almost makes you scream with pleasure. 

your eyes open at his words and you see that his cheeks are red, eyes dark with lust and his mouth parted while he watches you fuck yourself. your eyes trail down to his sweats where you notice a large bulge, making you moan slightly louder as you thrust your fingers into yourself. is he turned on by this? the thought makes you ache with need.

“d-does it feel good?” he asks lowly and you bite your lip, unable to comprehend how incredibly turned on you are by him right now. “y-yes, bill. fuck.” you mutter as you pump yourself. 

the feeling is unlike anything you've every felt before, and it feels like a slow, pleasuring burn that makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. you're embarrassed slightly by the noises that escape your lips, so you try to keep your mouth shut as you move against yourself, the feeling like a coil wrapping tightly in your stomach making you gasp quietly.

his hum is low and deep as he watches you, eyes lidded low with lust. you can't help the small whimper you let out from being under his attention, especially so vulnerable. 

your legs involuntarily squeeze shut and he tuts softly, hands shooting out to pull your soft thighs apart. when his fingers touch your skin, you immediately shiver - he hadn’t touched you this whole time. to do this, it's one thing. but to have bill touch you... you groan in need at the thought.

"bill, please." you whimper, your fingers suddenly not enough. he groans quietly and you lock eyes with him, your legs quivering as you continue to pump your fingers into yourself. "c-can you? please." you blush as you realize how needy your words are. he may not want to do that, anyways. 

but then you don't care how desperate you sound when you see the look that falls onto his face at your words.

"well, s-since you asked so n-nicely..." he starts, sinking slowly to his knees on the ground next to the bed to be closer to your body. you prop yourself on an elbow, watching him as he gently takes your hand, pulling your fingers slowly out of you. it makes you whimper.

he grins, a glint in his eyes as he pulls your fingers into his mouth, quickly swiping your wetness from your fingers with his tongue then letting your hand drop to the mattress. 

he groans at the taste, biting his lips. you're impossibly wet now, his actions nearly enough to set you over the edge already because holy fuck, that was the hottest thing you've ever seen.

he slowly pulls you by your legs so that they hang off the bed, his breath close to you and making you squirm.  

"what do you w-want, baby?" he asks, hands slowly caressing your thighs. you buck your hips into the air, nervous but impossibly desperate to feel that feeling you were so close to achieving earlier. "please, bill. please touch me." you mutter, squirming under him as he smirks.

he says nothing, instead dragging a finger up your heat. you squeal in pleasure as his finger rubs at your clit, your toes still curled in pleasure. he watches you as he slowly slides a finger into you, pumping immediately. 

he only gives you a few seconds before he’s slipping another finger in, filling you more than your own fingers did and making you moan out blissfully. “bill.” you mutter, fisting the bedsheets and he fucks you with his fingers. your legs start to shake as he rubs your clit with his thumb and you slap your hand over your mouth to stop the yell that threatened to leap out of your throat. 

he tuts at you softly, "none of that, b-baby. i want the n-neighbors to hear you scream.” he mutters, leaning up to kiss your cheek as he picks up his pace, thrusting his fingers into you and making you gasp. you turn red at the cheek kiss and you obey him, pulling your hand from over your mouth and gasping in pleasure as his lips press a wet kiss your clit. 

bursts of pleasure course through your body, spreading from your center all the way to your fingers and toes, your fingers finding purchase in bill's red hair. "fuck, bill." you emit loudly, your voice echoing through the empty house. he sucks on your clit, kitten licking it as his fingers brush up against you and you feel that tight coil again, very quickly becoming stronger and stronger. 

as he hits a new angle inside of you, you moan loudly, concerned that if it weren't for the rain outside, your neighbors might actually hear you. the thought has you turning red as bill moves his fingers expertly in and out of you, his tongue flicking against your clit. 

you clench around him and this time it feels different - it almost feels like the moment before you drop on a huge roller coaster but infinite times better. your breath comes out in ragged moans, "b-bill, i think i'm going to-"

"c-cum, baby. y-you've worked so h-hard." he whispers, pulling his lips off of you and pumping into you in the most perfect way that has you moaning loudly.

and then he's pressing a searing kiss to your lips.

as his fingers curl inside you, you hit your high, whimpering into his mouth as you fleetingly realize that him kissing you for the first time is what made you cum.

but you're clenching around his fingers as waves of pleasure roll through you, whining his name against his lips in bliss. it feels better than anything you've ever felt before, and bill being the one to get you there makes it all the more incredible. you whimper as you clench slowly around his fingers, your orgasm drawing out from the intensity of it.

his fingers slow to a stop as you come down from your high and he presses a kiss to your lips as he pulls his fingers out of you slowly, watching your face contort in pleasure with a smile on his own cherry lips.

as he sits back on his legs, you stare at each other out of breath and you have to gulp for air, feeling completely satisfied and fucked out. that was fucking incredible. your eyes drop down his figure and you start, “do y-” 

but bill gently smiles, standing up. "th-thats for a-another day, y/n." he mutters with a soft shrug, grabbing the sweatshirt he'd tossed to the floor hours ago when he'd first arrived and helping you pull it on.

 it smells like him and your stomach gets butterflies as he slides your underwear up your legs. you sit on the bed and he smiles softly at you, his cheeks slightly pink as his hand falls to your cheek. his hair is messy and falls into his eyes, and you love it. 

"u-um, i like you. l-like, a lot." he says bashfully and you smile. his thumb rubs your cheek and you can't help but press your lips against his in a slow, meaningful kiss. you blush as you taste yourself on his lips.

"i like you too. a lot." you add, giggling as he smiles. "th-thats good." he states, "because i-i'm about to c-come up there and k-kiss you some more, and that'd be a-awkward if you d-didn't."

you laugh, rolling over to make space for him and yelping slightly as he lightly smacks your underwear-clad ass. he lays down and immediately pulls you into him, half your body over his as he lays on his back. his eyes close and you nuzzle into his neck, his scent surrounding you.

you feel warm inside.

you perk up as a thought pops into your head. "wait, this means maybe i will have someone to keep me company while they're gone." you say into bills neck and you beam as you feel his chest rumble with laughter.

"c-can we have sex in y-your parents' room?" he jokes, poking your side. you smack him lightly on the chest, leaning your head up to look at him. "no, bill! stop!" you hiss, giggling as he laughs at you, eyes full of adoration as he watches you move around.

he pulls you in to a deep kiss, holding you against him and you sigh happily.  "i really l-like you, you know." he mutters into your hair. you smile tiredly, "i like you more, you asshole." the only other noise after that is the rain on your window and the soft beating of bill's heart against your ear.

[whereflowersbloom]

Cracked heart

He had made a terrible mistake. Somehow, before the tragedy he’d begun to believe in the visions of a bright and hopeful future. Of a new world where the stars listened and dreams were answered. His half-human heart had shown him how foolish he was. It was his fault. It had been all his damn fault.

Everything was maddening chaos. Red lights and noisy alerts in the monitoring equipment of the Tower. Nightwing yelling orders at everyone, preparing for a major battle. Starfire organized two groups. There two teams were forcibly separated by a force field that cut off compete communication between them. Of course they never expected the aftermath would cost them more than they were able to imagine...

"We need to wait for Raven.” He answered to Starfire, his voice cracking mid-sentence. He knew he they had to leave, but if they could just wait one more minute. One more minute. For her. He wouldn’t leave her behind. More voices warning him to hurry up. It was too much for his ears and head.

“I can't leave her behind!" His voice shakes with panic and fear, his entire being was shaking as the alarms blasted his ears, red lights flashing continually. He doesn’t waste any more time and took off to the sky eyes scanning for any signs of Raven.

Deep inside, a small part of him was sobbing in wretched, horrified guilt as his half-kryptonian eyes looked at the brutalized body of his teammate. He recalled her expression. Heartbreaking panic and torment made her achingly familiar eyes bright and chaotic. There was a desire stirring inside him to return to the days before she became broken, before her inconsolable soul shattered, a minute, a single minute just to save him was the key to her happiness. But even he knew such wounds of the heart never healed even with the fast flow of time.

With his heart clenching painfully he took a step closer to her door room. He didn’t bother to knock, quietly he opened the door and let himself in.

“Raven...” Conner released a breath that he hadn’t fully realized he had been holding and felt his shoulders slump with inhuman physical fatigue.

Raven opened her amethyst eyes to meet electric blue ones, she recognized the guilt in them. She had stayed in her room for more than five days. She closed her eyes and begged to Azar this was a terrible nightmare, to listen to her prayers. Let him live. Please let him come back to me. She still wanted to scream. Instead she turned away and looked towards the window. Most days, she would only stare vacantly into space. Sometimes kept looking at the clock visualizing Damian walking inside, done with patrolling, allowing her to listen to his steady heartbeat as they snuggled in their bed.

“He’s dead.” Her voice was so low and hoarse that Conner felt a bile of anger in his throat. Raven sounded devastatingly broken. She sounded disappointed that she did not sound like herself or was it the hurt of admitting the cruel truth out loud.

She likely needed a shower since her hair was greasy but she could not find the energy to climb out of bed and get into the shower. Couldn’t find the energy or will to do anything. She felt disgusting. Kori had informed her she was suffering from depression and when she was ready to seek therapy or medication, they would be there for her in any way. Raven did not believe she was truly depressed. The idea seemed bizarre. She had just lost...her lover. One half of her soul. Her heart had been ripped out her chest and spattered. Robin was gone. Damian.

Conner swallowed hard. The grief and sorrow were consuming her slowly, eating her up from inside out. Her face was breaking out, particularly around her forehead and chin. Her eyes had dark circles and her face appeared so shallow that she looked like a different person. This was not the Raven he knew.

Please, he begged silently, please understand. Please let me save you. Those words were the ones he wanted to voice with urgency. ‘He isn’t here but I love you’ even so he couldn’t confess his feelings for her. Not when she’s in this state.

