#I guess it's eye strain or maybe a tension headache

[moisette]

Okay.

This has happened twice. When the Killer downs me - I immediately spam right mouse button and I escape. I will take that escape since I got Tombstone'd in my first chase of my first match xD

This is the longest match I have had in a while. It is not super duper long but it felt like at least 30 minutes xD I tried to die so maybe Thalita got hatch but we can't have nice things apparently Bu Would you believe I played against another Knight the next match :D I don't like this Killer. I really don't. Playing against him feels like a chore. It feels like no matter what I do - I get fucked xD I would never be mean to anyone that plays him but I heavily considered going next the match after this one. I stayed in it because I love Jesus uX (the Jeff's name was Jesus)

Could you imagine if pallets did spawn like that xD

Enduring + Spirit Fury and Brutal Strength + Fire Up. Nice. I like his build xD I wanted to tell him I was a fan of his build but thought he would likely not see it because he might have been console...

He was monitoring the hook I was on and intercepted Yun-Jin when she came to save me. I fully expected him to go for me but he chose to hook Yun-Jin instead. I don't know why he would ever do that but it was nice of him xD I still died but that was a fun match. I've never really cared about playing Freddy or playing against Freddy - he seemed super fucking boring. It's still probably too early to tell but I've played against several new Freddies and it has not been boring - it's been pretty fun. I think it's because his power is interactive - you can react to it and try to dodge it. Kind of like Pyramid Head's power, I guess. I love playing against Pyramid Heads that try to go for snipes and I can try to dodge. That's just fun to me. Even if my reflexes are sluggish xD;

I also went on a ramble about not knowing what the yellow add-on was. I was like "Ladies, if any of you know how to use a flashlight - I have one where I died. It has...Well, that's a lightbulb and the other one... It looks like that one Silent Hill 2 monster... Was it James' wife? Yeah. I have a flashlight with a bulb and James' wife 8u

[meyousing]

𝙸𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚒, 𝙰𝚝 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚕

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: after illumi removes the needle from your head, he must wonder if this was the right decision. little did he know that the after effects of it all was just what he needed to get his way.

𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜:  part three to subservient! yandere illumi, nsfw, manipulation + dirty talk, mentions of future impregnation. any sexual nsfw will be below the cut.

part one | part two

You couldn’t recall another time in the past when you had a headache this severe. Waking up and immediately being met with fierce throbbing in your temples, blurring your eyesight, an odd sore spot that was holding onto most of the pain right at the crown of your head. You could only try to whimper Illumi’s name, reaching out blindly for him in hopes that he was actually there and hadn’t left to complete his job of the day just yet. Relief filled you when you came into contact with his arm, clutching it desperately. He didn’t ask you what was wrong, he remained silent which you assumed was time given for you to explain yourself. 

“My head,” was all you could get out, wincing at another sharp pain and clutching where the sensation had erupted. All he offered was an indifferent-sounding hum, a noise that would have bothered you greatly from how it suggested his inattentiveness to your suffering, had you not been so distracted by that same suffering. 

“It would be best to spend your day in bed, recovering.” He took your hands in his to encourage you to lay down again, helping you onto your back. Recover from what exactly? Trying to decipher his words only bothered you further, though, so you shook that question away. Resting your head did not immediately alleviate anything, though putting your body into such a lax position certainly helped you feel less strained overall. 

You thanked him for his assistance, voice raspy and indicative of the low state you were in. You wanted to rest your arms over your forehead, covering your shut eyes from any light as it burned through your eyelids, but Illumi had yet to let go of you, even putting up some resistance as you tried to pull yourself away. You peered at him curiously, squinting immediately after from the tension it caused. 

“Will you be okay on your own today?” His tone of voice didn’t sound very concerned. He was rather curt, business-like, trying to get your answer as soon as possible to make arrangements so he could be off to tend to more pressing matters. The thought of any matter aside from your health existing at the forefront of Illumi’s mind hurt your heart, but you pushed that feeling aside and instead focused on answering his question. 

“I don’t know, I don’t feel any better yet.”

He hummed. An appraising sound; you were starting to get sick of trying to guess the emotion behind every sound and word he communicated, the uncertainty was only making you feel worse. You chewed your lip, tears suddenly threatening to spill past your waterlines. Today had begun for maybe a few minutes, yet it was already off to such an awful start. A whimper escaped you, fists clenching at the show of weakness that you didn’t want to draw attention to in the first place. Illumi’s hands squeezed yours, his fingers over the top of your fists. He remained wordless as he watched you struggle to hold your whimpers back, letting go of you but quickly rejoining your body as his fingers met your waist. 

“You had a rough night. It would be unwise to leave you in this state before I leave” he spoke thoughtfully, but any thoughts were regarding his plans, of course. Not your well-being. Again, you put some of your own thoughts into his words though; now that you tried to think about it, what happened last night? You couldn’t remember anything. Surely whatever did happen was the cause of your current pain, which would only become more unbearable the longer you used your brain. 

A beat of silence passed, then you felt Illumi’s cold lips on your neck. You couldn’t help but flinch, the kisses unexpected but not unwelcome as one of his hands began roaming to your hips and then your front. His hair tickled you as he pulled back, you could see his head tilt while he scanned over your body from head to toe. Or rather, head to hips.  

“Your health is of utmost importance right now. I’ll need to ensure that you’re relaxed before I go out.” 

His intentions on ensuring that were rather obvious by now, making you blush as his thumb traced down your nightgown until it hovered over your generously covered clit. Your bud remained that way very momentarily, he exerted no effort into pushing the thick gown up and your panties down, letting them stay stretched around your thighs rather than pulling them off entirely to spend as little time here as possible. Getting you off quickly rather than valuing passion and intimacy was expected, though you couldn’t help but desire the latter after dealing with such an extended feeling of vulnerability since you had woken up. No matter, the disappointment of knowing that wouldn’t happen was soothed over rather soon when Illumi’s thumb met your bare clit once and for all, his other four fingers pressing down against your lower stomach while his thumb pushed the hood of your clit back and pressed right onto your sensitivity with purpose and calculation. His motions were perfect, he knew just what to do to make your back arch and nerves tingle right away. That tingling extended to your head, replacing the aching that had been there previously with a pleasantly lightheaded feeling instead. Lightheaded, as if you were floating on cloud nine.  

“Good, good” he murmured hushedly. You bit back a moan as he continued on, letting him throw both of your legs over one of his shoulders. He leaned forward to expose your pussy to him further with the new position, his other hand joining in as he curled his middle finger over the index, flipping his hand palm up and pressing them inside of you. His ministrations on your clit left you wet enough to let him slide in with ease, joint fingertips pushing into your soft spot right away with his usual precision that you should have expected but did not this time given how fast he moved. 

You whined out, thighs trembling against him as the sensations were so faultlessly satisfying that your peak approached rapidly, too rapid for you to handle as your chest heaved and your hands reached at his forearms, gripping them brutally as if to help your body acclimate to such intense pleasure. You vaguely watched through teary eyes as one of his brows raised once you had done this, though he must not have cared too much since he continued fucking you earnestly as if you had done nothing at all. Your fingernails dug into his skin, and the amount of pressure and the ferocity of the motions left you shaking with one last cry before you came, pussy squeezing his hand further inside of you and soaking him as your hips churned to match his pace. He continued on for the entirety of your orgasm, allowing you to ride it out to its fullest until you had slumped into the mattress bonelessly. 

He withdrew his fingers when he could feel your muscles loosen beneath him, pulling himself off of you to stand near the bed. The release made your legs fall to your side, the rest of your body following the movement. You pressed your cheek into the pillow under you tiredly as you turned over, heaving to catch your breath. The material of your nightgown was pulled off to the side, you could see Illumi wiping his fingers off with it in your periphery. He placed the skirt back over your legs when he seemed satisfied, his chest lifting as he took in a breath and watched you, his expression bored as ever.

“Now, I’ll have a butler assigned to you for the day until I get home. Call for them when necessary, they’ll be waiting in the hall beside your door as per usual.” 

Before you could respond, his back was already facing you. You blinked once and saw much less of him then; only the ends of his dark hair following him out of the door, which closed promptly. You blinked again, taken aback by how quickly he was gone after such an intense experience. Well, clearly it was not intense for him, maybe it wasn’t even pleasurable for him to see you that way at all. The idea of this made you feel a bit insecure, your knees subconsciously tucking into your chest as you shut your eyes in an attempt to tune that idea out and away, hopefully for good. Despite there being a chance of that, one good thing to come of this was the immediate dissipation of your headache. 

Even though you felt much better without the headache, fatigue hit you like a truck after the energy you exerted into your intercourse. You were out once your eyes had been closed for a couple of seconds, unknowing that you would end up sleeping the day away. You were still not certain about what had incited the headache and major fatigue, and you weren’t sure if Illumi would know either. You didn’t want to ask him and start something, it could have been nothing. Perhaps just some random, short illness, even though Illumi was so doting about your health and wellness (if this morning was not enough of an indicator) that this shouldn’t have been a possibility. You were glad that the thought of bringing it up again left your mind before you fell into your slumber. 

Unlike most days, this one was just utterly full of Illumi. You hadn’t expected to sleep so deeply that you would be waking up as he arrived home from his hit, walking through the door and announcing that dinner would be ready soon, that you had to get up now. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, not feeling very rested despite your situation. But Illumi was here! It almost felt like he never left you at all, what with being here before and after your sleep. This rarely ever happens! The strength in his presence was what energized you, even encouraging you to get up and walk over to him. He was facing the dresser, now shirtless with his toned back on display, his newly bloodstained shirt discarded to the hamper. 

Illumi’s body went taut when your arms wrapped around his torso, hands clasping over his abdomen and your warm cheek squishing into his chilled shoulder blade. You couldn’t help but embrace him, even giving a little squeeze as you desired such closeness. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” 

“What do you mean? This isn’t the first time I’ve been affectionate with you” you frowned, a frown that could have been audible given your sour tone.

“I’m aware. But it usually isn’t of your own accord.” 

That was… true. You wanted to say that this was only partially true, but it was fully, though circumstantial. Illumi rarely being home was nothing new to you, of course, but when he finally came back you were always too tired from doing nothing to do anything other than eat dinner and follow him to bed. Any affection woven in between those parts of the routine was initiated by him, in front of his family, for an impression. It only got as major as holding hands or a protective arm around your waist, as minor as a glance in your direction with direct eye contact. Intimacy beyond that was sex intended for expanding the family, therefore making it lack intimacy when you knew Illumi’s only desires about you were for your eventual impregnation, nothing like your body or noises. 

This morning was a pleasant change from that, though. Your grin began to twitch upward as you remembered the events evocatively, the feeling of Illumi’s skillful fingers buried inside of you. It reminded you of your teenage years, made you feel like a rebellious young girl frolicking beneath the sheets with the guy she knew that she shouldn't like or be with. A quickie, ending almost as soon as it started yet still leaving you so elated and fluttery inside from it being something new, something refreshing. You sighed contentedly, releasing Illumi but still keeping your hands on him as you slid to his front, leaning in to press your chin against his chest and look up into his eyes. He stared back down at you, his face flat. 

His eyes were hypnotic in spite of how blandly he looked at you. So devoid of anything, yet so beguiling like a mystery you had to solve. Just what was he thinking? What could those eyes convey, if he allowed himself? What could you get them to convey? After he made you feel so good, you wanted to return the favour.

“I want to have your baby, Illumi.” These words were not spoken from a place of dishonesty, but you still wanted to see what they would do to him even if you didn’t mean it just yet. 

His lids lifted slightly. That was something. Something that made your insides stir, familiar with what you felt earlier today. Your desire to make those sensations mutual with him amped up, and you couldn’t stop yourself as you ran your hand down from his back and to the side of his thigh, gripping it for a moment before dragging your fingers in with the intent to hover them over his cock. 

His hand stopped yours before it could get beyond your sides, and now he looked at you inquisitively, but he still said nothing. He must have been able to tell that you weren’t done just yet. 