It’s over, they were back home but it’s never over really. In her mind, she was in another world part of another constellation and system, it’s on fire. There was nothing else she could think about, nothing else she could feel. But the scalding hot flames turning her lover to ashes and dust. Reduced to nothing. In minutes Robin was gone. All Conner could feel in that moment was the blurriness in his vision perhaps caused by the sting of the radiation or the fact that he could barely get any air inside his lungs despite his alien genes. The grim realization that he probably couldn’t keep going any longer, if he didn’t step her out in time, hitting him hard and suddenly, making a rush of raw pain spread through his body like poison. There was no time to mourn Robin, there was nothing left of him to take except for his sword, which Raven clung almost inseparably to as if her life depended on it. His last possession. No time to be relieved that they were both alive, or scared to death because she was in such danger. She persisted using her powers attempting to bring the dead back to life; fruitless. No success. She used up all her magic and energy until she eventually collapsed. Conner made the decision then, quickly he took her in his arms and flew away from this everlasting bloody hell of a place.

He was right here last week and all of a sudden he was gone. “Damian is gone...” She cried painfully with broken voice, finally it all was let out with anguished screams and sobs, and then she could not breathe. All the emotions she had been holding onto for the best part of the week. She felt trapped in her own body, her mind racing at ninety miles an hour, her heart felt like it was going to explode, and then she was hyperventilating. Overwhelmed. Her boyfriend, second in command of their team and the strongest person she knew....was dead. Her gentle Damian.

After a minute she perceived a source of warmth embracing her protectively.

It was Conner and as soon as he saw Raven’s sweaty and trembling state he immediately went over to her and tried to get her to use him to support herself and get control over her breathing.

“Focus on my voice Raven." Conner whispered soothingly, stroking her dark hair until she calmed down. "You're gonna make through this, I promise." She let out another sob and he continued to rock her back and forth. He closed his eyes shut as he felt like his heart was being stabbed over and over again. Gods, how powerless he was not being able to comfort the woman he loved profoundly.

Never he thought that she would need him this much. He dreamed of having her in his arms countless times but never this way. He would have fought for her openly. Made his intentions clear as water. Why did Wayne had to be so reckless and jump to action? Where did his so called redemption and sacrifice got him?

Something else inside him twisted as he thought the kind of pain she must be feeling to let him cradle her like this. She had never shown him such vulnerability, fragility so defenseless. Somply touching her making it seem like she would vanish in the air. Yes, everyone mourned Robin but none had the right to mourn him like she did.

“He died before my eyes... I couldn’t bring him back...” As those words hit her in the chest once again for the thousandth time in five days. She squeezed violet eyes shut as fresh tears burned at now red eyes. The life they had built had crumbled away, she had none of it now. Nothing.

Her hot tears streaming down her face hit him like a punch to the gut. The sound that escaped pink lips could hardly be called human, a mix between a sob and a wail. The mournful melody of a banshee weeping resonating betond all other sounds on earth. She felt her knees buckle beneath and almost crumpled to the floor but Conner got her. He would never let her fall or suffer alone. No.

"I'm here. I will always be here for you, I promise." He vowed solemnly with firm voice, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. He wished to held her a little tighter. For a little longer. For her to see him with a new light, gave him a ray of hope.

He didn't know how long they remained like that. And honestly he didn't care. Even if his arms could hurt for holding her, and his back ached like hell for being in the same position for god knows how long. He didn’t give a single fuck.

All he cared about was that no matter what, he would have done absolutely everything in his power to make sure that she got through this. It would take a very long time. And maybe she wouldn’t be completely whole again, but whatever she had to offer him in the future. He would gladly accept it and stand by her side until the end of time. Because he understood perfectly you didn’t just move on and get over the love of your life. Conner knew it too well. He would keep her safe for him, in his name.

As the sky loved the mountains providing rain to water their trees, helping them grow strong gracefully and with ease. He would love her the same.

I’m feelings bit down so I wrote some sad and angsty Damirae/Konrae sorry 😭😭😭

Might edit later but hope you enjoy @amaati @grassfour @andthendk @xxitzmikoxx @niahti @alerialblu

[fishingforyolos]

That Awkward Moment When...

What if Dean got Castiel back from the Empty, and DIDN’T confess his love right away? What if instead, Dean and Cas just...didn’t know how to bring it up to one another, and forced Sam to endure the most intense third-wheel moment that he’s ever experienced, while these two emotionally constipated dumbasses sat in awkward silence?

This is here to answer that question.

________________________________________

Ahem.

It was the fourth time within two minutes that Dean had cleared his throat, and pretended to look out the window.

Sam was counting, now, in a desperate bid to distract from the incredible, palpable awkward silence emanating from the front seat of the car.

He had given Cas the front as a KIND gesture. He was being nice! It was only FAIR that the guy who had just escaped from super mega turbohell got to have a free pass at riding shotgun.

Or, so he thought. When he sidled into the backseat an hour ago, he did not anticipate the absolutely lethal levels of weird that Cas and Dean would be radiating—all pretending not to look at each other, conspicuous rubbing of the back of their necks, and god DAMN it Dean was fake-looking out the window AGAIN! There was nothing out there but corn, Dean!! Corn for miles!!!

Sam sat back and groaned. This was one of the most intolerable hours that he had ever witnessed in this godforsaken car, and that was saying something.

He allowed himself to drift off into his thoughts, letting his analytical side take over. Whatever it was, it probably happened in the bunker, right before Cas was taken by the Empty. Dean had been very...vague, about that situation, which only made Sam all the more curious. What could they have SAID to each other? Sam was no stranger to having a tense relationship with Castiel, but...if they were mad at each other, they’d be doing that stupid stony-faced silent treatment. But no, they both seemed too full of nervous energy. Cas was currently rifling through the glovebox, of all goddamn things, and Dean was toggling the blinker back and forth on a two-lane highway.

Click, click. Click, click. Click, click.

“Are these...salted?” asked Castiel, holding up a box of bullets as if they were a sale item at Costco.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” said Dean taking a quick glance, “We bought those for the uh...for the ghosts.”

“I see,” said Castiel, nodding for just a bit too long.

Click, click. Click, click. Click, click.

Sam scrubbed his face with his hands. He had been to hell before, but listening to bad small talk was its own special kind of hell. What happened in that bunker room that would make them behave like-

Like-

Sam’s mouth fell open.

Like the awkward morning after.

“Oh, my God,” Sam blurted, before he could stop himself, “Did-did you two have a one-night stand?”

Castiel dropped the box of bullets.

Dean choked on nothing.

“Sam, what the HELL?!” he coughed.

“Well, SORRY,” Sam said, in a way that he hoped conveyed how NOT sorry he was, “But you guys are acting, uhhh, really weird, and I thought maybe, I dunno-”

He shrugged, and held his hands up in defense against Dean’s murderous glare, “I thought maybe you hooked up! Y’know, last night on earth style!”

“Wha-no. No, no, no,” Dean said again, gesturing forcefully with one hand before pointing directly at Sam, “That’s-that’s not what happened in there.”

“Indeed,” Castiel murmured lowly, throwing a glance to the backseat, “I can assure you, it was worse.”

Dean nearly swerved off the road.

Sam’s jaw fell open again, eyes flicking from Dean to Cas. “W-WORSE?!”

“Oh my FUCKING god,” Dean whispered into the steering wheel.

“What I mean is, it was more...personally humiliating. To me,” Castiel clarified.

Sam blinked several times, trying to process this new bit of information. 

“But I thought...you said, that the Empty's deal was about you experiencing happiness,” Sam said, shifting back into analytical mode, “Does it make an...exception, for humiliation?”

He sat back and grimaced, as he weighed the horrible possibility in his mind. “Is it into that??”

“W-well,” stuttered Castiel, his gravelly voice betraying his discomfort, “Regardless of the...preferences, sexual or otherwise, of the Empty-”

Dean suddenly slammed the steering wheel with his palm.

“Can you two PLEASE, shut up?!” he roared, “And let me fucking DRIVE in PEACE?!”

Sam and Cas fell silent, the atmosphere of the Impala even more tense than before.

Sam put his head in his hands. God, he should have just kept his mouth shut. Or maybe, he should have just taken shotgun in the first place, and stuck Cas in the back. Would've saved everyone all this trouble, maybe.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said, finally breaking the silence.

Sam pursed his lips in annoyance. He could already tell, simply by the look on Cas’ face, that this was going to be another heart-to-heart where they completely forgot he existed. 

Dean, meanwhile, didn’t react.

“I…” Castiel sighed, “I don’t...mean to make things awkward, it’s just that I didn’t-I never expected to SEE you again.”

“Really, Cas?” Dean exploded, “Really? After all we’ve been through, after all the times we’ve dragged each other out of the clutches of-of Hell, Heaven, you name it, you didn’t-you didn’t even consider the POSSIBILITY that we’d get you out?”

“Of course I considered it,” Castiel said quietly, “It was my most desperate desire."

He sat back, and turned to direct his gaze out the window.

“But there is a sort of...freedom, in confessing directly before death,” Castiel said, speaking a fog onto the window with each word, “All the vulnerability...none of the consequences.”

Sam’s eyes flew wide open as it all finally clicked. 

No way. No way. NO WAY.

He shot up straight, incredulity plastered across his face that the other two were too preoccupied to notice.

DId Castiel...confess his feelings in that bunker? Make a move? Shoot his shot? And then DIE?! 

What the fuck, Cas?

Sam sat back, reeling, running his fingers through his hair as Dean and Cas continued to stare out separate windows. He quite literally didn’t think he would LIVE to see the day that they acknowledged their...thing, and now they were doing it right in front of his eyes.

“I...I meant what I said, Dean,” Castiel said, fixing Dean’s profile with a longing stare, “Every single word. And I still do.”

Sam turned back toward Dean, hunched defensively over the wheel of the Impala. He still wouldn’t look at Cas. 

Please, Sam prayed silently, Don’t fuck this up.

“But, I’m acutely aware that it made things different between us,” Castiel sighed, “And I’m sorry for that. I can’t take it back. However-”

“I love you.”

If he wasn’t literally watching Dean’s mouth move as he said it, Sam wouldn’t have believed his ears. Holy shit.

He whipped his head back to Castiel, who was stopped in his tracks like a deer in headlights.

Even the rain, beating against the windshield at 70 miles an hour, didn’t dare interrupt the moment at hand.

Dean was still staring out at the road, hands gripping the wheel like he was clinging to sanity itself.

“You didn’t let me say it back,” Dean said through gritted teeth, “In the bunker, you just-you dropped that on me, and then you were GONE, and you didn’t even let me say it back.”

Sam’s mouth was agape once again, eyes flicking back and forth between his brother and the equally speechless angel. The air between them was charged, and ready for a lightning strike.

“W-when you say that,” Castiel said, after a solid ten seconds of trying to find his voice, “Do you-do you mean it-”

Dean DID swerve off the road this time, sending Sam sprawling across the backseat as he skidded to a stop on the shoulder.

“Ow! Dean, what the-”

“Yeah, Castiel,” Dean said, finally taking his eyes off the road to fix him with a wild look, “I mean it. Same way you did. When you said that-that the one thing you wanted, you couldn’t have, it-it didn’t make any sense, because I always thought that I was the one wanting what I couldn’t-who I couldn't-”

He sniffled.

“Fuck, I didn’t want to do this in the CAR,” Dean said, wiping his eyes, “Not in front of Sammy.”

“Honestly? I prefer this over the past miserable hour,” Sam said, leaning back, “Do what you gotta do, man. Just...pretend I’m not here.”

Dean actually chuckled at that, but turned his attention back to Cas, who was still blinking in shock.

“Cas, you...you gotta understand,” Dean said carefully, reaching across the seat and cupping Cas’ cheek in a hand, “Come hell or high water, you have me.”

He swallowed hard. “You don’t have to...to want, I-I’m yours, a-already in the bag. Got it?”

Tears tracked down Castiel’s face as he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to stop a wide, tearful smile from spreading across his face.

Dean visibly softened, and brought Castiel’s face in, kissing him right on the mouth.

Sam hoped he wouldn't come to regret the "do what you gotta do" comment, but they broke apart just a moment later to touch foreheads like a couple of saps.

“...Yaaay, congratulations!” Sam said, waving celebratory arms in the air as widely as he could in the cramped backseat. He searched around him and found some crumpled receipts, which he tossed into the front seat. “Whoo! Confetti!”

“Sam…” Dean said, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

“I appreciate your jubilation, Sam,” Castiel said, dead seriously, looking back at him with just his eyes, “Your approval means a lot to me.”

"Hey,” Sam said, clapping Castiel on the shoulder, “This changes nothing. You're still like a brother to me, man. You’re still family." 

Cas smiled at him. “Thank you, Sam.”

“Aww, look at that smile, Sammy,” Dean said, tapping Cas on the cheek, “Look at it! How could anybody resist that smile?”

“I dunno, Dean, it’s pretty easy when you’re not in love with him,” Sam smiled.

“Welp,” shrugged Dean casually, as he shifted the car back into drive, “Guess I wouldn’t know, then.”

Sam was taken aback by the...ease, with which all that just rolled off of Dean’s tongue. 

“God,” Sam groaned, “You’re going to be an INSUFFERABLE couple.”

Dean just laughed, light and loud, as he merged back onto the highway, offering out his right hand.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Castiel said, taking the offered hand with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, "But as you can see, I cannot resist his charm."

Sam rolled his eyes at that, but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. It was insufferable, yes, and Sam was going to have to have a LONG talk with Dean later, but...for now, he just laughed, as the tension bled out of the car, and Dean FINALLY turned on the stereo, letting the soothing sound of Led Zeppelin carry them into a lighter mood.

Sam took a deep breath, and let it out slow. Maybe sometimes, good things do happen.

[sethrine-writes]

Daughter of a Devil, Ch. 27

Main Characters:  Father!Dante & Daughter!Reader

Words:  1631

Warnings:  Mild canon-typical violence, Angst (but definitely some bittersweet happiness)

Story Summary:  Being a parent wasn’t easy, nor was there such thing as being perfect at it. Good news for Dante, seeing as how he doesn’t have the slightest idea in hell what to do with a child. Sometimes, he was certain that fighting off a horde of demons was a far better match than keeping up with his own daughter. Well, at least he wasn’t going down without a fight.

A/N:  So close to the end of this series! And the end of the Vergil arch is here! Enjoy!

------

Chapter 27 - What He Never Could Have (1 yr.)

For Lady, the battle had just ended.

Lying before her, cold and lifeless to the world thanks to four shots from her own gun, was her father, Arkham. He was an evil man, one that had allowed a demon to corrupt his heart in hopes of obtaining Sparda’s power and becoming an all-powerful entity. He had killed her mother and countless other people just for this one goal, had ruined her life, and for that, he paid the ultimate price by her own hands.

A laugh escaped her lips as she looked up into the sky, the light sound soon turning into relieved sobs and cascading tears.

“Here I thought I wasn’t gonna cry.”

She stayed like that for several minutes, arms resting lethargically against her raised knees as her mismatched eyes stared into the grey sky above. It looked like morning was quickly approaching, but all that could be seen was the gloom of shadows and ashy colors. Still, it was better than the darkness that had taken over some hours ago, a sign of, hopefully, the end to a nightmare years in the making.

Something shifted strangely to the right, catching Lady’s attention almost immediately. Reflexively, she twisted her body until she was on one knee and in a position to attack, aiming her gun at the source of the movement. Instead of a rogue demon coming from the rubble as she had thought there would be, a passageway that had previously been sealed off had suddenly opened. Within, she could see a staircase leading down, and a sound that sounded like gurgling of some sort echoed from the chamber.

Lady stood and followed the path into a well-lit, open area. In the middle of the chamber stood a large bed-like structure with walls that came to her waist. Within, Lady was surprised to find a child lying within, her tiny arms wrapped around a stuffed animal.

“Well, hello. What are you doing here?”

You looked up at the new sound of a voice, eyes wide as you took in the curious face standing above you. You reached up after a moment and began to babble, surprising Lady even more at the ease of which you accepted her presence. With the slightest bit of hesitation, Lady reached forward and took hold of you, carefully lifting you from the makeshift playpen and cradling you in her arms.

From what she could tell, you looked unharmed and taken care of, unbothered by whatever destruction had been occurring all night. You couldn’t have been any more than a year, at most, a darling little girl with a striking feature Lady felt almost familiar with.

“That hair...”

”Oh, one more thing-”

Dante turned to look over his shoulder at Lady, her weapon she had allowed him to borrow, Kalina Ann, resting comfortably on the opposite side. His eyes were set, holding so much more seriousness than any of their previous interactions before, the light, carefree nature hidden within all but vanishing in that one moment of time.

“They took something from me, something I can’t live without. If you find it, keep it safe for me.”

He turned and continued on his way for possibly the final battle that would determine the fate of the world. Though she didn’t quite understand what he meant or what exactly he was talking about, she owed him that much to at least attempt to find whatever it was that had been stolen.

She would have been a fool not to try.

“Could you be what he was looking for?”

---

Dante was in the midst of fighting off Vergil, swords clashing and sparks flying through the air like lightning striking the night sky. He had not wanted things to come to this, yet in the end, he had expected it. Despite the outcome, Vergil was still family, still his brother. It was pointless, however, to make him see reason when he was so hell-bent on his own idea of power.

“Why did you take her away from me when you could have easily gotten my attention?” Dante asked after a brief separation from steel against steel. “Seems a little below you, even for your standards.”

Vergil paused for a moment himself, twisting his sword within his grasp for a few moments before darting forward once more with intent to kill.

“Nothing is below a man seeking power.”

More clashing of swords, even more sparks lighting the darkness around them. Vergil was becoming slower, and it was easy to tell that he wouldn’t be able to hold up much longer. Dante was faring a little better, but he, too, was becoming tired. The next blow would be the final blow.

“You know, you were always the smarter one of us both; you always had that “holier-than-thou” complex that just really pissed me off. Why the hell were you so envious of me? No…why are you still?”

Vergil panted heavily from a distance away, eyes narrowed and casting a venomous glare toward his twin counterpart.

“I never could understand you, Dante. No brains, but always well-liked by many. No need for power, yet stronger than ever. It unnerved me, not understanding how you were possibly better than me. It wasn’t until recently that I finally understood.”

Without warning, he came running forward; Dante had no other choice but to follow along. It was time to end it all.

---

Vergil had been defeated.

Dante’s will was strong enough to overcome the power his brother possessed and still continued to seek, all because he had set out to this place for one purpose. He would protect you and the world he would be raising you in until his final breath, even if it meant defeating his one and only brother.

“You…always had what I never could have. Strength beyond power, awareness beyond knowledge…it seems, in this instance, you were more powerful than I."

The portal was closing from above, the area around them crumbling from the closing of the gates. Vergil clutched at the amulet around his neck, the one their mother had given to each of them so many years ago.

“No one can have this, Dante... It's mine. It belongs to a son of Sparda. Leave me and go, if you don't want to be trapped into the demon world. I'm staying."

He looked around briefly, an air of finality about him set in stone.

"This place was our father's home; your daughter will have no place or sense of purpose with her father here.”

Dante gave a defeated look of his own, knowing he would not be able to convince Vergil otherwise. He couldn’t save his brother from himself; it was something even he had no influence over.

But he could still have his life with you.

---

“I need that back,” Lady stated with the slightest smile, pointing at her weapon, Kalina Ann, while carefully cradling you with her other arm.

Dante leaned against the large weapon resting upright on the ground, a small smile playing at his lips despite his worn appearance.

“Tell you what; I’ll trade you for that bundle of joy you’ve got there.”