“Don’t you think I’m ready? I’ve stayed away from the heavy training, I’ve been staying relaxed for you. Ready for you.” Your voice was more like a purr, a tactic of seduction that probably wouldn’t even work on Illumi, yet your inhibitions were far too released for you to let rationality take over. You were telling him everything that he wanted to hear, that alone should have had an effect if your voice couldn’t. 

Nothing happened for a moment, the room was so quiet now that you were sure if Illumi was ever clumsy enough to allow one of his pins to drop, it would do so and sound loud.

 But then his lips met yours in a slam, intentionally gentle yet powerful by comparison to the standard you had set from previous kisses with Illumi. What usually made you feel like paper now made you feel unbreakable, perhaps you had finally reached the peak that Illumi wanted you to, allowing him to use such ferocity without thinking that you would shatter from it. His grip on your hand relented so he could grab the sides of your face instead, his fingers weaving back into your hair after he had kissed you to the point of breathlessness, and pulled his lips away with a wet pop. Your eyes fluttered open, panting as you looked up at him; those short breaths now hitching as you could swear his own eyes were now swirling as they bore into you. He turned and began walking you towards the bed, hardly enforcing any effort considering how complicit you were with his movements right away. His eyes were just so hypnotic right now…his voice sounded muted to you when he began to speak, with how little focus you put into anything but maintaining your shared gaze. Your knees met with the mattress and you collapsed, seated as Illumi massaged your scalp, his fingertips focusing on the crown of your head, and his next words were loud and clear.

“I knew you would reach perfection eventually. What a good little wife you are to me, Y/N.” 

Problem solved.

© meyousing 2023. do not share/export my work on to any other platforms. do not translate my work. 

[toki-is-the-king]

Skwistok one shot

Summary: Skwisgaar and Toki are both drunk, sad, and horny. Pretty much it. Lots of angst, sexual tension, and mentions unprocessed trauma. Angst/fluff

Rating: Mature

TW for sexual themes, alcohol and ptsd.

Sometimes Skwisgaar hated drinking. He couldn’t say it out loud or the guys would crucify him, but it made him feel things. Things he didn’t want to feel or think about. Getting drunk was great, when he was in a good mood and wanted to party or fuck some groupies, but Toki’s whole ordeal with his dead dad and his fucked up family had Skwisgaar reminiscing on his own past, and it was shit. He couldn’t even recognize how he was feeling, it was just too much, and he hated the emptiness in his chest, like a black hole sucking the life out of him. Maybe it was just this shitty beer, but he wasn’t feeling his usual confident self, right now he just wanted to wallow in self pity. It was probably the alcohol, he reminded himself, still, he didn’t like feeling this torn up over his past or remembering how his skank mother was never there for him. He was in a bad mood. It was fucking gross and weird.

“Hey dood! Me and Nat’n are gonna go drink in the hot tub if you wanna join!”

Nathan was already taking his clothes off, bumbling around with his pants down around his ankles. “HEY. I’m gonna fucking drink this tequila, alright Pickles?!”

Skwisgaar cringed at the thought of being in the hot tub with Nathan after a bottle of tequila. He hadn’t noticed that he’d gone temporarily catatonic in his drunken state, unaware he was slipping into the uncharted depths of his mind, until an even more drunk Pickles waved a hand in front of his face. Skwisgaar might’ve been under the influence, but he could put on his usual stoic demeanor when needed.

“Eugh…dat ams tempting but I uh, was thinkings maybes…I ams just practices guitar instead.”

Pickles was grinning stupidly and just gave a half assed thumbs up, “whatever you say dood.”

“Oh schit, I wanna come too!”

Murderface yelled, jumping up from the chair he’d been stabbing away at for the past hour. He was just as wasted as Pickles and Nathan, who were already snickering after leaving him behind. Murderface chased after them with his open pocketknife, swearing he’d cut their eyes out if they excluded him. The door to the living room area slammed shut and the three guys could be heard shouting over each other about who got to choose a movie.

It didn’t take long before Skwisgaar got the eerie feeling of being watched.

“So you’s just goings to practice your guitars? Dats cool! Cans I watch?”

Before Skwisgaar could interject, or at least act like he wanted to, Toki was tripping over his feet and heading towards the couch where Skwisgaar sat, guitar in his lap.

“Uh…shores…I guess dats fine.”

“I promiskes I just sits and bes queit! You-“ Toki hiccuped, taking a swig from his red solo cup, “you not evens know I’s here.”

Skwisgaar sighed, readjusting the position of his guitar. In some way he was relieved to have been pulled from the thoughts of his whore mom, but now he was dragged into another pit of thoughts and feelings to focus on. He and Toki’s friendship had been a little strained as of recently, with Toki’s dad dying and all that mess. It was bothering Skwisgaar, but he did nothing about it. He found it best to just ignore his problems and maybe they’d disappear, but that wouldn’t work when the problem was sitting right in front of him, wide eyed, smiling and giggling like a schoolgirl. Toki flopped down onto his stomach, resting his cheek against his palm, swinging his feet back and forth like he always did.

“Goes on, plays something!” Toki insisted, his voice screeching and high pitched. Skwisgaar only grimaced, realizing now that his five beers were probably the cause of this oncoming headache, or maybe it was Toki. As much as he liked both of them, beer and Toki had a way of giving Skwisgaar an unforgiving migraine. Why couldn’t the guy just keep his mouth shut for five seconds so Skwisgaar could secretly admire him and then loathe him in the same thought?

“Plays da guitarssss!” Toki screeched, ear piercing enough to shatter the windows.

“I can’ts plays while you ams starings at me likes dat!”

Toki only erupted into laughter, spitting his drink everywhere and onto the other man’s boots. Skwisgaar scowled at him, his annoyance causing his fingers to strum away at his guitar furiously.

“You knows I could totallies kicks you in de face right now if I wants to…”

“Does it! I wants a footprints on my face! HA!” The brunette smashed his face against the blond’s boot, grabbing the older man’s foot and jerking it around as if he was trying to pull his shoe off. Toki was way too fucking drunk to be enjoyable anymore and it was only thinning Skwisgaar’s patience. Sure, they all drank way too much, but lately Toki had been so wasted it was concerning. And over what? His asshole dad? That didn’t seem like an excuse to Skwisgaar…or maybe it was, and he was just too unfeeling. Skwisgaar just knew that he was overwhelmed too and yes, he bottled everything up anyway, but when Toki wasn’t rolling on the floor wasted out of his mind, they had a decent friendship. At least Skwisgaar didn’t feel so lonely when he could actually talk to Toki. It was nearly impossible to have a conversation with Toki lately and it sucked. Well- it was hard to have a conversation with him in general, he was childish, whiny, had the attention span of a five year old- but at least he was interested in what Skwisgaar was saying. But this time around there was something about Toki’s obliviousness that had Skwisgaar overly frustrated, more than usual. Whenever Skwisgaar felt he was being ignored, that his presence was being disregarded, he felt disrespected. Discarded. It gave him flashbacks of being a stupid unwanted kid who was unloved and neglected. Call it narcissistic if you will, that Skwisgaar shut down anytime his ego was slightly threatened, but it wasn’t necessarily his fault. He didn’t know how to respond to perceived rejection other than getting angry.

“Tokis if you’s not stops dis drinkings nonskense then I just goes to my room and nots talks to you.”

“But you’s drinking too!”

“Nots drinkings like how you’s does! Fucks dis, I goes to my room.” Skwisgaar grabbed the neck of his guitar, steadying himself to his feet. Everything was spinning and he was entering the part of being drunk where you begin to feel sick if you stop drinking to keep the momentum going.

“No! Please, donts leaves me alone, Skwisgaar! Please!” Toki stumbled up from the floor, pushing Skwisgaar back onto the couch more roughly than he’d intended to. The blond scowled, jerking his guitar towards himself to block Toki from falling all over him. His attempt to put space between himself and Toki was proving to be in vain, and Toki who was getting oddly frantic, had the nerve toss Skwisgaar’s precious guitar to the floor.

“Eugh, Tokis gets you hands off me! And fuckings be careful with my guitars damnit!”

“Please donts leaves me, I’m sorries! I behaves, I promiskes!”

“No gets out of my way!”

“I’ll does anything if you stays, Skwisgaar, please! I’ll evens sucks your dick, I’ll does anything!”

Skwisgaar paused, eyeing Toki skeptically, who was on his knees, hands clasped together as if he were praying. “Dat ams…reallys…gays…But you knows, we ams…both sooo hammered it could happens and no one’s could blame us.”

“Yeah! We ams both reallys hammered! No one cans blames us!” Toki said, slurring his speech. He was so dizzy he was seeing double.

Skwisgaar slowly relaxed against the couch, arms at his sides. Toki hastily climbed onto his lap, feeling a surge of heat rush to his face. Skwisgaar smirked, using his thumb to tilt Toki’s chin up as he tried to glance away. Toki hadn’t really thought this through, sometimes he just blurted out whatever came to mind. He’d actually never given a blow job before or sat in Skwisgaar’s lap like this.

“gör jag dig nervös?” Skwisgaar mumbled, his melancholic mood dissipating. Sexual tension was a promising escape from reality.

The younger man’s breathing quickened, his index finger entering his mouth as began to chew his nails. Skwisgaar’s eyes flickered from Toki’s parted lips, then to his chest. The younger man was breathing deeply, chest rising and falling beneath his baggy shirt. The room was so quiet you could almost hear the pounding of Toki’s heart against his chest.

“Well…dis was easy ways to gets you too shuts up, heuh?”

Toki remained silent, peering through his lashes, chewing his nails. He didn’t know how to tell Skwisgaar he wasn’t sure what move to make or what to do. He’d never felt this way around anyone before. This was the closest he’d gotten to intimacy yet, and it was with the sex god himself, so of course it made him panic. He didn’t want to embarrass himself further by confessing this, so he just stayed quiet.

“Before yous not shuts up, now I can’ts gets you to says no’tings?” Skwisgaar mused, resting his hands on the other’s hips firmly, digging his nails into his sides.

“Jeg…vet ikke hva jeg skal gjøre...” Toki whispered shyly, his gaze shifting from the floor to meet Skwisgaar’s piercing blue eyes. Shivers ran down his spine from the way Skwisgaar was looking at him, smirking, in control.

“You doesn’t haves to does nothings…let’s me goes first, ja?”

Toki perked up, the playful gleam in his eyes returning. He nodded, snuggling against the other’s chest like a cat, closing his eyes as if he might drift off to sleep. “I just rests my head and you goes first.”

Skwisgaar quirked an eyebrow, “ah, Tokis…We’s can does dis gay cuddling bullshits later…if you wants to…but I thoughts we does something else likes what you saids before-“

Skwisgaar sighed, seeing as Toki was too anxious or too drunk to put in much effort, he’d need to get him just a little worked up. His dick wasn’t going to suck itself, and he’d already tried and failed at sucking his own dick anyway.The older man began kissing down the younger’s neck, deciding to be an asshole and suck a hickey right under his jawline. With that, Toki’s eyes popped open again. Skwisgaar wasn’t expecting to have the other man moaning this early on but he was skilled at his craft. He’d never heard such desperation aside from those five dollar hookers he fucked last week.

“You likes dat?” The blond breathed out, lips trailing along the other’s neck, his skin warm and slightly sweaty. Skwisgaar got off on making people nervous, so this only fueled him to keep going, sucking and nipping at the skin until he could feel the familiar sensation of a boner pressing against his thigh. It wasn’t his own this time.

“You ams pathetisks…you knows dat?” He chuckled, keeping one hand on Toki’s hip and letting the other wander down the bulge on the front of the younger man’s pants. He gave a light squeeze, earning another defeated moan.

“H-how’s you knows how to do this?” Toki asked, and it came out as more of a whimper than he intended. He’d only barely hooked up with anyone at this point, he was too nervous. Skwisgaar made it seem so easy. Maybe he could get the hang of it someday.

“I literallys fucks de sluts brains out all days till I get bored, I knows what I’s doing.”

Skwisgaar slipped his hand in Toki’s pants just to toy with him, waiting until the other man got desperate enough to beg for it. But Toki was incompetent about foreplay or anything sex related, and grew impatient fairly quickly, rocking his hips against Skwisgaar’s to get some type of friction going. This only amused Skwisgaar and he retracted his hand to tease him. Toki whimpered again, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

“Why’s you stop?” He hiccuped a few times, words slurred and messy. He leaned in to kiss Skwisgaar in hopes of getting him to continue. Skwisgaar merely smirked, motioning to the other.

“Because it ams yours turn.”

Again, Toki looked anxious and shy but made the next move despite it, connecting their lips in a sloppy fashion, clinking their teethed together in the process. It wasn’t nearly as graceful as Skwisgaar would’ve anticipated, but he didn’t mind. He was just satisfied with whatever this was.

“You tastes likes vodka.” Skwisgaar muttered, leaning back to break the kiss after a few moments.

“Yeps I beens drinkings it all day. Okays Toki’s turns again!” Toki leaned in and kissed the other’s neck, trying to copy what was done to him. It wasn’t for very long, and he clearly lacked experience, but it was something at least. The kissing didn’t last and before he knew it Skwisgaar yelped in surprise, leaving Toki giggling and trying to bite him again. Toki couldn’t remain serious when he was drunk if his life depended on it.

“Tokis! You cants just fucking bites peoples!”

Toki pursed his lips, pouting, and Skwisgaar wanted to smack him. This was the weirdest, if you could even call it sexual, encounter he’d had, and he’d had “several thouskands”.

Skwisgaar rubbed his neck, visibly irritated. “Is dis what’s you does to the ladies? Who tells you dis is good? I gots to teach you’s a things or two.”

“I…never reallys does much with the goils…but oh yeah they loves it…Oh man, I can’t lies to you no more, I reallys don’t knows what I ams doing!!!” After his outburst there was more silence and Toki was radiating with embarrassment, his hands were trembling and he looked like he might cry. He couldn’t find the right words to express it so he’d sound cool, but there was no cool way to do it, so he forced himself to say it and get it over with.

“I nevers reallys…dones this yet…evens with the ladies…”

“vänta, är du oskuld, Toki?”

“…Ja…”

Skwisgaar exhaled deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to think Toki wasn’t still a virgin. Upon this realization, this could be excruciatingly difficult because Toki was absolutely clueless.

“I’m sorries! I just wants to bes likes you! I just wants you to likes me! I fucks everything up-“

Skwisgaar cut off the beginning tantrum with a swift kiss, pulling the other man in closer. He managed to lay him on his back, situating himself to straddle the younger man’s waist. He’d have to take the lead, but that was fine, and for once Toki didn’t seem to mind that Skwisgaar had the upper hand. He was just pleased with the kissing and the way Skwisgaar was grinding against him, pleasuring him. It was like a dream. This was way better than jacking off, Toki thought, and he understood a bit more now why the ladies loved the lead guitarist so much.

“S-Skwisgaar I…”

“Shhh…donts says nothing, just lets me dos it…” the blond whispered, cupping a hand over the other man’s mouth, suppressing another loud moan from escaping. Toki couldn’t stop whimpering and squirming underneath him, and it was driving the older man crazy. He never would have imagined he’d be into this- not just the gay stuff, but dry humping his band mate, relishing in the presence of seeing Toki helpless and flustered at his disposal. Skwisgaar pressed a wet kiss to Toki’s jawline as he began to undo his belt, yanking the front of his pants down. He hoped it wasn’t too far, that didn’t show how badly he wanted the rhythm guitarist, but Toki didn’t seem to notice, face scrunched up in pleasure.Through panting and shaky fingers, Skwisgaar finally got his belt loose, and then undid the front of Toki’s jeans, smirking at the hard on in his boxers. There was no way they’d be able to talk their way out of this if the rest of Dethklok walked in, so Skwisgaar knew he needed to act fast. He wished they were already undressed, but he’d change that quickly. He slid a hand under Toki’s shirt, hands roaming his chiseled body. He’d seen it a million times when they were in the hot tub but when Skwisgaar went to pull the shirt off, Toki grasped his wrist tightly, eyes wide and pleading, his writhing body going stiff.

“Waits-“

“What’s you wants now?!”

“Maybes I leaves my shirts on?”

“Whys?”

“It’s…colds in here…”

“Toki’s we ams both sweating unside of each others bodies, it ams not cold.”

“Makes a promisk you wonts says nothings?”

“Okay okay I promiskes! You ams makings dis what’s supposed to be easy over complicaskied!”

Toki relaxed again, loosening the death grip on Skwisgaar’s wrist, allowing him to pull his shirt off over his head. He frowned, peering up at the blond, hesitantly, like he expected to repulse him. A shameful blush coated his cheeks, and he turned his face towards the back of the couch, biting his lip.

Skwisgaar didn’t notice anything different than usual and was confused, equally annoyed and sexually frustrated.

“You’s looks de same as always. Cans I fucks you now? I’m startings to get bored.”

Toki stayed silent, simply nodding, lying flat against the couch, hands clumsily grabbing at Skwisgaar’s waist to hold onto as the blond began to palm at Toki’s hard on, causing the brunette to groan. Everything was spinning now, and he really wished he had taken it slow with the vodka. Despite the kissing and fondling each other, he was struggling to keep up the same pace as before. Toki felt a burning in the back of his throat and his stomach was churning, he felt sick, his day of binge drinking straight vodka was catching up to him. He might puke. He felt so guilty and stupid. Any fan girl would sell her soul and tits just to be in Toki’s position right now, underneath the famous lead guitarist, but Toki just felt awkward and sad; he was so nauseous he wasn’t sure if he could even enjoy this now. Skwisgaar felt like he was making out with a corpse the way Toki just laid there, limp and not moving, no longer responding to the advances he made. Eventually Toki was just staring into nothing like he was having an out of body experience and Skwisgaar was finally weirded out to the point that he stopped trying to satisfy his sexual desires.

“Toki it feels like I ams doesing alls de work-“

“Ams sorry… I just thinks how…I wishes my dads nevers beats me all those times…I cants do this…” Toki sighed casually, as if he hadn’t just said something incredibly fucked up.

Skwisgaar felt as if his dick retracted into itself at hearing this and Toki had officially ruined the moment. The sexual tension between them had faded and now there was just an awkwardness hovering in the air. Skwisgaar’s demeanor changed instantly, suddenly feeling guilty and wrong about this whole incident.

“Maybes…we does this another times then, ja?” Skwisgaar suggested, climbing off of Toki and crossing his arms like he does when something makes him uncomfortable. He zipped up his pants and stared at the wall, trying to conceal that he was disappointed and humiliated. He had never been turned down like this, and it was bothering him.

“Yeps…I likes to does this again…for nows cans…cans you’s just holds my hand?”

Skwisgaar wanted to refuse and say that was too gay for words, but he’d almost had gay sex with Toki so this was the least of his concerns at the moment, and it eased some of the guilt he felt for taking advantage of Toki’s vulnerability. Sure they were both intoxicated, but as Skwisgaar thought about it, Toki was way more fucked up.

“Ja…I cans does dat…” the blond pushed aside his ego and conflicting feelings, kneeling beside the couch and taking Toki’s hand in his. It made no sense to him why he was the one blushing now. He could have sex for hours but the moment it came to all that mushy stuff like hand holding and cuddling, it made him want to explode.

“I’m sorry I’s fucks this up.”

“You didn’ts it ams fine, Toki.”

. . .

“Skwisgaar…?”

“Ja?”

“ hvor lang tid tar det før arrene forsvinner..?”

“I doesn’t…knows about…dats Toki.”

“I just wonders…maybes someday they will goes away… by the times we’s does this again…”

“You’s… thinks I ams bothered by the scars?” Skwisgaar frowned, feeling the strings of his heart being tugged at. Did he really come off as someone that cruel? He needed to work on himself.

“I knows they ams not pretty…liker det du er vant til med damene.” Toki half shrugged, eyelids growing heavy as he yawned through another non-comprehensive response of Norwegian and English. He was ready to pass out.

“Tokis…I doesn’t cares bout dat…I just likes…to bes with you.” Skwisgaar admitted, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest. Finally he got that out.

“I likes to bes with you too, Skwisgaar.” Toki smiled warmly, eyes still closed.

Skwisgaar was relieved Toki was so out of it otherwise he might bring up the fact his face was red and that he was being nice instead of throwing insults.

“I thinks I just falls asleep here…good nights.” Toki yawned, voice muffled by the way his face was smashed against the couch. He rolled onto his stomach and nuzzled his head into the cushions. Despite being so muscular, he looked so small and fragile, like a young boy rather than a man. It was disturbingly sad and made Skwisgaar swallow a lump in his throat he didn’t know was there. He squeezed Toki’s hand, waiting until he’d fallen asleep to press a soft kiss to it. The older man didn’t know where all of this sudden gentleness had come from, so he just blamed it on the alcohol, not wanting to admit how he felt. He could make out faint scarring on the other man’s hand, his eyes scanning Toki’s scarred shoulders, the worst spot being his back. His gaze wandered from there and to his friend’s upper biceps that were also littered with nasty scars. Skwisgaar had obviously seen the scars before, but he’d never paid much attention to them or questioned why they were there were there; he’d never really bothered to look at them this closely or cared to. He instantly felt like shit for being so angry at Toki lately. He wondered how many years' worth of scars there were. They were deep and harsh, like they were meant to inflict torturous amounts of pain, to disfigure him, make him feel worthless and ugly. The scars appeared as though they’d never fade, and they probably wouldn’t. Skwisgaar swallowed again, feeling nauseated, trying to adjust to the sickening feeling in his stomach when he recalled the recent trip to Norway. No wonder Toki had been drinking. He was glad Toki’s fucking dad was dead, though he’d never say it out loud. Skwisgaar gently reached up and rested his free hand on Toki’s back, fighting back the urge to rip his arm away because he was so uncomfortable showing affection and physical contact outside of sex made him cringe, but he fought through the urge and stroked Toki’s back, slender fingers tracing over the rugged scars that Toki was ashamed of. He finally sat on the floor, listening to the other snore faintly, praying he didn’t eventually puke on him or that the rest of the band didn’t see this. Didn’t see him this way.

“Good nights, Toki…I stays right here.”

[captain-josslett]

Broken Melody - Part Twenty Two

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen, Part Twenty,��Part Twenty One...

Summary: Grammy Award winning Emma Danvers is the first to say she has a pretty good life. But what happens when it implodes around her and it looks like things will never be the same again?

Words: 3.1k+

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, stuff... I’m so tried my brain can’t function.

Pairings: Emma Danvers x Lena Luthor

This Part: Lena and Emma share their news with Eliza and the sisters discuss if they are really ready to see their baby sister.

So sorry for the delay. A lot of stuff has been happening over the past few weeks and my heart is just really heavy at the moment. But keep calm, carry on and enjoy the ride... Right? Hoping the next part will be soon as I’m actually looking forward to it. The long wait is almost over. Almost. Maybe... Let’s see what tomorrow brings... If my brain functions...

Thank you for reading and let me know if you wanna be tagged or any general feedback will be greatly appreciated. Please! I like knowing your thoughts.

Taglist: @finleyfray, @life-is-hella-unfair, @natasha-danvers, @supergirl-writingz, @camslightstories, @thinking1bee, @aznblossom,

Gif by the awesome @missmaclay​

​

Emma is wrapped up in Lena’s arms as they watch a Friends episode. Well, they were trying to watch it but Emma keeps turning her head to gaze lovingly up at her girlfriend. Smiling and enjoying the feelings of happiness within her before focusing back on the tv.

The girlfriends had made out for some time after Lena asked Emma to move in with her. Until the pair were broken up by Lena’s phone ringing out, causing the raven haired beauty to groan deeply and rest her head on Emma’s shoulder. Her groan increased in volume when Emma moved off of her lap to allow Lena to get to the phone in her bag.