Lady looked down at your suddenly gibbering form reaching out for Dante, eyes even brighter than before. She couldn’t stop the slight laugh that escaped her lips.

“Deal.”

Once Dante had you back in his arms, he held you close to him in a semi-tight embrace for several long moments despite your struggling at the end. It surprised him how much he had been affected by your absence, how much he really missed having you there with him, tugging at his hair and reaching for the amulet around his neck and nearly poking his eyes out when you got too excited.

He pulled you away to get a better look at your person, happy to find that you had not been harmed in any way. Vergil could have had anything done to you, could have killed you in the blink of an eye, yet he had kept you safe and sound, away from all the mess he had created.

Maybe there was some part of him that wasn’t so cold-blooded, after all.

“Are you crying?”

“It’s only the rain,” Dante responded, fully aware of the tears falling down his face. He was happy, and he was upset, two conflicting feelings that were wreaking havoc on his emotional state.

Lady looked up and around the area they had found themselves in. It was wet in some areas, if not a bit dusty from the rubble, and water was standing in puddles here and there, but it was no longer storming as it had been.

“But the rain already stopped.”

Dante smiled a bit then, a sad sort of smile that spoke volumes.

“Devils never cry.”

“I see.”

You suddenly gave a loud squeal of excitement as you reached forward to grab at Dante’s hair, taking hold of the strands in the front and trying to pull them back. You then became sidetracked by the shimmering red of the amulet around his neck and preoccupied yourself with the object shortly after. This forced a laugh from both Dante and Lady.

“Maybe somewhere out there even a devil may cry when he loses a loved one, or when he finds another. Don't you think?”

Dante smiled then, holding you steady with one hand under your bottom while the other came to run through your fluffy locks of hair.

This was something Vergil had been talking about, what he could never have. You were what made Dante stronger, what gave him power in his weakest moments, and what made him strive to become a better person and a better father.

There was nothing else Dante could ever ask for than to do right by you.

[esmesrose]

Lorraine/Ed (gift for you)

Lorraine is mesmerizing, for so many reasons.

Ed knows this from the moment he first lays eyes on her, all those decades ago when they were both teenagers - fingers brushing softly at the movie theater, laughter in the rain, kisses under the gazebo. His heart was caught from day one, and he’s never pretended otherwise.

One slight issue, of course, is that she is mesmerizing for so many people they meet also. To a certain degree, this fills Ed with pride – of course people should be captivated by his wife, why would they ever not be? But at the same time, he can’t help it whenever a tiny sliver of jealousy rears its ugly head.

-

Lorraine is beautiful, no matter what she is doing.

Early mornings, when Lorraine’s hair is a mess, her eyes blinking blearily at the suddenly light, and her nose crinkling at the thought of having to get out of bed when it’s still cold. Evenings, when they are both reading side by side on the couch, their shoulders resting together, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, and her hair tickling his neck. Afternoons, when they are out for a stroll through the park, her bright smile lighting up the world around them more than any ray of sunshine. On a case, where she is dressed smartly and sensibly, willing to crawl into a basement or run up a flight of stairs, whilst looking wonderfully fashionable at the same time.

She arrives to help people on their darkest days like a burning symbol of light and beauty, and Ed finds it understandable that so many – men and women alike – are enthralled by her when she helps chase their troubles away.

Or at least, it would be understandable if they didn’t try to flirt at the end of the case. Ed’s eyes narrow as he takes in the scene in front of him.

Mr Williams, husband and father of three, has seemingly forgotten his now-relieved family in the aftermath of their latest demonic possession case, and Ed watches as the man leans ever so slightly closer to Lorraine as she finishes saying something to him. She reaches out to shake hands, about to wrap up the case and say her farewells, and he clasps her hand between both of his; Ed notices his touch lingering even as her arm tenses to pull away.

Ed slides smoothly in next to her, his arm going around her waist so his fingers can rest lightly on her hips. He reaches out his own hand, forcing the man to break contact with her and turn his attention to Ed.

‘We best be going now,’ Ed says in a falsely cheery tone. He can sense the amusement radiating off Lorraine, who isn’t fooled in the slightest by his sudden appearance, but she allows him to lead her gallantly away.

-

Lorraine is fascinating, with her abilities making her seem almost otherworldly sometimes.

Ed tries to protect her as much as possible, because only he knows the true toll these gifts extract from her. He sees the pain and exhaustion, her fear at what her visions bring, her nightmares when a case refuses to leave her mind. He hates when people don’t take her gifts seriously either, far more than it ever bothers her. There are a few times when the mocking becomes too much, and he wishes he could just punch the person, although he always refrains. It’s a fine line to walk – wanting people to respect her gifts, but wishing that she didn’t have to use them often either.

When she does show them on full display, it’s a sight to behold, however. Ed loves that part of her just as he loves all of her, and while he’ll never be able to know what she sees and goes through, he is there by her side each time.

Those lucky few who get to witness it in person like him are often awestruck, or perhaps even fearful. And then there are those in the classroom, who can watch the videos and be lost in the stories, fascinated by something that is slightly removed from their own reality.

There are always some students who seem to be captivated by these stories, and they flock around Lorraine after their speeches, with hundreds of prying or challenging questions. Ed can practically see the stars in their eyes as they stare at her, riveted by this calm and polite woman with such a powerful gift.

But as always, they don’t know the dark side of it; they’re searching for the mystery and the What Ifs, not the actual woman behind them.

‘Enough questions for today,’ he says, holding up a hand after one such presentation. There is a sigh of disappointment from the large cluster of students surrounding Lorraine, but he shoulders his way through, trying to be civil and yet refusing to be separated from her by a sea of people.

Lorraine finishes up her conversation with a young girl, who is clinging onto her notebook with white knuckles and a slightly dazed look in her eyes, and then smiles up at him.

They leave the classroom arm in arm.

-

Lorraine is brave.

To many people, especially when they first meet her, she seems a composed and polite woman, exuding elegance right from her fashion choices to her language and behaviour.

And of course, Lorraine IS elegant, and she is composed and polite. But Ed gets to see the ridiculous sense of humour she has at home also, when she is playing with Judy or making him laugh. He enjoys how matter-of-fact she can be when out feeding the chickens or how freeing she finds dancing in his arms.

Perhaps people could guess these sides of her, given enough time. But what they almost always underestimate is how brave Lorraine can be, facing down the darkest creatures of hell. She sees terrible visions without flinching, and converses with spectres and demons as if it is normal – which it practically is, for her.

Occasionally, although Ed would loathe to admit it out loud, he wishes she slightly was less brave. He is less fearful of the demons they fight against than ice-cold terror that runs through his veins whenever he is forced to witness Lorraine in danger. Sometimes, it’s her own gift that leaves her screaming, at risk from a creature in her mind, or being so wrapped up in what is unfolding in her vision that she isn’t aware of the real-world threats around her. Other times, he has to watch as she crawls into a basement to face down an angry ghost, or climbs up into an attic space where only the slightest body can walk along the floor. He hates being left behind, but she always just smiles at him, or rolls her eyes at his attempts to persuade her not to go, and he is left hoping for her safety again and again.

For other people though, they aren’t expecting this type of behaviour from her. This time, Ed notices it in the expressions of the two policemen, who have just watched her scramble out from under a house, a small child clutched in her arms.

He’s already next to her, one hand on her back and the other cupping her elbow as he helps her stand. There is dirt on her knees, spiderwebs in her hair, and a scrape down her cheek that looks flecked with blood, but she’s beaming at him with a bright smile, so he thankfully knows she’s alright.

‘Mrs Warren, let me take the boy,’ one of the policemen says, reaching out to lift the child out of her embrace.

‘That was very impressive, ma’am,’ comes the stutter from the younger officer, his eyes wide as he takes in the scene around him. Lorraine turns her smile towards him, and a bright red flush sweeps across the young man’s cheeks. Ed almost chuckles at his bashfulness, for once having sympathy for someone who is clearly enamoured by Lorraine – he too can never resist her smiles.

But then he can feel her waver slightly in his arms, exhaustion setting in after all she’s done. A passing flashlight illuminates her pale face, and he can see bruising appearing around the gash in her cheek.

‘Come on,’ he says softly, and leads her towards the ambulance.

-

Lorraine is warm-hearted.

Her warmth, patience and kindness towards others can still amaze Ed, even after all these years, and after all the evilness that’s surrounded her. Other people can sense it also – and not just from those who know who they are and what they do.

They’re at a wedding organized by a close friend of them both, but where most attendees are strangers. Small talk flows comfortably at their table however, with Lorraine skillfully leading the conversation whenever it threatens to peter out into awkward silences, having an innate ability to include everyone in a discussion.

Later, Ed wanders over to the private bar to collect drinks for them both, and as he waits to be served, he turns and scans the crowd, searching for her out of habit.

Lorraine is still standing and talking to the group he’s just left, smiling at whatever is being said. The evening lamps have been lit, and there is a soft glow to her skin. At least two of the (apparently single) wedding guests have closed the gap in the circle where he once stood, clearly trying to be slightly closer to her. He’s not sure if she’s even noticed, so intent is she on listening to her friend’s story, reaching out to rest her hand on the woman’s wrist. The two guests watch her instead, and he watches them. He could go over and interrupt, slotting back beside her in the circle, but at the end of the day, he knows there is nothing to worry about anyway. She’ll be more disgruntled if he comes back empty-handed.

He turns back to the bar, raising his hand and finally capturing the attention of a waiter. The man is busy pouring two glasses of wine, when Ed feels a warmth at his back, and two small hands settle on his waist.

‘Having fun?’ he asks, not turning around, but slipping his hand down so he can entangle his fingers with hers.

‘I’ll have even more fun dancing with you,’ she says sweetly in his ear, and the next thing he knows, he is abandoning their drinks in order to be swept onto the dance floor.

Lorraine settles in his arms, and they dance together for the rest of the evening.