Emma had watched Lena pace back and forth while discussing the headache of an issue that has risen from the negotiations with Japan. Instinctively Lena wanted to rush back to L-Corp to sort out the problem immediately. But when the raven haired turned around to pace to the other side of the room her eyes met her girlfriend’s and Emma gave her a reassuring smile, indicating it was okay if she left. However Lena made the choice to stay and ended the call soon after. Stating she would deal with it first thing in the morning.

Finally getting back onto the bed and pulling Emma into her arms while voice commanding the tv to resume their favorite show.

Once settled, Emma snuggles her head further into Lena’s arm, placing a gentle kiss on the skin there. Warmth fills the CEO as she glances down and returns the kiss by placing one on the blonde’s head. Emma lets out a puff of air, like a sigh of content, and smiles into her girlfriend’s arm.

They watch a few more episodes before Lena lets out a big yawn that makes her body tense and shake.

Emma twists her head to watch her girlfriend and suddenly her mouth opens wide too with a yawn. Afterwards she sits up and studies the tired raven haired beauty.

“Aw someone is sleepy.” Emma signs and smirks when Lena blinks and shakes her head. “Love I can see how exhausted you are.”

“I’m okay.” Lena says but immediately yawns, causing Emma to yawn again too. She lightly pushes Lena’s shoulder and the pair laugh, Emma’s letting out spurts of heavy breaths of air as her diaphragm moves sharply.

The blonde then lifts an eyebrow up at her girlfriend. “As much as I love you being here, don’t you need to go home and sleep? Especially with the day you are going to have tomorrow?” Emma tilts her head to the side and gives Lena a questioning look.

“Are you sure love?” Lena asks as she intwines their fingers. The blonde nods, leaning in to kiss Lena’s lips softly.

“Keep doing that and I won’t want to leave.” Lena says with a deep moan, pressing their foreheads together.

A knock on the door pulls them apart and Eliza walks in.

“Oh sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Eliza keeps her hand on the door handle and looks ready to quickly back away.

Lena smiles and pauses the show. “It’s okay.” She says to the older blonde and feels Emma squeeze her hand to get her attention. Lena focuses back on Emma and watches her sign.

“Can you tell Mom our news?” Emma grins happily, bouncing on the bed excitedly and repeatedly glances at both her Mom and girlfriend. Causing her Mom to arch an eyebrow at her daughter.

“Eliza, please come in, we have something to share with you.” Lena says a bit hesitant. Realising she hadn’t asked Emma’s Moms opinion, which Lena greatly values.

“Alright.” Eliza gently closes the door behind her and makes her way over to the bed, sitting on the edge and waits expectantly.

“I-er-well-” Lena mentally slaps herself, fear of Eliza’s disapproval starts overwhelming her. Until Emma reaches out and holds her hand. Grounding the raven haired beauty. Lena swallows and clears her throat. “As Lucy may have told you Emma will be discharged soon and I-” Lena trails off for a moment. “I asked Emma to move in with me.”

Lena can’t help but whisper the last bit. Internally eye rolling at herself. ‘A Luthor must never show their fear, or any emotion that gives them away.’ Lillian’s voice echoes coldly in her ears.

That’s until Eliza’s face lights up with a beaming smile. “That’s wonderful news!” The older blonde claps and reaches out, engulfing the two women in a group hug. The Danvers matriarch pulls back, grasping both Emma and Lena’s hands before focusing on her daughter. “I’m guessing you said yes?”

Emma nods quickly and matches her Mom’s smile.

“That’s wonderful sweetheart. I was thinking what would happen when you’d leave here but I needn’t have worried.”

Relief fills Lena, until she quickly lifts a hand to her mouth and yawns. Emma turns her head to hide her yawning as well. No matter who yawns Emma can’t help but yawn as well. “Sorry.” Lena sincerely apologises.

“It’s okay sweetheart.” Eliza searches Lena’s fatigued eyes. “Looks like you need to head to bed.”

The CEO nods and squeezes Eliza’s hand before cupping Emma’s face and kissing her goodnight. “See you tomorrow love. Sleep well.”

Lena gracefully slides off the bed, slipping her feet into her heels. Almost moaning out in pain as her feet loudly protest.

“Goodnight sweetheart.” Eliza kisses Emma’s forehead and hugs her daughter close. She watches as Lena quietly slips out of the room and Eliza quickly gets up to follow. She gently closes the door behind her, watching Emma briefly through the glass as she immediately grabs her notebook, flicking through the pages and starts writing. Eliza recognises Emma’s expression and knew her daughter was writing something for a song.

Taking her eyes off her daughter Eliza turns to locate Lena down the corridor and spots her quickly heading towards the elevator. “Lena.” she calls and hastily goes after her daughter’s girlfriend.

Lena screeches to a halt. ‘Oh no, she disapproves.’ Lena thinks and feels her hands starting to get clammy. Slowly she turns to Eliza who chuckles at her expression.

“Don’t look so worried.” The older blonde tries to reassure the other woman. “I just wanted to see how you are after our last conversation.” Lena feels herself relax slightly at Eliza’s words, but her tension is still present, not allowing herself to fully let down her guard. “So, what I want to ask is, how are you?” Eliza kindly asks.

“I’m fine.” Lena answers automatically but Eliza gives her a knowing look.

“Really?” The older blonde states before taking a deep breath. “Look Lena, I know you struggle opening up to people. It’s not hard to imagine what life was like for you growing up in the Luthor household. But you don’t have to hide how you’re feeling. Really, truly feeling.”

Lena’s eyes widen slightly as she feels the tears build and her throat getting tight with emotion. She quickly lowers her eyes to hide it. Until Eliza places a hand gently on her shoulder.

“Lena, look at me.”

Glistening green eyes slowly lift back up.

“As I have said before, you are practically family and whenever you need me, whatever time it is, call me.” Eliza tenderly wipes a tear from the raven haired woman’s face.

Lean swallows to try and relieve the tightness in her throat. “I will.” Her phone buzzes in her bag and she quickly pulls it out. “My driver is here, do you need a lift to where you are staying?”

“No thank you, I’m going to work a little bit longer on the samples.” Eliza answers and they walk to the elevator. Eliza hopes her daughter’s girlfriend has heard what she said and taken it on board.

-- -- --

Alex breathes out quickly as she extends her arms, pushing herself up from the ground before slowly lowering herself back down again.

Kara lowers her book and stares at her redheaded sister from the bed. “Alex?” The blonde asks with concern, causing Alex to pause and lift her head up at her. “You’ve been working out for hours.”

“And?” Alex huffs out as she continues her push ups.

“And you should be winding down for bed.” Kara crosses her arms at her sister’s attitude.

“Can’t.” The redhead grits out. Her arms and shoulders are screaming from the strain. But she stubbornly pushes through.

“Why?”

Alex pauses slightly before continuing her push ups. “When I stop- doing something- my thoughts just get-” Her voice dwindles. Not wanting to say it out loud.

“They get really loud.” Kara finishes for her and Alex nods, jutting her jaw out. “Then, maybe you need to speak them out. To stop them overwhelming you.” The blonde repeats what Doctor Jackson had told her the other day in their therapy session when Kara had been tight lipped about how she was feeling.

“Yes Doctor Danvers.” Alex quips back, standing and grabbing a bottle of water from the table. Her eyes find the painting Emma had done earlier of Kara and Alex. Sam had placed it into the container and Kara eagly took it out to study it.

Alex eyebrows knit together as she looks down at herself. Knowing it had unsettled her seeing how Emma had captured both the carefree laughter but also the tears from her earlier confession about her impending break up with Kelly.

More than anything Alex wants to jump into the painting and get back to that moment. To stop Kara and herself going into the trap later that day that ruined everything.

Alex leans heavily against the table, her shoulders slumping forward. She is desperate to see Emma. To hold her and apologise over and over for the words she said. For hurting her mentally and physically. But her fear was holding her back.

“I’m scared too.” Kara’s voice whispers softly next to her. Sensing Alex’s distress and taking in her defeated posture.

“Are we strong enough?” Alex murmurs so quietly only Kara could have heard her.

“I don’t know.” Kara wraps her arms around her sister. “But I know we have to try. For Emma.”

Alex nods, her face distorts and the tears she had been trying to hold back start breaking free.

“Let it out. Emma once told me that you get sick if you hold it all in.”

Alex lets out a wet laugh. “Yea I remember. Wasn’t she ten?”

“A very wise ten year old.” Kara agrees, leading Alex over to their joined beds and sitting down. “But you are deflecting.” She gently strokes Alex’s cheek.

“I should have protected her.” A vein pulses in Alex’s forehead as she tries to hold back her building sobs. Her eyes squint and her face distorts.  “She’s a part of my heart. You both are. And I should- I should have protected her.”

“Me too. But it was out of our control.” Kara gulps out as her eyes well up with tears.

Alex rocks as the building pain inside her starts becoming overwhelming. The redhead lifts her fingers and pinches the bridge of her nose, signaling her distress.

Kara gently reaches out and takes her sister’s hand. “Let it go Alex.” Kara whispers softly, carefully squeezing the redhead’s hand.

Finally Alex lets out an anguished cry, her heart clenching in pain and Kara pulls her into a hug. Letting her own tears fall and their sobs echo around the cell.

-- -- --

Time stands still Beauty in all she is I will be brave I will not let anything take away What’s standing in front of me Every breath Every hour has come to this

One step clos-

Emma pauses her writing. She frowns at why she suddenly feels anxious. It’s been happening on and off since she woke up. Random moments where her heart would clench and she just wants to sob. The blonde stares at the love song she had been writing.

A Thousand Years

Was neatly written on the top of the page. But Emma quickly places the pen on the page and puts it down beside her. She jumps off the bed and starts pacing her room. Her frown deepens as she tries to figure out why she suddenly feels so restless.

Grabbing her new phone Emma opens her messages to her girlfriend.

Emma: Hi love, just checking you got home okay?

She sighs in relief when the three dots appear.

Lena: Yes I just got in.

Emma: Awesome, I hope tomorrow goes well. Sleep well!

Lena: You too. I love you ❤️

Emma: Love you too 😘

Emma throws her phone onto the bed and continues pacing. Placing her hands on her hips and lowering her head as she tries to identify the source of her sudden anxiety.

A loud, frantic knock halts her movements and she quickly turns to the door.

“Em? What’s wrong?” Lucy enters with a frown, having seen the agitated Emma through the glass in the door.

Emma runs a hand through her hair before shrugging.

“You don’t know?” Lucy tries to guess from Emma’s body movements.

Emma shakes her head in confirmation.

“Well, do you wanna write about it? Maybe we can figure it out?”

Emma grabs her notebook and makes her way over to the sofa, crossing her legs and leaning against the arm. Lucy follows her and copies her friend.

‘Lena asked me to move in, but I don’t think it’s that.’ Emma holds up the pad and Lucy smiles that Lena found the courage to ask Emma.

“What was your answer?”

Emma does a small smile and nods.

Lucy does a little squeal and claps happily, causing Emma’s smile to widen. “Are you worried about it?” Lucy tilts her head as she asks and Emma shakes her head. “Okay, keep writing.”

‘Are Alex and Kara okay?’

“Yea they seemed to be when I left them earlier. Said they were gonna think about seeing you soon and that they love you too.”

Emma's eyes light up at the news. She had heard it from Lena but having Lucy tell her as well gives her more hope.

But her smile fades and she looks down to write her next question. ‘Any news from Doctor Sloan?’

Lucy takes in a deep breath and Emma watches her carefully. “Yes there is actually.”

Emma fidgets slightly. Crossing her fingers under her notepad.

“He’s been researching and looking over the pictures he took. He would like Doctor Hamilton to take some more photos in a few weeks and would then consider operating after that from a few weeks to a month.”

Emma’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline and hurriedly writes.

‘That’s quick.’

“Well, this hasn’t really been natural has it?”

‘Guess not.’

Emma leans back into the corner of the sofa as she ponders what Lucy has told her.

“Emma?” The brunette watches her friend’s face. The contemplation etched there. “Emma?” Lucy tries again and barely bloodshot eyes connect with her.

Emma doesn’t move for a moment. Her heart beats anxiously inside her. Slowly she lifts her pen and writes. ‘Do you think it will work?’

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Lucy swallows and keeps her eye contact with her friend. “I wish I could say, one hundred percent, that it would work. But with anything like this, there are always risks involved.”

Emma nods sadly, placing her elbow on the top of the sofa and resting her head in her hand. She picks up the pen with her left hand and starts writing.

“You're ambidextrous?” Lucy asks in fascination and Emma shakes her head, writing her answer after her question. Drawing an arrow to signal to Lucy to read her response first.

She holds up the pad with her left hand. Keeping her head rested in her right. Lucy blinks at the difference in handwriting. Still very neat but not as curvy.

‘I broke my right arm when I was a teen. This was before laptops became a regular thing, so I taught myself how to write left handed.’

“Make sense.” Lucy mutters before her eyes lift to Emma’s earlier question.

‘What would you do?’

“I can’t pretend to know what you are going through.” Lucy plays with her fingers. She had tried to imagine how she would feel if her sister Lois had attacked her and took something precious from her. However, it was impossible. “If it was me? I’d go for it.”

Emma clicks the pen a few times and twirls it between her fingers as she ponders Lucy’s words.

‘Everything has a risk.’ Emma thinks as she reflects her friend’s words back.

“What is your gut saying?” Lucy interrupts Emma’s thoughts.

The blonde bites her lip and she takes a deep breath. She clicks the pen and starts writing.

‘Mainly to go for it but part of me is hesitant. Like what if it doesn’t work? Would it damage everything further?’

“That’s something you would need to ask Doctor Sloan.” Lucy answers while she fiddles with a loose thread on the sofa cushion. “But whatever you decide I will be with you all the way.”

Emma lifts the corner of her mouth and reaches out to take Lucy’s hand.

“Has that helped?”

It had a little bit but Emma knew it wasn’t the issue she was trying to deal with. But Emma nods anyway after realising how late it was getting and not wanting to take up anymore of Lucy’s time.

“Great! Shall I send Doctor Sloan an email and we can get the ball rolling?”

Emma swallows and feels her heart start to pound. Suddenly the room flickers and the blonde blinks to clear her vision.

“Em?” Lucy notices how anxious her friend has become again. The grip around her hand tightens and Lucy squeezes back before Emma lets go and rubs her eyes. “Tired?”

Emma nods before writing. ‘Yes to emailing Doctor Sloan. Can you give him my email?’

“Er… I may have to give you a new email to correspond with him. We got alerts that someone tried to hack into your accounts.”

Emma suddenly straightens up, her eyes flashing with anger. Immediately feeling violated at the attempt.

“Don’t worry, Brainy and Winn have placed the maximum security around them.” Lucy tries to reassure the blonde, who takes a deep intake of breath and lets it out slowly. “Is there anything else?” Lucy searches Emma’s eyes.

Emma shakes her head.

“Alright. I’ll leave you to rest.” Lucy opens her arms and Emma shuffles forward to hug her. Emma rests her head on her friend’s shoulder and imagines Alex or Kara hugging her. But it isn’t the same. They pull apart and Emma watches the brunette leave. 

Slowly Emma stands and heads towards the window. The blonde crosses her arms and takes a few deep breaths. Trying to search for the answer of an unknown question. Her mind goes back to her sisters. Emma looks up at the barely there stars due to the light pollution. She focuses on the brightest and hopes more than anything that Alex and Kara are okay and prays she will get to see them soon.

(Part Twenty Three)

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Five

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

***

Nesta hates loud noises. She hates loud thunder and loud people and loud machines and loud music, but no one ever understands her when she tries to explain how certain volumes of sound are a direct assault on her senses.

She especially hates yelling, at least when other people are doing it. It’s big and scary and reminds her of Tomas— where her own shrieks feel powerful, being yelled at makes her feel weak.

Except when Cassian snaps at her, it feels different. So different that she can only blink in confusion and say, “Fine.” She’ll go to the stupid doctor.

He didn't scare her. That's what Nesta's still thinking about as she sits in the fluorescent-lit doctor's office with Cassian. He was loud and he was angry, but he wasn't scary. There was the moment where she waited for fear to kick in, and it didn't.

Maybe it's a sign Nesta is finally evolving. Maybe she’s starting to become normal, and she doesn't have to cower every time someone raises their voice at her.

Or maybe it's just Cassian.

The door opens and the doctor returns. “I have your birth control prescription right here.” She waves a slip of paper.

Nesta can't look at Cassian. The worst part of this whole useless doctor's visit was having to discuss her nonexistent sex life in front of him, including why she hasn't bothered taking birth control in years.

The doctor keeps talking. “Birth control isn't the end all, be all. I didn't find anything during our pelvic exam, but I want to schedule you for an MRI anyway.”

Cassian perks to attention at that. “An MRI?”

“It might seem extreme, but I don't want to miss any spots. Ultrasounds can pick up cysts, but there's a chance that whatever is causing your pain is less severe than that. Considering your symptoms and how long this has been going on, we want to save time when it comes to finding answers.”

Cassian turns to Nesta, clearly looking for her reaction. Nesta only sits on the patient bed in silence. All she can think is that she shouldn’t have come to the doctor.

The drive back home is silent, and Nesta doesn’t know whether to be grateful or scream. She both longs for Cassian to say something and never wants him to speak to her again.

A part of her knows what it is. A part of her has always known that there was something fundamentally wrong with her body, but she can’t even think the idea to herself without confirmation.

The snow has just started to melt enough to drive safely back to the house, but Cassian still goes too slow for Nesta’s liking. As soon as he’s parked in the driveway, she’s throwing his truck door open and storming for the warmth of the cabin. She’s in her room for the rest of the day.

That night, Cassian brings a box out to the living room and drops it with an unceremonious thud on the coffee table in front of Nesta. She glances up from her book to eye his gift.

An idyllic countryside landscape graces the lid of the box. It’s a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle. She flicks her eyes up to Cassian.

“I’ve always wanted to do it,” he nods to the puzzle, “but it was too big for me to take on alone. Wanna help?”

“No.”

He makes a pleading pout that Nesta knows is entirely for her entertainment. “Please,” he whines. “There’s snow outside and the fire’s going and I just made hot chocolate. The only thing that would make this perfect is a puzzle. Do you hate perfect things?”

“Me reading alone is perfect.” Nesta moves to return to her book.

Cassian’s face is then right before hers. He’s dropped to his knees in front of her. “Nesta,” he says very lowly. “I won’t beg.”

The room is suddenly too hot, and Nesta has to rub a hand over her face to relieve the burning. “You’re begging right now,” she observes as flatly as possible.

He gives her a smile and squeezes her knee. “You might be right. Put me out of my misery.”

Nesta hates him.

An hour later they are hunched over the coffee table together, in complete silence as they search for the final edge piece. They’ve already had three fights over this stupid puzzle, mostly because Cassian is certain that Nesta has all the pieces to his side of the puzzle, and Nesta is certain that Cassian is the worst puzzler ever.

“I hate this,” Nesta mutters as she keeps searching. Her eyes are strained from all this staring and her muscles are starting to ache. “Why did you tell me this would be fun?”

“I don’t know,” Cassian admits as his eyes rove over hundreds of puzzle pieces. “I wanted to make you feel better, but now I feel like shit.”

Nesta is about to reply sardonically when something catches her attention. She gasps. “There, I see it!”

She grabs for the edge piece at the same time Cassian does, and they briefly fight over it before Nesta rips it out of his hand.

“Ow.”

She victoriously fits it into place, completing the border. They sit back, proud of their work.

“How much is left?” Cassian asks.

“Nine hundred pieces.”

“Oh.”

***

The MRI appointment comes and goes. Nesta doesn't note much of it except having to drink a bottle of thick, disgusting liquid before getting scanned, and having Cassian talk her through not throwing it up the entire time.

And then she waits. Or rather, they wait.

It's obvious that Cassian is subtly worried for her, and this paired with Nesta's own worry makes for an uncomfortable, tension-wrought environment. So Cassian does his best to keep her occupied.

He returns to the puzzle with her every night. Even though it leaves them both with headaches and lost arguments and a desire to get away from each other, they have a silent agreement to never skip out on puzzling time. Sometimes a whole chunk of the image gets done; sometimes they only find two pieces after thirty minutes and call it a night, turning a TV show on instead.

It's on one of these ordinary nights that Nesta notices something new.

“How have your sisters been?” Cassian murmurs while hunting for a green piece.

Nesta frowns as she tries and fails to fit her own piece into the puzzle. “You're telling me you don't already know?” Cassian is closer to Feyre than even Nesta is. As for Elain, sometimes Nesta goes weeks without contact with her, not for loving her any less.

He shrugs, but is staring intently at the coffee table. “I haven't talked to Feyre in a while. I’ve just been busy, I guess.”

“Doing what? I see you on the couch every day.”

When Cassian doesn't respond, Nesta feels the need to press. She doesn't consider herself nosy, mostly because she can't be bothered to care about other people's lives, but this is Cassian. And ever since he helped her through her period and sat beside her at the doctor's, she's been open around him in a way she’s never been with anyone before.

“Why aren't you talking to Feyre? Did you guys get in a fight?” She sounds demanding, but Cassian knows by now that's just how she talks.

“No, we didn't fight—” He makes a frustrated noise and rolls a puzzle piece between his fingers. “I don't know,” he finally says. “Do you like your sister?”

Nesta hooks her arm around her bent knee and decides to be honest. “It's complicated. I can't say that if she wasn't my sister I would be able to have civil conversations with her.”

Cassian pulls his knee up and nods, thinking. “Well, it's sort of like that. All these years, I’ve looked at her as my sister, but now I know you better, and… I feel like I know her less.”

“So she's not your sister anymore?”

“No. She's yours.”

Nesta finds this funny, because whatever it is real sisters have, she and Feyre just barely have it.

She drops the topic after that and they keep working, until she finally notices it.

Whenever Nesta shifts her leg, he shifts his leg. Whenever she worries at her lip with her thumb and forefinger, a few moments later he does the same. When she reaches for a puzzle piece, he reaches for a puzzle piece. It seems to be subconscious, but eventually she has to say, “What are you doing?”

“Hm?”

“You’re copying me.” She crosses her arms.

Cassian straightens up. “Am not!”

His gaze follows hers to his arms, which are now also crossed. He drops them quickly. “It’s not intentional,” he insists.

Nesta narrows her eyes at him. She’s done her fair share of mirroring before, usually when she’s trying to manipulate a professor into giving her a better grade, but Cassian doesn’t want to manipulate her. She’s pretty sure. “I believe you,” she states. “Just don’t do it anymore. People might think you’re turning into me.”

He huffs a laugh and turns back to the puzzle. “Take your hair down if it bothers you so much.”

She reaches up to touch her hair, not getting it at first, when she notices her hair is done up the same way as Cassian’s: in a little half-ponytail. Her fingers fiddle with her hair tie as she genuinely considers pulling it out, but in the end she drops her hand.

They match, just like mirrors.

***

Nesta’s spends all of the next day waiting for her MRI results, but when her phone finally rings, it’s not her doctor.

“Lorene?” she answers.

“Today’s your lucky day, hun. It looks like the apartment is gonna be done by the end of the week!”

“Oh.” Nesta doesn’t know what else to say.

“Isn’t that great? You can move back in soon!” Lorene’s enthusiasm doesn’t match up with the storm of feelings going through Nesta right now.

She doesn’t want to leave, she realizes in half-horror. Especially not by the end of the week. “Um, that’s great Lorene,” she says quickly. “I’m really glad, but I have to go now. I’ll call you later, okay?” She does not plan on calling Lorene later.

After a rushed goodbye, Nesta throws her phone on her bed like it’s poisonous. She doesn’t want to think about her old apartment or going back to not having someone to talk to every day, not right now. The puzzle isn’t even halfway finished yet.

Once again, her phone rings. Nesta’s about to ignore it, thinking it’s her landlady again, when she realizes it’s an unfamiliar number. Snatching up the phone, she clicks the screen with nervous thumbs. “Hello?”