-

(I was aiming for jealous Ed for you, but kinda stumbled on protective-jealous Ed by mistake…woops.)

-

I loved it, thank you so much!!!!!♡♡♡♡

[marvelousmarvelimagines]

I Thought I Lost You Kisses

Pairing - Tony Stark x Reader

Summary - Based on the prompt, “I thought I lost you,” kisses. Tony and you have broken up, but neither of you wants to let the other go. Will circumstances force your separation anyway. 

Word Count - 1,674

Warnings - Language and canon typical violence

From the moment that it had happened, you had known it was a mistake. Tony Stark was everything to you. The last thing that you had wanted was to break up with him. The two of you were stubborn, your fights legendary when they occurred. All you had wanted was for him to take a break, get some sleep, but it seemed as if the Avengers would always be a priority over everything. You had said things that you didn’t mean about how you didn’t believe he loved you anymore. While he had been pissed off you would even make the suggestion. You had been jealous, bitter at the lack of time you had with him, not to mention stressed from your own job, and let it get to your head. 

If you had taken a step back, thought it through, you would have realized that. 

Instead, you decided that it wasn’t worth it. 

You didn’t think there would ever be a time that you could forget the expression on his face. Tony Stark was always a mask. A bravado of wit and confidence to behold no matter what the circumstance. There was such a small group of people that he let that facade fade away with. You were one of them. 

It had been so easy to read the expression of hurt on his face before he tried to cover it up. The instant you saw it, you knew that you had fucked up, but you had no idea how to make it right. How could you take something back moments after you had said it? Especially with the anger and jealousy hanging over you like a cloud that blocked out the sun? 

So you did nothing, said nothing, and the both of you retreated deeper into your work, ignoring the concerned glances and sincere questions from your friends who noticed your behaviors. It was sweet of them, but you couldn’t answer them, not without breaking down yourself. 

Because every second that Tony wasn’t in your life hurt like hell. You missed everything about him. The way he’d have your coffee ready in the mornings, the kiss on your forehead before you left for work. You even missed watching him tinkering while you told him all about whatever stupid thing had happened at headquarters that day. No matter how unimportant or how deep into a project he seemed to be, he always listened. Most of all? You missed curling up at his side and letting him hold you at night. 

To put it simply, you were miserable, and you didn’t think that he was any better. 

Not everyone noticed. It was like you had said, Tony Stark had a mask that he hid his emotions behind. Only his closest friends noticed the difference. You saw the signs though. The dark circles under his eyes, the way he would jump at any sudden noise, the tenseness of his shoulders as he walked around the compound from one project to the next. 

Then there was the way that he would stare at you when he thought you weren’t looking. It was pretty similar to the way that you would look at him. It was clear that you had made a mistake, and you wanted to fix it, but your pride had stopped you for so long, you were having trouble overcoming it and admitting you had messed up. You had never been a fan of talking things out in the first place, always preferring to show your feelings with actions instead of words. 

Perhaps that was why you had jumped in front of the bullet for him. 

Of course if you had thought it out, you would have realized how stupid it was to do that. Tony was wearing the suit. One bullet wasn’t going to do enough damage to even dent it. You supposed it had been an instinct to protect the person you loved the most that triggered you into action, no matter how useless. 

The bullet hit you in the stomach, and it hurt like hell. You had never expected it to hurt like this. You felt the blood dripping through your fingers as you collapsed on your back, closing your eyes and groaning as the white hot pain shot through your body. 

Hearing him yell your name forced your eyes open, and you watched as his face blurred in and out of your vision while you struggled to hold on to consciousness. He was saying something, screaming it as his head turned from you back to someone else. You gasped out loud as you felt his arm wrap around you and tug you into his chest. Oddly, you found the pain more manageable with your face tucked into his neck, breathing in the comforting scent of him. With feeble fingers, you tried to grab a hold of him, but your fingers were too weak to grip anything, sliding across the smooth metal of his armor. He said your name again, but this time it sounded muffled, almost as if you were underwater. He was closer now, so you could see the pure panic in his eyes as he pulled back enough to see your face. 

It was the last thing you remembered. 

____________________

The pattering of rain against the window roused you from your slumber. It took a few moments for you to open your eyes, but when you did, you took in the pristine white ceiling above you. You furrowed your brow in confusion, wondering where you were, before the quiet beeping of the heart monitor beside you clued you in, followed by the pain in your abdomen. You let out a groan and reached down to find it covered in bandages. 

“Hey, watch it. If you mess up Dr. Banner’s stitch work he’ll come in here and give you a lecture.” 

You tilted your head to find a familiar person sitting at your side. 

Tony looked rough. His hair was even more of a mess that usual, his skin pale and dark circles prominent under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, and while you were sure that you looked like shit, you weren’t sure which one of you looked worse. “You look like hell.” You told him, your voice coming out hoarse with unuse. 

He didn’t seem to be in a joking mood. “What the hell were you thinking? You almost died.” He grabbed a cup of water from the bedside table and put it up to your lips, ignoring your pout at being babied. 

While you hated being pampered, you had to admit that water tasted better than anything you had ever had in your life at that moment. You sipped it, not wanting to make yourself sick, until the cup was halfway empty and Tony pulled it away. When he put the cup back down he stared at you, waiting for you to say something, but you found you couldn’t look at him. All you could imagine was that terror in his eyes as he held your broken body against him. So you turned your head away, watching the rain hit the window. “I was thinking I couldn’t let you die.” 

“I was wearing the suit! Nothing would have -!”

“I know okay!” You said, your voice coming out much stronger now that you had drank something. “I wasn’t thinking. I saw him point the gun at you and fire, and all I could think about . . .” You turned to face him once more, tears starting to pool in your eyes as you replayed the moment and your emotions over and over in your head. “All I could think about was that even if I had lost you . . . I couldn’t let the rest of the world.”

“And what do you think that would have been like on my end?” He snapped, the frustration clear in his voice. “Knowing that you had sacrificed yourself for me?” He leaned forward so you had a better look at his face, disbelief in every line of it. 

You looked down to avoid his gaze. It was easier to talk to him when you weren’t looking at him. “I didn’t think you’d care after I was such a bitch.” 

Your words were met with silence. And more silence. And even more silence until you couldn’t bare it for another second. Tony’s expression was unreadable as he stared at you, but it was so intense it made the blood rush to your cheeks. After what seemed like an even more agonizing amount of time, Tony spoke. “You thought I wouldn’t -”

Before he could even finish his own sentence, he had closed the distance between the two of you and met your lips in a bruising kiss. You were startled for half a second, but then responded immediately, returning his kiss as passionately as you could, ignoring the pain it caused when you reached up to tangle your hands in his hair so you could keep him close. You never thought you were going to get the chance to kiss him again, and you were not going to risk letting him get away this time. 

He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to break the kiss either. In fact, he seemed to be as desperate for it not to end as you. He held you and moved his lips against yours with more desire than it seemed like he had in months. It was so much, almost too much for your poor, broken body to handle, the way you could feel his emotions in everything from his lips to the tight grip of his hands holding your hips. 

Eventually though, it had to end, but Tony made no move to put distance between the two of you, pressing a soft kiss to every bit of skin that he could reach. “If you think I wouldn’t care . . .” He pulled back so you could see his face while he brushed some hair from your face. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

[buckyownsmylife]

My Mistakes - Henry Cavill Smut

The one where Henry Cavill was your married professor and he appears on your door one night after his life falls apart.

Warnings: smut, no actual cheating in Henry’s end (althought that’s open for consideration), professor-student relationship (the student’s supposed to be in the process of achieving a PhD), dirty talk (hello, it’s me), sir kink, praise kink, actually quite a lot of fluff because these two are idiots in love

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Henry? What are you doing here?”

Behind him, the rain poured in what would probably be the last summer storm of the year. Once in a while, loud thunder echoed around my empty house, making me jump every single time. Lord knows how much I hated lightning and thunder. 

His curls stuck to his head, some strands in front of his beautiful eyes that held so much emotion I couldn’t identify, but reacted to it nonetheless, goosebumps traveling across my body and my heart speeding up at the sight of my advisor in front of me, in my apartment, on a Saturday night. Granted, he had been here before, but those days of carefree conversations and shared nights where we’d bond over work to grade had disappeared the minute he said ‘I do’ and hid once more behind the shell I had worked so hard to break when we first met. Sure, I missed him. But I also understood the situation, especially now that he had a kid. He was someone else, he had new roles to fill and he was still getting used to his new responsibilities. I was just glad he still confided in me once in a while, allowing me to catch glances of the Henry that I used to know, the one I considered a friend. 

Still, it was probably for the best. I knew I wouldn’t have been able to continue our relationship as it was without suffering considerably, knowing I could never have him, now that he was married. When it was only dating I could deal with it, deluding myself into believing we could actually have something more, that he felt the same way I did when our hands eventually touched while sharing a bottle of wine. 

And there was that night. God, it seemed like a million years ago. We had managed to bring one of his colleagues to do a guest lecture to our class and the whole research group was in a frenzy, the relaxation after so many months of hard work and organization finally starting to hit us. They had all come here, to my house, even the invited professor and his students, and we drank together and laughed for hours. I couldn’t bring myself to care about the fact that I had an exam first thing in the morning, I was having too much fun. 

And not because of our honorable guest, my friends, or the new people I had the opportunity of meeting, oh no. It was all because of Henry. That night, it seemed like all his walls had completely disappeared, leaving a funny, breezy, touchy man behind. I had seen glimpses of this personality before, the one I assumed was his true personality, the one that he never showed to anyone, not even his wife or his mother. It only appeared when we were alone and he was drunk and something incredibly sentimental had happened, like when we had achieved the publication of one of our papers.

The last two boxes were checked, only this time we weren’t alone. But we might as well have been. He clung to me the whole night, even offering me scotch from his own glass before pulling me to him by my waist and wrapping his arms around me, warming me up from the cold breeze of the early morning on my roof. Daniel softly played something on my old guitar and in that moment I knew I would never love anyone just as much as I loved the broken, lonely, needy man holding me.

But then in the morning, he was back to his usual aloof self. And I was left wondering if I had imagined the whole thing, until suddenly he’d look at me in a certain way and I was right back to that moment, in his arms.

Yep. I had it bad for the guy. Good thing ever since he had become a father, we barely saw each other anymore. Whatever little meetings we had, shared cups of coffee and laughter, had vanished the moment his wife found out she was pregnant. It was cute, even, how dedicated he was to little Frank. But that also meant that whatever complaints about marriage and her, that he used to confide in me during those first months after they tied the knot, had simply vanished. They were suddenly the perfect little family.

And I was happy for him. Of course I was. All I ever wanted was for him to be happy, even if it wasn’t with me. After all, what right did I have over him, when we had never even shared a kiss?

Which is what left the whole situation of him appearing in my house in the middle of the night, during a storm, even more bizarre.

“What are you doing here?” I finally let out, rushing him inside. “Come in, you must be freezing.” He didn’t budge. Still staring intently at me, his eyes, that I used to be able to read so well, now indecipherable. 

“He’s not mine,” he whispered, so quietly I barely heard him over the sounds of the storm around him.

“What? Henry, you’re not making any sense right now. Come in, please, you’re worrying me.” Still, he didn’t budge. His tongue came out to wet his lips and I found myself briefly mesmerized by that sight, wondering not for the first time how it would be like to kiss him.

“Frank,” he spoke, breaking me out of my little fantasy at the name of his child. “He’s not mine… He’s not my kid.”

My heart stopped briefly. I knew my eyes had grown twice their usual size, trying to process that information that was so randomly introduced to me in such a weird situation. 

“What? Wait, are you sure? But…” My breath was coming out in quick, shallow huffs, the weight of what he had just shared threatening to asphyxiate me. “How are you feeling, Henry? Wait, that’s a dumb question… Just… Come in, please, let me help you. Let’s talk.” I reached for him, aching to feel him, needing to check his physical integrity for myself. That kid was all he had thought about for the last four months. I knew this discovery had to be killing him.

He shook his head, one of his hands moving his hair out of the way. For a moment, I thought he was refusing my touch and so I let my arms fall next to my body as I pondered just what the hell he was doing here in the first place. 

“You don’t understand. He’s not mine.” He rubbed his eyes and I felt a wave of anger wash over me. Of course I understood what he had said, I wasn’t stupid. The only thing I didn’t understand was what the hell he was doing at my door at two in the morning with this kind of news. “I have no connection to her anymore. To them,” he finally declared and I blinked twice, confused by what precisely he meant by that. “I’m free,” he proceeded, his eyes never leaving mine, still clouded with emotions I remained unable to understand.

“You were never tied to her, or even to him, Henry. You chose that life. You walked into that marriage with your own two feet,” I reminded him, my voice a bit colder than I intended. 

“True,” he admitted, nodding quickly. “But the minute I said ‘I do’ I realized my mistake. What I had left behind, and thought I would never be able to have anymore. And feeling that way… It was worse than any physical imprisonment, Y/N. ”

I had grown impatient by then, my fingers tapping a random pattern at the wooden door I still held onto.

“And what was that, Henry? What did you leave behind?” I inquired, sighing.

A beat. Outside, the storm roared, announcing its intention to stay for as long as it could. Inside, the tension was so high I started to wonder if lightning was about to fall between us, separating us for good.

“You,” he finally confessed and before I could fully comprehend what he had just spluttered, he had latched himself into me, his lips finding mine and his arms pulling me to his wet body. 

A gasp of surprise must have left me before I responded to the kiss, but the sound had been lost in the rain the minute it left my lips and his joined mine. They were cold, as expected, but softer than I had imagined, and oh, how had I imagined this moment. He kissed me sweetly, patiently, like he was savoring his favorite wine that we had shared once. His fingers trembled against my waist as he held me close and I absentmindedly worried about the possibility of him catching pneumonia when he, at last, broke our kiss to catch a breath, still leaving his forehead close to mine, his eyes closed and I suddenly realized he was nervous.

I shivered, not entirely due to the fact that he was freezing from the weather he had subjected himself to and had left me drenched too. “Henry,” I mumbled, trying to get him to look at me. 

“Shhhh…” He pulled me even closer, our foreheads still touching, his eyes never opening. “Just… Let me have this moment, please,” he all but begged, and I felt my heart breaking into a thousand little pieces. He was hurt, understandably so and he had come here looking for a way to make his wife feel the way she had made him feel. 

Another type of cold filled me as I took a step back from him, forcing Henry to release me. I caught a glimpse of his expression, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at me just before I turned my back to him, hugging myself and trying to control my thoughts before I started crying. 

“You should leave.” I hated how my voice broke, how weak I felt as I murmured what my mind knew I should say, despite the way my body felt.

I heard the door close behind me after a few seconds and allowed myself to release the breath I was holding as I waited for his reaction, the tears breaking free by then. The first sob had just escaped my chest when I felt arms wrapping around me, a freezing body hugging me from behind.

He waited patiently as I cried, his face hidden in the crook of my neck, his breath tickling me and warming me up as I sobbed. I cried for what felt like hours, the anger of what he was putting me through subsiding and leaving me lamenting for this man who had lost his entire family in a few seconds. 

“You can’t do this to me, Henry,” I wearily breathed out when the tears finally stopped rolling down my cheeks, still not turning around to look at him, who still hugged me. 

“I know,” he confirmed, as he finally raised his head from my neck to rest it on the top of my head. I pursed my lips, wanting to leave him yet again but lacking the strength to do so a second time. “Believe me, I know, darling.”

He finally let me go, walking around me to catch my face in his hands. “You deserve better. So much better than this. So much better than me. You deserve someone who will admit their feelings the minute they lay their eyes on you because you’re intoxicating from the first sight, Y/N.” 

I couldn’t uncross my arms, afraid that if I let at least this last barrier between us go I’d crumble in front of him and let him devour whatever was left of me. 

“You deserve someone who won’t cower in a loveless relationship because they are too afraid to pursue the love of their lives, because they’re scared they’ll disappoint you. I already did. I know.” He sighed, his thumb caressing my cheek with the lightest of touches. 

“You especially deserve someone who doesn’t hide all the time, despite wanting to break free every time you smile or glance my way.” His eyes searched mine, trying to make me see the sincerity in them, but I refused to acknowledge it. This time, I was the one who refused to let him in. 

I broke the connection between our gazes, looking down. I heard his sigh, feeling its echoes on the walls of my heart. 

“I know I lost my opportunity with you,” he whispered, his voice laced with so much pain I had to bite back a whine. “But as soon as I heard the news, as soon as I figured it out… I didn’t even feel angry or sad. I know I should have felt miserable. In a way, I lost a son tonight. But all I could think about was that night I told you I’d be stuck in my office all night grading papers, when in fact I just didn’t want to go home and deal with Olivia, and you appeared with pizza and my favorite bottle of wine, despite the fact that I know that you had Smith’s exam the next day. You stayed with me all night, making idle talk that distracted me to the point I forgot I was engaged and that I had someone waiting for me back home. All I could think about was how that is how it should be. That’s how I should feel every night when I come home. But I only felt it with you. And now that I was given this second chance, this opportunity to go back to a life without the responsibility of being a father, forever connected to a woman I don’t love, I could finally have what I wanted. You.”

My eyes had closed sometime during his remembrance, lost in the flashback too. I had fallen asleep sometime during the early hours of the morning and he took off his jacket to cover me, as I lay on the sofa of his office. The same couch I had found him asleep so many times, as well. I still hugged myself, at last starting to believe he might feel the same way as I did. 

I felt a cold kiss against my forehead, one of his hands gripping my nape tightly to him before letting go. “But I should have known I lost my opportunity. You will find happiness in a relationship sometime soon, with someone good, someone who deserves you and I will be here, wishing you all the best because you deserve it.” I heard his footsteps walking away from me. I wanted to turn around, to open my eyes, to pull him to me and talk about this, talk about how I was feeling about this whole situation, but I felt stuck. And then I heard it.

“Because I love you,” he heaved and suddenly I was not frozen anymore. I was connected to him again, our lips furiously dancing together as I clung to him for dear life. He moaned against my mouth and I felt as if the flames of hell had come to consume me in that precise moment.

His hands slowly traveled down my back until they found my ass. He pulled me to him and I jumped, wrapping my legs around him as I caught onto his signal. My own hands were occupied, one pulling on his hair as I tried to win control over our kiss while the other supported me around his shoulders.

He wobbled a bit, blindly walking backward until his back hit the wall. He turned around then, supporting me against it as he once again disconnected our lips to catch his breath, pressing his forehead to mine once more. “Are you sure about this?” I couldn’t help but to slur, my fingers holding the edge of his button-up shirt tightly. “I can’t be just a revenge plot against your wife, Henry. I honestly don’t think I can take it,” I confessed, inciting the tiniest of smiles on the corner of his lips.

“Darling, you couldn't be more wrong,” he whispered against my lips, quickly kissing them before continuing. “I am the one who wouldn’t be able to live without you for a single minute more. I can’t remember how I lived before you, Y/N. I don’t want to remember it. I’d rather die than cause you pain and make you leave me. I know how lucky I am for getting this second chance.”

I accepted his words, not being able to deal with the separation of our lips another second. We were eager now, trying to make up for all the time we had to keep our desires in check. His hands held my jaw as he possessed my mouth and I clung to his shirt tightly as I tried to deal with the desire burning my lower belly. 

“I have never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly,” I admitted, licking my lips as he chuckled, caressing my cheek as he laid warm open-mouthed kisses against the skin of my neck.

“I have never wanted to fuck anyone this badly,” he confessed, biting in a particular spot in my neck that made my legs feel like jelly. “But tonight I think I will make love to you first.”