“Nesta Archeron?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Doctor Forbes. I have the results of your MRI scan right here and I wanted to go over them with you. Are you free right now?”

***

Nesta doesn’t tell Cassian about either of the phone calls she receives that day. The doctor call isn’t really his business, nor is it important, and as for her landlady’s call…

She doesn’t want to tell him about that call. She doesn’t want to tell him that she has to leave soon, because she doesn’t want to leave at all. So she goes on as if nothing has changed.

This lasts less than twenty-four hours, when Cassian’s attentiveness catches up to her the next morning and he asks if she’s gotten her MRI results yet.

“Yes,” she says flatly as she spreads peanut butter on her toast. Luckily for Nesta, this is something she can handle discussing. There’s nothing for her to be ashamed about.

Cassian straightens up and sets his coffee down. “Well?” he prods. “Did they find anything? Is anything wrong?”

“Yes,” she says again. She takes a bite of toast and says while chewing, “I have moderate endometriosis on my uterus and both ovaries. That’s it, though.”

Something clatters in the kitchen as Cassian drops it. “'That’s it'? Nesta, that’s fucking serious.” He sounds more intense than he’s ever been with her before.

Nesta scoffs, trying to deflect from how quickly the mood dropped. She should have expected his concern, should have known how deeply uncomfortable it would make her. “At least I don’t have cysts. What’s the big deal?”

“You might be infertile.”

There it is. He's such a bastard, always shoving her face into things she isn't ready to face.

On the outside, she lifts a hand sharply to shut him up. “I don't know what makes you think a week’s worth of Google searching makes you a gynecological health expert, but it's none of your business, Cassian. I said I’m fine and I mean it.” Well, everything but her wallet is fine. She can't even think about things like having children when she can barely afford treatment for her endometriosis.

Cassian moves without a word, and then there are two strong arms wrapped around her, holding her so close she can barely move. She makes a sound of protest but stays there, face squished into his chest. Jesus, he’s tall. He nearly has to hunch to put his chin on her head.

Nesta's arms remain stiff at her sides, her hands flexed outwards. “What the hell is this?”

“Just in case you're not fine.”

She is frozen.

When Nesta was little, she used to believe that if she talked about someone enough, they would eventually become real. After all, what more did a mythical king need to exist beyond being talked about? As Nesta grew older, she couldn't help but take notice of the fact that no one ever talked about her. She became ghostly, unsure of whether she was real or not. Who’s to say she exists when she can barely get a word in during a conversation? When at every party, she’s met with unfamiliar eyes that glaze over her like a background character?

She has felt paper-thin and hollow as fiction for so long. But she’s always wondered if someone would just reach out and hold onto her tight enough, if she might become real.

This feels a little like that.

Hesitantly, she lets her arms loosely encircle Cassian’s waist. He's so warm, and a shuddering breath escapes her.

She's fine. She's fine.

***

a/n: *narrator* she was not fine.

i was gonna add more to this and give cassian a pov this chapter, but this seemed like such a good place to leave off and i didn't wanna ruin it. next chapter is going to be more cassian-centric to restore the balance, and if i don't keep changing my plans we’ll see nesta make a friend who isn't cassian (bc she deserves a social life too)

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @royaltykxx

some tags are refusing to work, sorry :(

[the-melting-world]

Strength | Side B: "Colder Heavens"

art by @ ligiawrites

~ In which a former Count breaks a very important rule…

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Lucio | Valdemar

Track Origins: “Colder Heavens” by Blanco White

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: Strength

Khleo is Non-binary and uses she/they pronouns interchangeably

cw: language, alcohol, blood, violence, mild gore

~ 3.3k words

***

~ 17 years ago ~

Hans von Heine shrugged the heavy sack of potatoes off his shoulder as he arrived at the door of his small flat. He unlocked the door and shortly after letting himself inside, he was met with a very tired, “Careful. There’s glass on the floor.”

Hans looked up and locked eyes with his wife, Magda. She was still busy sweeping up the remains of broken ceramic bowls in the kitchen.

“What happened?” Hans asked, gracefully sidestepping the uneven shards. There was no alarm or urgency in his voice, only concerned curiosity. After dropping off the potato sack, he began to help Magda by collecting the larger pieces.

“Khlee.” Magda sighed. “She had another headache and panicked.”

Hans grunted as he stood up. “It’s been a while since her last one. I’ll go talk to her.”

Magda got up too and touched his shoulder. “She’s finally up and moving but…” The skin around the woman’s clear blue eyes wrinkled slightly. “She can’t lift her arms, Hans.”

He covered her hand with his larger one and used the other to gently massage a little tension out of her shoulders. When she relaxed some, he nodded in understanding. “Thank you, Magda. We’ll come help you with dinner soon.”

Magda looked around. “What did you bring for me this time?”

Hans’ dark beard stretched over his toothy grin. “Kartoffeln.”

Magda rolled her eyes. “Wieder, Hans?”

He chuckled as he disengaged from her and popped a kiss to her brow. “Yes. Again. Khlee likes them and they’re cheap.”

Magda drifted back to her task. “Hm. I can see what you’re doing. You want to take her to the beer garden this weekend.”

“The festival is in town,” Hans said. “And I’m willing to bet that wherever Khlee came from, she’s never been to one quite like ours.”

When Hans left the kitchen, he didn’t have to walk very far to get to Khlee’s room. He found his child sitting on the edge of her cot, swinging her legs and glaring at the wall. Though she hadn’t been a part of their household for very long, Hans still felt like they had brought her up since birth.

“Mama says you’re walking now,” He said as he closed the door behind him. “I’m very proud of you.” He took a seat beside her.

Khlee tensed underneath the warm poncho Magda had quilted for her. It was large enough to allow her arms to hide away unless she wanted it otherwise.

“Mama helped me.”

Hans lowered his gaze to Khlee’s knees, which bore fresh cuts from the broken dishes.

“Oh? So is that how you thank her? By breaking all of her kitchenware?”

Khlee drew in sharp breath and leaned over as if to cradle her head, but she couldn’t.

“Papa, I didn’t mean to, I swear! I… I was trying to remember something, but I–”

Hans cursed himself for taking it too far. “Khlee, calm yourself. No one is angry with you.” He gathered her head under his chin and held the wheezing child until her breathing was back under control.

“Now.” Hans sat her upright and pushed some of those wild curls out of her dark eyes. “What about your arms? Show me the progress you’ve made.”

Khlee puffed out her cheeks once, twice. Then she strained hard enough to grow veins in her neck. The only evidence beyond that of her effort was the rigid tension in her shoulders.

Hans smiled fondly. “That’s all right, Khlee.”

She gave a violent shake of her head and clenched her jaw against the resistance. “No. Wait, Papa. I can–”

Hans placed his hands on her shoulders. “That’s enough for now. You’ll grow into them…. Now come with me.”

As he pulled Khlee onto her feet, he glanced down at her knees to make sure she didn’t aggravate her cuts. Oddly, the cuts were still there, but no longer weeping. They looked more like scabs now, as if they were halfway done healing.

“Papa?”

Hans put the thought out of his mind before Khlee could notice the concern in his face. He looked down at her and ruffled her hair. “First we’ll help your mother in the kitchen. Then I’m going to show you how to use those legs.”

Khlee shrugged her shoulders in an attempt to adjust her poncho. “What do you mean?”

With a smile, Hans gently guided her towards the door. ���There’s a few folk dances from the Heine that I want to show you. You don’t need your arms for those.”

Khlee grumbled something about how dancing was stupid.

Hans only chuckled. “Trust me, meine kleine Khleo, a dance will come in handy the next time you feel like you want to break something.”

*

*

*

~ Present Day ~

“Hey, Basil.”

Lucio beckoned the mixologist over. As soon as he found out that Khleo’s coworker with the cropped salt and pepper curls and cool blue eyes was helping out that night with the club’s activities, he took the opportunity to catch the barhand’s attention.

Lucio couldn’t tell if the look Basil shot him was wary or friendly or a little bit of both. But he came down to his side of the minibar anyway and started cleaning a fresh glass.

“Montag, right? Did you need something?”

Now that Basil was closer, Lucio could count the dark marks scattered about his olive-toned skin. Lucio, who was feeling a lot more confident these days, let his eyes linger a little longer than average before speaking again.

“Enjoying the view?” Basil whispered, his eyes still on his task.

Lucio cleared his throat and tore his gaze away from the barhand’s tanned forearms.

“Say, Basil. Do you know why Khleo never fights?”

Basil finally looked up, but instead of locking eyes with Lucio, he cast his gaze over the former Count’s shoulder at the rest of the members mingling about the basement.

“Sounds like that’s not the first time you’ve asked that question.”

Lucio surrendered his hands. “I’m just curious is all. Trust me, I don’t have any plans to challenge Khlee in a fight. I’m no fool.”

Basil’s eyes finally met Lucio’s. “Khleo doesn’t fight that often because they don’t bleed. Or at least, not for very long. I have a feeling they keep out of the ring just to make everyone else feel comfortable.”

Lucio made a curious sound. “They cast some sort of regenerative spell before the fight or..?”

Basil shook his head. “It’s not magic. They’re blessed or... bewitched. Whatever you want to call it. If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask Hefe.”

Lucio glanced over at the fireplace and shuddered. “I am. Not. Doing that.”

He was briefly reminded of a few days back when he woke up in the hearth with no clue of how he got there. He remembered most of everything that happened the day before up until after the fight club had let out for the night. The very edges of his memory contained snippets of Khleo pouring themself a drink and asking Lucio if he wanted some. After that it was just a haze in which Hefe’s face sometimes showed up. She would lock Lucio into her amber stare and somehow amplify the space around his head with headache-inducing vibrations.

“Like you said,” Basil smiled a bit more openly than before, “you’re no fool.”

They laughed together and after that, their conversation flowed with much more ease. Lucio managed to ask Basil on a date before getting dragged into club meeting activities. He walked out of the bar with fresh bruises and a split lip that suffered even more under his wide, content smile.

Lucio hardly noticed the days passing him by. By now he was a pro at reserving himself a place to lay his head at night and grab breakfast in the morning for free. On the days where he didn’t have fight club to look forward to, he spent his time volunteering at the very centers where he stayed. Most of the work was boring and the people who passed through made his gut twist in sympathy, but it kept him busy.

One day, Lucio was enjoying a late breakfast of grits and sardines when a rough-looking bunch filed in. After they got their food, they collected around Lucio, who couldn’t help noticing their stares.

Some things never changed with Lucio. He still enjoyed attention. Whether he was happily getting his ass kicked in the ring or peacocking around at a masquerade party, something stirred pleasantly in his abdomen whenever all eyes were on him.

And he knew exactly why the rough newcomers had gathered around to stare at him.

“Those are some gnarly war wounds.”

Lucio grinned quietly to himself as he finished the rest of his food. “Thank you.”

One of them scooted close enough to him to bump elbows. “Tell us where you got ’em.”

Lucio coughed in order to hide a burp before looking up at the twelve or so individuals.

“Well, see here’s the thing,” he said with a sly grin. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

The curiosity on their faces immediately turned into intrigue, which got Lucio’s pulse quickening. He was enjoying this.

Several of the group glanced at one in particular. The leader, if Lucio had to guess. He was a big fella with about a dozen rings decorating his ears, creating frills of copper and obsidian glass.

“Look, we get it. You’re no rat. But me and my friends, we’re uh… a restless bunch.” He leaned over the table in order to whisper to Lucio. “We’re not looking to cause any trouble. We just need a place to let off some steam, you know?”

Lucio hesitated for a moment. “I do. I know what you mean.”

The one who had brushed elbows with him earlier, slung an arm over his shoulder and said, “So, you don’t have to tell us anything, but maybe you can point us in the general direction?”

Almost immediately after he had, the group of friends took their food and abandoned the table. Lucio sat there, a little bewildered. A part of him had expected them to stay a while and chat him up a little more.