His eyes searched mine then, looking for any sign of indecisiveness, but there was none. I knew I wanted him since he first smiled at me, three years before. I kissed his thumb that played with my cheeks, nodding my acceptance to his proposal.

“I love you too,” I finally professed and he rewarded me with the sweetest of smiles.

Henry’s P.O.V.

I captured her lips again, not quite believing this turn of events. I finally had her. She was finally mine. 

We kissed feverishly, our hands never stopping too long in one single place. It was like she felt it too, this need to feel every piece of skin, of guaranteeing the other person was really there, was actually real. Before long, I felt her trembling hands make their way inside my shirt and I sighed, barely believing this was real. She pulled on the fabric and I all but ripped the buttons off of my work shirt before throwing it somewhere behind me and returning my focus on the exploration of the gorgeous woman that was now looking at me with those wide eyes I loved so much.

“Don’t give me that look,” I warned her, only receiving the cheekiest of smiles as a response and a growl rose from under my chest. I pulled her to meet my lips again, this time taking us away from the wall and into the old leather couch just behind us. I laid her carefully on the warm material, pushing away a few rebellious strands of hair that insisted on shielding her eyes from mine.

For a few seconds, we simply stared at one another, our eyes silently communicating what our mouths didn’t seem to be able to speak in the moment. She looked so beautiful, even more than I already thought she did, with her lips red from my assault and a dark bruise already forming in her silky skin from my bite. 

I had to take a few deep breaths to control myself, already feeling my pants tighten as the reality of what was to happen hit me. Y/N licked her lips, her eyes showing every bit the same desire I felt run through my veins. “Like what you see?” she teased me, earning a breathy laugh that let on how nervous I actually felt. 

“You have no idea,” I admitted, leaning down to kiss her forehead sweetly before laying kisses across her face, over her lids, on each side of her cheeks, on the tip of her nose before deciding to nibble on her jaw. She shivered, her hands coming up to my curls once again, holding me to her. 

I inhaled the sweet perfume that often overtook my senses whenever she was near me. It was like an aphrodisiac to me, it never failed to get me hard. Many times I had to abruptly leave her talking by herself to tend to my member in my bathroom, imagining my hands were hers.

“You make me crazy,” I confessed, my voice hoarse as I continued my path across her skin, now licking her neck, trying not to lose my mind over the tremulous moans she let escape every time I discovered a particular spot that seemed to get to her. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.” Teasingly, I bit right over one of her collarbones, immediately regretting my taunt as her hands found the bulge in my pants and rubbed it. 

“I could say the same thing,” she retaliated, tongue stuck between her teeth as she watched with focused interest as I threw my head back and groaned. 

“Damnit, woman, I’m trying to make this last,” I tried to lecture her, failing spectacularly as she managed to pop my button and reach inside my boxers to find me, bare and hot, pulsing for her. 

“Not interested,” she raised her back off the couch, forcing me to sit back on my heels, as she took control of the situation. “I’ve waited too long for this. If you want to make love to me, as you say, do it quickly, I need you now.” 

It was impossible not to react to her. This sweet, bubbly woman, suddenly dominant and sure of herself and what she wanted. Fuck, if that didn’t make her even sexier to my eyes. 

Still, I managed to control myself, slowly caressing her thighs with my trembling fingers until I reached the edge of her nightgown, raising it up as I continued my path across her body. Her heavy breasts came into view, her nipples hard and begging for attention. I was quick to connect my lips to one, caressing the other with one of my hands.

She moaned then, her hands coming up to pull on my hair once more as she ground down against me and I groaned at the sensation of her wet panties against my member. I had half a mind to pull my jeans all the way down, take her to bed, do this sweetly and romantically like I had planned I would do if I had the opportunity to lay with her at least once, but she was making this too difficult for me. Her tiny whimpers escaped her lips freely as I changed nipples, slightly biting on one, making her throw her head back and whine.

“Stop teasing me so much,” she begged, rubbing herself against me once more, making the decision for me, as I couldn’t stand to feel her heat and not be inside of her any longer.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I heard him growl before I realized I had finally broken him. In a second, he had thrown himself at me, forcing me to lie down on the couch as I shivered against the cold air as his hands made quick work of my nightgown. When the sounds of his belt coming off at last rang in my ears, I couldn’t help the moan escaping my lips at the realization that this was finally happening.

“I wanted to do this nice and slow, take my time with you, worship your body in the way it deserves to be cherished, but did you allow that?” His voice was so raspy it kept reigniting the goosebumps across my skin, and as his fingers finally pressed my soaking wet panties against that spot that had been throbbing for attention, I felt like I could come right then and there. “Of course not,” he answered himself, his focus directed to where his fingers were now exploring. “Everything has to be done in your time, isn't it, miss Y/L/N?” 

Growing tired of the cotton barrier between us, he finally pulled it aside to softly collect the evidence of what he was doing to me, but didn’t make any movement towards actually relieving me of my needs. “Answer me, darling,” he whispered in my ear as softly as possible, but I knew that tone and it hid danger.

“Y-yes, sir,” I babbled without thinking and by that point, I would do anything to have him inside of me.

“Good girl.” That was all the warning I received before his member pushed its way inside of me, but as it provoked a whole new wave to pour out of me, it wasn’t as difficult as it would have been otherwise. Still, it took me some time to relax and allow his full length to penetrate me, as it was considerably large and thick.

I gasped as the head of his cock bumped my cervix. “There you go, sweetheart.” He smiled down at me, giving a quick peck to my temple. “I knew you’d be able to take it.”

I moaned at his words, incredibly excited about the fact that he apparently knew I had a praise kink. Maybe I wasn’t as cautious as I thought I was being when he complimented my work? There was no way I would dwell on this any longer, however, as he finally started to slowly thrust in and out of me, his little grunts and pants making me all the more horny.

“You’re so tight, baby girl,” he groaned, throwing his head back for a second, his eyes closed, giving me the perfect opportunity to admire his jaw and neck. “I don’t know how I managed to fit inside of you, but let me tell you…” his head had returned to my ear, before finding a nook on my neck and hiding there. “Now that I’m here, I’m never gonna leave,” he whispered against my skin, picking up his thrusts just as I started to need a little more from him.

“Good,” I managed to moan out, to which he chuckled. He continued to fuck me against my couch, permanently ruining my pussy and the fabric underneath us, as our juices slowly dripped onto it. It didn’t take long for him to bring me close to the edge, and I was trembling in his arms after a few seconds of feeling the head of his cock bumping against my sweet spot.

“Feeling needy, baby girl? Do you want to cum?” I struggled to nod, but it seemed to suffice him. “Then come for me, darling. I’m right behind you. Cum for me.” His thumb found my bundle of nerves and just like that, I was falling down the pits of desire. Throwing my head back, I pulled his chest to me, my nails certainly leaving marks across his back for him to remember me later on.

I absentmindedly noticed the sounds I was making, but as my walls throbbed around his cock, I was too far gone to care. Henry kissed the side of my face as I came until I was capable of focusing my gaze on him once more. As I did, I found him looking at him with a particular glint in his eyes, a look so soft that made my heart feel twice the normal size.

“Is it possible to love too much?” He asked, and I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came. Instead, he simply adjusted to be able to speed up into me, now fucking me into my couch in a way that made it sure I would never be able to sit in it without thinking about him again. I heard his groans of pleasure as he reached his own high, and I felt him spill into me as he did so.

We stayed connected as he calmed down. As we both calmed down, because my heart was still beating as fast as if I had been running a marathon. After a while, he kissed my shoulder and sat up, his cock leaving me. “You’re perfect,” he whispered into the night.

I followed his movements, also sitting up on the couch, enjoying how he immediately pulled me into his lap, like he couldn’t bear the thought of our skins not touching. The rain had almost stopped, I realized. No more lightning or thunder had echoed throughout the house for a long while.

“Do you really love me?” I found myself whispering into the quiet of the night. For a few seconds, he said nothing, but then he was pushing me away from his chest just enough so that he could stare back at me. 

“You ask me like you have given me any other option.” My giggles echoed throughout the house.

“I love you too.” And for once, everything felt right.

[chrysalispen]

upon pale dawns, prologue I: to be the water’s care,

my adaptation of a realm reborn- this will probably go up to praetorium and then have a separate longfic for the patches, but we’ll see how long the drafts get. 

at any rate! two prologues. you can find the AO3 link HERE

chapter under the cut.

====

“Land!”

It was a blessed word after weeks at sea. The shout arose from the sailor standing watch at the ship’s prow, leather-bound spyglass in one meaty paw.

At that single utterance, every passenger aboard the Explorer found themselves immediately drawn topside, and the snow-tressed Elezen girl standing on tiptoes to tilt over the tarred and salt-crusted wooden railing was no exception. The ocean crossing from Sharlayan was long and rarely uneventful and the ship’s passengers had spent most of it below decks, weathering the heavy rains and stomach-turning waves from perilous storms grown only more tempestuous in the handful of years since the Calamity.  

A burly Roegadyn crewman standing nearby, his hands busied with rope, squinted sharply at his unexpected visitor. She ignored his presence with a single-minded determination- there were more important matters afoot. Her focus lay upon the half-obscured outline of grey-blue and faded silver that broke the endless monotony of the open sea. Setting one patten-clad foot in the deck railing, she hoisted her weight up and forward to get a better view.

“Alisaie,” a young voice cut in, sharp and authoritative, “get down from there. If you lose your balance you’ll fall overboard.”

“I won’t lose my balance.”

“I sincerely doubt the good crew of our passenger ship would fancy diving into the water to pluck you from the waves, sister.” Alisaie spared a glance over her shoulder, bristling at the speaker. He could have been her mirror image right down to their attire, save the blue ribbon fluttering from its secured place at the base of a thin length of braided platinum hair, identical to her own. “You can see perfectly well with both your feet upon the deck.”

Alisaie responded with an indignant huff, but lowered herself so that her feet were once more flush with the oaken planks. “Seven hells, if there is one thing I will not miss about this journey, it is your incessant clucking.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Alphinaud. Like a mother hen, if she had fewer feathers than words.”

“I am only trying to look out for you. For both of us.” His brow knitted as he spoke- with either worry or disapproval, Alisaie couldn’t say. “Father would never let me hear the end of it if I let you fall into the ocean of all things.”

“I know! I know.”

“And if you keep fidgeting with your hair-ribbon like that you’re going to lose it.”

As if to punctuate his words, an errant gust whipped the end of her braid from its loose pin between her fingers. Her eye caught a flash of bright red from the tapered ends of the ribbon as it fluttered in the salty breeze like a loosened sail.

“Yes, mother,” her fingers fell away to fidget at her sides instead, “Do I have your permission to remain above deck, at the very least?”

Alphinaud gave her a startled series of blinks. He hadn’t slept well on the trip, being far more prone to seasickness, and the deep bruised circles beneath his eyes gave them an owlish cast. “Of course you can stay here, if you like,” he said. “It’ll be several bells before we reach the harbor, after all.”

Gods! Why are you always like this? The furious thought flitted through the shallows of her mind, surfacing briefly with the flare of her temper. It’s hardly a wonder that father wouldn’t trust you to-

Hells. Wasn’t worth it. Like as not he’d barely noticed her fatigue let alone her frustration.

Alisaie suppressed an exasperated sigh and watched her twin’s retreating back for a moment as he made his way down the stair into the bowels of the ship, before turning her attention once more to the encroaching sliver of shoreline that sat just beyond the white-capped waves.

Landfall couldn’t come soon enough.

~*~

"It's seen better days, hasn't it," he opined, "Tupsimati."

They had only just managed to scrape together the funds to afford proper furniture, rather than borrowing pieces or using what few battered desks and chairs remained upon the premises. Surplus cots and side tables for the shared sleeping quarters were still in the process of arriving at the Waking Sands, piece by piece, at great expense and after a good deal of haggling over the cost to bring them by chocobo carriage from Ul’dah.

Given the recent rise in imperial activity throughout the region, none of them had felt it particularly prudent to advertise their presence to the realm at large and so in the years since the merging of the two organizations, much smaller in the wake of the Carteneau disaster, the center of operations had remained austere by dint of necessity. There was little of value or note even in the solar save the large mahogany desk with its teak inlay - a gift (others might call it a bribe, he thought with sour good humor) from their erstwhile landlord - and the reliquary which had been mounted upon the wall since that fateful day of their ‘founding’.

His companion stood behind the desk with her back to the door, and her posture had not once wavered from the moment he had entered to the moment he had spoken.

"As have we all, Thancred."

He did not miss the gentle rebuke within her words. The smile that played upon his lips became faintly rueful - as conversation starters went, he supposed it had been rather lacking - and without another word approached until he could round the desk to stand at her side. Five years barely seemed enough for all the growing she had done, assailed by mysterious visions and driven by internal conflict over her strange gift all the while.

Nevertheless, in that short amount of time the girl he had known had become a charismatic young woman.

As Thancred watched the paths of her fingers in their idle drifting, crossing the surface of the newly varnished wood over grain and groove, he followed her gaze to its focus upon the wall. The mounted case which she now contemplated was new, although its contents were not. It sat a few fulms behind and above the bulky mahogany desk at the solar’s heart, and tucked behind the transparent bulwark of crystal glass lay all that remained of Louisoix Leveilleur’s final and heroic deed: the crest of a splintered cane with a stone bearing the symbol of Thaliak.

Metaphor, he mused, for the disaster wrought upon the realm five summers past. Or perhaps one better suited for the old man’s ghost- one which seemed to linger still within these halls.

“You don’t seem as well pleased as one would expect.” His words rang through the sandstone-walled solar, their echoes hollow and bland. He noted with some small concern the distant cast to her expression, as though she were listening to something he could not hear. “Is it not to your liking?”

“Hm? Oh, no. ‘Tis not the arrangements which bother me. In fact, I think this shall serve our needs quite well for the time being.” Her fingers tapped a quiet rhythm against the desk’s surface and her attention returned to the broken artifact above. “...Not a day goes by that I don’t find myself wishing Master Louisoix were still here with us. I suspect in my heart- I like to think- that he has gone to a well deserved rest. But I still…”

She didn’t finish the statement, but further words were unnecessary. Sorrow muted the bright spring sky blue of her eyes.

“I shouldn’t carry on like this,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“It is unbecoming of me to bemoan my lot. Everyone has lost so much to the Calamity, and we have borne far lighter burdens than most.” Her shoulders slumped for just the briefest moment before righting her posture again, but not so quickly that it escaped Thancred’s notice. “Even so, I can’t help but wonder what he would have done differently. Whether or not he would have negotiated better terms for-”

“Minfilia, please.” Her hands, seemingly placid at her sides, gripped the leathers of her tassets with a nigh-bruising force. Thancred unfolded one fist with care, as he might have done with an infant’s fingers, cradling them in one rough palm. “I don’t think anyone here is expecting you to be Louisoix Leveilleur, or even to fill his shoes. Besides which, the circumstances are entirely different.”

“I suppose.”

“Everyone else has had to start anew on some level or other. We’re hardly an exception,” Thancred shrugged. “And you have the words from your vision to guide us.”

“Yes,” she said, with a note of quiet conviction. He answered with a brief squeeze of her fingers before releasing her hand. “Yes, of course.”

“If you think this ‘crystal bearer’ She mentioned will make themselves known soon, then ‘twould be a benefit to us all to keep our eyes open for their coming. Would it not?” Thancred paused. “Is that what you wished to discuss?”

“Once the others arrive, yes.” Whatever hidden place to which Minfilia’s mind had wandered in that moment, she had clearly returned from it. Her gaze was clear and steady and her voice firm. “Truly, ‘tis wonderful - and serendipitous - that we have managed to keep this roof over our heads. And of course, I am grateful for the sultana’s continued assistance-”

“If not her ministers’ patronage,” Thancred said dryly.

“Quite.” Minfilia drummed close-trimmed nails thoughtfully against the desk. “But I do worry that it isn’t enough. These advantages will avail us little if we do not take steps to sustain our presence. It has been nearly five summers since we chose to join forces and disband the Path, and we are still struggling merely to make enough coin to pay for this space. We need more people, Thancred.”

His smile faded and the furrow of his brow deepened.

“I can’t help but feel as though I’m missing something. Should we be concerned about our funds?”

“Tataru came to me a few days past. We’ve received notification from the East Aldenard Trading Company stating that the lease on the land will be up for renewal by the end of the year, and that the rate will be increasing accordingly.” Minfilia winced. “...By which I mean to say: yes, I think it prudent to find other means to fund our activities. She agreed.”

“Then seek other means we must,” he shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I think Tataru is within her rights to be concerned. The whole realm is still barely keeping its head above water as it is. We can ill afford to remain dormant, especially if it means insolvency.”

“Nor can we tarry overlong in debating the best approach to our other concerns,” she said. “The beast tribes have made it clear they will not wait for us to replenish our numbers ere they attempt to summon their gods yet again.”

“And there is also the Empire to consider,” Thancred pointed out dryly. “Two new castra in the space of as many years. Either the Garleans turned to engineering projects to amuse themselves, or the Black Wolf has been quite busy.”

“Have you heard anything?”

“Hm. Not as such, but... I have received requests from the sultana as to whether or not we believe there is aught to fear from the Garleans. More than once.”

“It’s a valid concern,” Minfilia pointed out. “Castrum Meridianum is but a stone’s throw away from one of the biggest Syndicate concerns in the realm.”

“Yes, and what concerns me the most is that at present I cannot say definitively, one way or another, if we face further incursions. We need more information on their movements.”

“On that we most certainly agree. I realize we’re stretched thin, but we need more people.”

“Agreed. But all things considered, I doubt any of us have the time or inclination for a recruitment drive. Necessary or not.”

Minfilia said, very carefully:

“Perhaps not. But… if, while you are afield, you should happen to come across more… talents, then ‘tis all the better if you send them our way. Not everyone you meet will be suitable, of course, but some few will and I think we can only be stronger for it if we increase our numbers as we go.”

Thancred flashed her a roguish grin. “That’s a very roundabout way of saying you wish for me to return to Ul’dah, Lady Antecedent.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“You could have asked! As well you know,” he countered. “I have enjoyed my little vacation, but there is much to be done still.”

“If you prefer,” Minfilia said, her eyes twinkling with suppressed amusement, “I could send Urianger to the sultana’s court in your stead.”

“Urianger! Gods forbid. He’d hate every second.” He could just picture it. Bookish, eccentric Urianger looming over the diminutive lord of the Syndicate’s trading routes, intoning a passage from one of his scrolls. “I see no need to fix a method that is not broken. Leave us each to our own devices. I’ll go to Ul’dah and do what I do best.”

One of her slim brows tilted. “Charming the local maidens?”

“Young lady,” he said, dark eyes narrowed, but the corners of his mouth, twitching upwards, betrayed his hidden mirth. Minfilia only laughed and patted his smooth cheek.

“Jests aside, there are other reasons I would have an ear kept to the ground just now, and I would hardly trust anyone else with such a sensitive task. Will you do this for me?”

His teasing smile faded as he looked down at the person whose steady presence he prized above all else upon the star. She was his family, this slim graceful girl with her wide eyes and gentle, knowing smile and quiet strength - it would be easy to mistake her softness for weakness, not to see the steel within.

So thinking, his keen eye caught the slight tilt of Minfilia’s chin.

She was not asking, he realized. She was informing him. All she needed was the affirmation they both knew would be forthcoming, and she awaited it with her customary patience. And why should she not expect it? There was, after all, precious little she could ask of him that Thancred Waters would not be willing to attempt. He knew it as well as she did.

His smile returned in force.

“Tell me what you need from me,” he said, “and I’ll see it done.”