He tried to shake off the sour feeling and just focus on looking forward to fight club. By the time evening had rolled around, Lucio’s skin was tingling with excitement. He was one of the first to arrive at the tavern basement. Khleo hadn’t returned from her delivery shift yet, but it seemed she had already set the table with bread and pilsners. These days, there was a large sign propped up on the middle of the table that read: Clean up after yourselves or no bread ever again!

The rest of the members started to file in not long after Lucio sat down. The companions he had made greeted him and gave him the attention he had been craving since that morning. At some point, Khleo swept in, looking sore and sulky from a long day’s work. But the club members knew how to lift her spirits and very soon all of them were barefoot and clustering around the center of the room, trying to decide who would be fighting first.

The friendly atmosphere, however, turned cold the moment the door that led out onto the street opened and a new presence entered the space.

“You’re telling me that there was a fight club right here under the Chandrian this whole time?”

Lucio, who was positioned near the back wall, strained to look over all of the heads between him and the new voice. Whispers broke out among the fighters.

“Who the hell are those guys?”

The intruder stepped into the light and repeated himself. “Who’s club is this? We want to talk to the manager.”

Lucio blinked suddenly as he recognized the man from Temple District. It appeared that he had brought along his whole flock from that morning and then some.

“Heard you had a friendly little club going and we wanted to see if the rumors were true. See we’ve just stolen a brand new ship and we need a bigger staff. So I’m here to recruit.”

Finally, Khleo separated herself from the sea of members. She scanned her crowd and said coldly, “Which one of you ran your damn mouth?”

Lucio felt the blood drain from his face as he drifted back and back and back into the shadows. When his spine collided with the wall, he edged to the right towards the little hallway nestled under the stairs.

His skin jumped as he heard Khleo repeat her question in a sterner tone. Lucio scrambled over crates and stumbled through racks of costumes until he was sure he was safe.

“Hello, Lucio.”

Lucio swung his fist at the sound of the voice, missed, and tripped into the brick wall hard enough to split his lip back open.

“Interesting... that they let you stay in this club.”

Lucio steadied himself against the wall. “Quaestor. W-what are you doing here?”

All that was visible in the dim light was the silhouette of Valdemar’s mummified horns.

“Bringing my tuna home of course. It’s been fourteen days. Or have you in all your frolic not been paying attention?” They came closer and drew a deep, wet breath. “Not that I’m complaining. Your blood smells more rare and ripe than I could have imagined. Well done.”

Lucio swallowed. “Wait. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to go back to the Lazaret!”

It wasn’t in Valdemar’s nature to care what their experiments desired or craved. They unhatched a portal behind Lucio for easy transportation right before lifting their heel and kicking him square in the chest. Lucio stumbled backwards into the gooey blackness. Valdemar followed shortly after.

***

“You?” The challenger snorted. “You can’t be the one in charge. You’re just a squirt with freakish arms.”

“I bet they’re not even real,” one of his companions drawled. “Probably just some parlor trick glamour.”

“Get lost. You’re not recruiting anyone tonight.” Khleo said as they looked up into the eyes of the challenger with the frilled earrings. Without hesitation, he stepped up to Khleo and gave their chest an easy shove.

“We weren’t asking for permission. If your people don’t want to come with us, we’ll just take the ones we need.” He and some of his crew gestured vaguely to the weapons fastened to their hips.

Khleo lifted their chin. “If you weren’t looking for permission, why in the hell did you ask to speak to the manager?”

A couple of snickers erupted from Khleo’s side.

Earrings gave a nasty scowl before spitting by Khleo’s foot. “You got a lot of mouth for someone who calls themself the damn manager.”

“Meet me in the ring and I’ll show you how I got that title.” Khleo said. “If it ends in a KO or I tap out, you can take whoever you want.” They stretched out their hand. “And if I win, you leave us the fuck alone.”

The challenger snatched their hand up. “You’re on.”

Khleo could feel the eyes of all of the patrons. They knew what they were thinking. This wasn’t the first time some low life had found out about the club and came in trying to shake things up. The patrons must have been wondering why Khleo had chosen to fight.

I need this. I need to do this.

< I’m here. >

Khleo felt the soothing presence of their familiar across their mental link. They wished they could reach out and stroke her.

~ I know, Hefe. Thank you. ~

The challenger met them in the ring and didn’t hold back. He was a street fighter before this, that much was certain. His familiarity with Khleo’s style made them go into the defensive. He was much bigger than them and knew how to grapple correctly.

But Khleo wasn’t about to hold back. Not this time.

They gave the challenger an opening. With a sure punch, he knocked Khleo’s head back, filling the air was a short, sickening crunch. The challenger’s followers whooped in excitement while the fight club members gasped in disbelief.

Khleo staggered, but instinctively raised their elbows around their head.

“See?” The challenger scoffed. “I knew you were all talk. You practically let me hit you.”

Khleo stopped swaying and firmly planted their feet. They lowered their arms and pulled themself out of the hunch so everyone could see what happened to their face.

The challenger sneered in distaste at what he was seeing.

Khleo stared right back at him, refusing to cradle their unhinged jaw, seemingly unaware of the blood leaking from where teeth and jawbone had torn their skin apart. Khleo snapped their head hard enough to seal off the gaping chasm. The crowd’s disgusted groans turned into gasps of disbelief at the sight of Khleo’s jaw stitching itself together.

“Go on,” they said, wiping the leftover blood on the back of their hand. “Hit me again.”

The challenger didn’t look like he wanted to do anything of the sort, but it was clear that the approval of his crew meant a lot to him. Khleo hoped he would walk away, she really hoped he would. But all he did by staying was make himself a target. For their anger, their frustration, every weight that had been added onto them in the past few weeks.

Khleo didn’t hold back her strength as she fought. The challenger was no match for her and this fight was not fair. But Khleo went over the edge a long time ago. She didn’t care.

There were so many things she couldn’t fight back against. So she fought the challenger. She fought and fought and clawed at his decorated ears with her blunt fingernails. She emptied out all her kicks and elbows to his face until it was unrecognizable.

Khleo wrestled their opponent to the ground and fired a right hook to his cheek. All the bystanders were screaming now. This was no longer a fight. It was bloodsport. And Khleo knew better than anyone how silly with delight a crowd could get from it.

In an attempt to regain some control, the challenger roared in defiance and cracked his forehead against Khleo’s nose.

The crowd erupted with excitement.

Khleo slowed down, bringing the challenger close enough so that he could see her nose render and heal with his own eyes. The incredulous terror in the challenger’s eyes made Khleo break into a wide, blood-stained grin.

“You should kill me and see what happens.”

He tried to tap out. “Okay, you win. You win!” The longer he looked at her, the more his lip trembled in fear for his life. Tears and snot soon mixed with the blood leaking from his contorted face.

Khleo ignored their own rules and snarled, “What the fuck are you crying for? You’re the one who came up in my house! And for what? To intimidate my friends into joining your disgusting crew?”

“I’m sorry! I said I was done!”

The tapout had served its purpose – to snap everyone else out of their bloodlust. They tried to talk Khleo down, reminding her that it was over. When they started to pull her off of the man, Khleo thrashed.

“No – Let me go! If he wants to cry, I’ll give him something to cry about!”

She lunged. The challenger begged for his crew to help. The seconds that followed were simply pandemonium. Patrons and the intruders clashed, wrestling each other to the ground. Several fighters dogpiled Khleo at once in order to protect the challenger. She wheezed under their crushing weight.

Then the sounds of fighting were interrupted by a wild, guttural roar. The cacophony of screams that followed caused Khleo to twist in agony.

“There’s a fucking lion in here!”

Khleo drew in a ragged breath as the weight lifted from her back. She scrambled to her feet. Not long after she righted herself did she hear something that made her blood run cold.

The door at the top of the stairs flung open and a booming voice filled the space.

“What in the gods-damned fuck is going on down there!”

People were already running and tripping over each other, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the lion. Khleo tried to reach out to Hefe through their link, but it was too late. Otto was already at the bottom of the stairs, taking in the mess of the basement as well as the enormous lion terrorizing all of his potential customers.

~ Hefe. He saw you. Go! ~

Hefe didn’t argue with her human. She stole out into the street, chasing off the last of the challenger’s crew. Once she was gone, Khleo turned to face their boss. They took a deep breath because they knew they were in for it.

Khleo needed a miracle. Because she was certain that after tonight, there wouldn’t be any more fight club.

[captainrexisboo]

Comfort pt5: Sarad

Link to Previous - this chapter takes off right at the end of the previous part, so!

Here It Is. Part Five. I Love My Boo So Much. Also- my first fully completed fic?? Ever??! Holy crap!!!! Dumb Luck stares at me as it sharpens a knife in the corner

No warnings apply, Rex x Reader, reader is a lady. Questions and comments are always welcome! Let me know if y’all want an epilogue!! 

EDIT!!! Link to Epilogue!!!

Tagging: @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @000ayfh @pinkiemme @midnightredemption @simping-for-fives @danger-xylophones @iscream4clones @jyvorakal @leias-left-hair-bun @vesperstalksclones @mackstrut @yamaktaria @juitoverride @callme-eds @greenygreenland All of you have been so wonderful, I love reading your comments/tags, and seeing your names/icons pop up in my notifs always make me smile!!! You’re all amazing!!! Love y’all!!!

~

You sat at your desk, spinning a stylus in between your fingers and back straight, chewing on a swollen, worried bottom lip. Your eyes were rimmed red and puffy, but dry- you had already done all your crying, and were now just sitting alone, stewing in your own emotion. You couldn’t even look at Rex directly as he slowly steps into the room, just thinking to yourself about what happened, replaying the unexpected uneventfulness in your mind, trying to find out why it hurt you so. You felt so hypocritical, throwing a fit about Aurin’s lack of attention when you explicitly asked him to leave you alone. You were such a fool, anyway you looked at it.

Your gaze went low as Rex stepped closer, putting your cup directly in front of you. You gave him a silent nod in thanks, and he stood for a minute, holding his own cup as he shifted on his feet. His voice came out nearly strained, a thin whisper, “Should I… Do you need me to come back later, or-”

“Please stay.”

Your words were croaked, and you winced at the broken sound, but you didn’t want him to leave. You didn’t realize how much you didn’t actually want to be alone until Rex had walked in. He sat across from you, armor clacking together as he got comfortable (or as comfortable as he could in full gear) and you could feel his calculating gaze tracing your face and form. You let out a cough (it was supposed to be a laugh) knowing exactly what he was searching for. “He didn’t hurt me, Captain. Never did, never will.”

You felt a corner of your lips twitch up slightly as Rex let out a sigh of relief, but noticed how he still stayed tense. “Y/N, what’s the matter? What happened?”

What happened?

“What happened indeed,” you let out a wry exhale, “In all seriousness, nothing happened” -you held up a hand as Rex opened his mouth to protest, stopping him before he made a sound- “and that’s just the problem.”

Rex tilted his head, cocking his eyebrow, “I, uh. I don’t think I follow.”

You finally looked up at him with a dead stare, and he stiffened again. You sighed low, your eyelids feeling heavy as your heart sank deeper into your stomach. You let your gaze fall again, before clearing your throat, “I’m sorry, Rex. I… I don’t know what I’m doing. I ask him to leave me alone, and when he does- literally, he barely even spared a glance at me today- I fall completely apart. I don’t know if this is like just a release of energy because I was hyping myself up beforehand and planning all the ways I’d deflect his conversation, or if it’s shock because I wasn’t expecting to be ignored, or if I’m regretting-”

“Hey, slow down, wait a second,” Rex shushed you, voice a little more present as he leaned forward, “Look at me.”

You hesitated, pulling your lip back between your teeth, but did as you were told. You felt meek, glancing up at him through your lashes as he held your stare with his deep honeyed eyes. He gestured towards your caf, and you slowly lifted a hand to wrap around the cup, feeling your shoulders release a little as the warmth of the cup seeped into your palm and fingers. When did they get so cold?

“Take a breath,” Rex demonstrated for you, as you followed his command to the letter, “Now take a drink. Relax.”

You brought the drink up to your lips, letting the sweetened substance flow past your lips and glide easy down your throat. He had this uncanny ability to doctor your caf just right, it never ceased to make your eyes flutter shut, like the drink was a signal that you could begin to let go of any stress that plagued your mind. The same warmth that spread through your hand pulsed through your chest, before you let out a shuddering breath, placing the cup back on the desk. You opened your eyes, Rex giving you a soft smile at your heavy sigh, ”Better?” You nodded to him. “Good. Now, ‘nothing’ happened?”

“Yeah,” you deflated, not defeatedly in self-pity as you were before, but an expel of the tension that had been eating away at you for the better half of the day, “I thought this was what I wanted, and I… I think that’s it’s still what I want, but when he actually put it into practice I just…”

You scoffed at yourself, glancing off to the side to stare at the pile of flimsi Yularen needed to sign off on, “You know how you get yourself excited for something that’s about to happen, something you want to happen, and the moment it happens it’s different than how you’d expect it to be?”

Rex nodded, heart skipping as he thought about Ahsoka’s speculation. What would happen if he told you his true feelings now? Would you laugh at him, thinking he’s playing a cruel joke on you? Would you pout at him, and apologize for not feeling the same way? Would you stare at him with an icy glare and tell him how awful he is for telling you at the worst possible timing? Would you smile at him so sweetly, and get up from your chair to walk around and whisper an admission of your own feelings as well, lips brushing against his temple like that one day he can’t stop replaying in his head? He’s unsure which option scares him the most.

“Aurin ignored me throughout the entire inspection today, even as we stood alone with each other. He didn’t say a word, didn’t look in my direction. He simply stood next to me,” you recounted, gaze going unfocused again, “He did exactly as I asked. For whatever reason, it hurt me. It hurt so much-”

You cut yourself off as your voice cracked, feeling the lump form in your throat again. You reach for your caf, taking another soothing sip, letting the hot liquid push past the emotion rising in your throat. Breathing steady, you looked back into your lap, sitting your caf back on your desk before shrinking into a whisper, “And I can’t figure out why.”

Rex sat still, ankle crossed over his knee. He took a long sip from his own cup, soaking in the information. It was a heavy minute before he cleared his throat, “Do you… do you maybe want to talk to him?” Rex felt himself swallow thickly. “Do you want to be with him again?”

“No.”

You reeled back, wincing at yourself, surprised at how quickly you responded. Rex looked at you intently, but with merciful patience, only the incline of his head urging you to continue. You gazed back into Rex’s eyes, feeling something in your stomach stir from their sincerity. If nothing else, Rex was earnest and kind at his core. You had unwavering confidence in your friendship, and you were reminded of that everytime you looked into his eyes. You could tell him anything- he could pull the truth out of you better than you could push it through by yourself. Alone, you had to hunt for it, search the darkest corners of your mind, and almost always came back into the light empty handed and frustrated. You’d exhausted yourself so easily doing just that today, but when you locked onto Rex’s gaze, he could easily lead you to your truth. He coaxed it out of you with gentle whispers and soft touches, with eyes that practically glowed with an emotion you thought you knew but couldn’t quite place. You swallowed a breath, sitting up straight, and talking directly to Rex, letting your instinct take over as you answered silent questions.

What do you want?

“I want to continue to keep my distance from him.”

Why?

“It was...shocking. To not have any interaction with him. But its what I need, to grow into my own person. It’ll be better this way.”

So how do you explain your reaction?

“I guess I… I’m afraid.”

You stopped yourself from venturing further down that rabbit hole, finally breaking away from Rex’s stare. You took a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth, the emotional strain from today taking its toll on you. You shut your eyes tight, dropping your chin to your chest, trying to stop the headache from coming on, not even looking up as you heard the weighty steps of Rex’s boots as he walked around your desk.

Rex had gotten up from his seat as soon as your lashes hit the tops of your cheeks. He allowed his typically quiet footfalls to echo in the room as he opted for a slow walk to come closer to you, setting his half-finished caf on the edge of your desk. He never seemed to be able to shake his nerves whenever he made a move to touch you, always moving as if time was slowed down around the two of you, in your own little pocket of reality. His hand moved cautiously, making sure you had time to feel his presence, time to move away if you needed to. Rex’s fingers brushed at your shoulder, curling over the muscle as his thumb traced your collarbone, hidden under your uniform jacket. He put pressure there, a slight squeeze, causing you to hum lightly at the contact. Rex continued his motions at your approval, sinking down to one knee to see if he could catch your eyes, only to find them closed. He smoothed his gloved hand over the gray material, following the slope of your shoulder in a fluid motion, keeping his voice low despite being the only two people in the room, “What are you afraid of, cyar’ika?”

The endearment was out of his mouth before he could stop himself, but if you knew what the term meant you didn’t mention it. He left it alone, letting the moment settle.

You shivered slightly at his gravelly tone, taking note of the new word you’d have to ask about later. He said it so softly in a single exhale, that at least you knew it wasn’t supposed to be an insult. You opened an eye, finding his stare on you, and opening the other one as you leaned forward, placing your forehead against his. The position was awkward, your back was hunched and you could already feel your neck getting stiff, but the keldabe kiss made you feel at ease, lifting a hand to wrap around the back of Rex’s head, feeling the prick of his buzz on your palm, the pads of your fingers rubbing lightly over his scalp. You felt a smile twitch up as he gave a relieving sigh of his own, closing his eyes as he melted at your petting.

“I’m afraid of changing,” the admission fell out of you as a wave of calm washed over the two of you, startling yourself, but the grip you and Rex held on each other kept you grounded enough to move forward, “Aurin and I… we were inseparable for so long. I want to know who I am without him, figure out what it means to be me. But I can’t help but think- this is so silly- what if I spend too much time on that? What if I finally complete my journey, but can’t find anyone to love that version of me?”

Your hand moved down to grip at the back of Rex’s neck, his eyes opening as your gaze went downcast, continuing after a breath, “Aurin and I had a love… I outgrew it. What if by the time I finish growing, no one has room to love me like that anymore?”

“I will.”

Your eyes shot back up at the two simple words, growing wide at the sudden revelation. You froze after your eyes locked, swallowing down a breath as you waited for him to continue, still keeping your foreheads pressed together. Rex moved his hand over your shoulder, rubbing up and down your arm in a calming pace, though you’re unsure if it was to soothe your nerves or his own. The air you both were suddenly all-too-aware of sharing thickened as the silence stretched, Rex’s eyes searching your own as he briefly wetted his lips in anticipation of your reaction.

“Y/N, I need you to know, you’ll never outgrow those who already care for you. Aurin kept you locked in a box, and it was a warm, safe box. But you did a brave thing. You took a step out of that box, and as soon as you did you blossomed. Sarad, flower, you’ll always be growing, that’s a part of life,” he cleared his throat, intent on making his devotion ring clear, both of his hands moving to wrap around your own, the one still in your lap, “You’re healing, finding your roots, and already you’ve changed so much, in the brightest of ways. And I… I really, really care for you. I’ll always be here for you, by your side, ready to welcome you into my heart with open arms. If you decide I’m not for you, that’s fine, just please take this to heart- I’ll always make room to love you.”

He held his breath, waiting for your response, not daring to break your hold. Your fingers had stopped their light massaging on his head, but you kept him pulled to you. He gripped your hand between his own, running his thumbs over your knuckles. He didn’t want to let go- if you ended up hating him for this outburst, he wanted to be in your touch as long as possible until then.

You had no response. You were silent and intensely looking right through him, to say you were shocked was an understatement, but you held no doubt that Rex had spoken only the truth to you. The past few months started to replay through your mind, all his little quirks and notions that you thought were just him in culture shock to nat-born socializing became clear- and you could punch yourself for not realizing it sooner. He loves you...seems like he always had. The longer the moment stretched, the more nervous the Captain’s gaze fell, and you just barely choked out a whisper, “Rex…”

Your mouth hung open, stuck in how to continue, letting a breathless, but short giggle come through you as he visibly perked up to your voice. You blinked at him, trying to clear your mind, “I...I-I’m sorry, I need some time to think, still.”

“That’s fine,” Rex nodded, almost forgetting your foreheads were still pushed together as his words came out in a rush, “take as much time as you need. I’m not telling you this as a way to ask you out o-or anything, I just. I just don’t want you to feel unloved. I’m here for you, no matter if you match my feelings or…”

He trailed off, his eyes being pulled to the floor as the other option crossed both of your minds. He didn’t need to say it. You felt your heart ache for him, here he was laying his soul out to you, and all you could do was request that he gives you time. 

But this its time that he’s willing to give. 

“I’ve waited for you for so long already,” his baritone rumbled from his chest, as he slowly brought his gaze back up to you. You felt your cheeks heat under the warmth of the amber hearth that was his eyes, “I’ll gladly wait two lifetimes more.”

Something in you broke. It snapped, and the force of it pushed you forward, colliding with the Captain’s lips. You both made brief sounds, a muffled chirp against a surprised throaty grunt, equal parts terrified and triumphant. He tasted like caf, with a bite of citrus, like he’d been eating an orange, and the thought for whatever reason made you smile against him as your eyes slid shut.

Rex’s eyes blew wide open, freezing in place at your movement. Holding his breath as you stayed on his lips, heart racing like never before, even on the battlefield. This was different, and delightful, and how do you kiss someone properly, is there a manual for it, should he stay still or-

Just as quickly as you brushed against him, you had left, and he had to restrain himself to keep from following you back. You looked at him, and- oh. He knows those eyes.

“I still need time,” you breathed out, moving off of his forehead but fingers resuming their petting over his scalp, “but maybe I’ll run the course quicker knowing you’re at the finish line.”

Rex had dreamed of your eyes looking at him like that, and he was sure his gaze matched. Like you had hung the stars in the sky for the ships to fly through, like he had painted the universe on a velvet canvas- like he loved you. Like you loved him. Your moony gazes were locked on each other before he rasped out, only just remembering to breathe in the quiet moment, “I don’t want to push my luck, but… could you maybe, possibly, kiss me? Again? Please, I feel like I did it wrong.”

He melted in the ring of your laughter, a smile finally breaking through his face at the sound, squeezing the hand he still held. You looked at him with unchecked fondness, and shook your head, “You did fine.” A coquettish gleam came through your eyes, as you gently pulled at the back of his head. He followed your prompting, leaning up eagerly to close the space between you, eyes glancing to your lips as you smiled, “Although, a little practice never hurt anybody.”

[tokyoghoose]

something that never was

pairing: daisuke kambe x reader

playlist: even if it's a lie - matt maltese*, a soulmate who wasn't meant to be - jessica benko, the less i know the better - tame impala, id rather go blind - beyonce ( cadillac records ), the house we never built - gabrielle aplin*, i cant make you love me - dave thomas junior, i go crazy - orla gartland, blow my brains out - tikkle me, hidden in the sand - tally hall

warnings: angst, mentions of cheating,

summary: the coldness he radiates gets the best of you, ultimately leading to the end.

announcements!

i dont really see daisuke cheating unless it was a misunderstanding or smth, but i liked the idea of this fic. Let me know what you think!

you can tell i didnt write this in a sitting lol. Im vv sorry if it's hard to follow!

feedback is welcome and appreciated! requests are open!

There's a warm body beside you, yet the bed feels cold. The arm around your waist feels almost as foreign as the face in front of you. It hurts to look at him, to feel him. It hurts to even be around him. He's so beautiful but he feels like half the man he once was. It's disheartening.

Maybe the saying, what you don't know can't hurt you is correct because you were feeling the repercussions right about now. Curiosity really did kill the cat, and at this point, you don't even know how to get satisfaction from it. How does one bring up cheating to their partner? Especially when the partner is like Daisuke.

He likes to brush things off without paying a price except for whatever was in his bank account, the type to hand you a card and say 'go get yourself something pretty.' And it wasn't like he was a bad lover, in fact, it was very easy to fall in love with him. He has a charm about him that's magnetic, one glance and suddenly it's impossible to look away. Or at least that was your experience.

With the final confirmation that closing your eyes will do nothing other than bringing pictures into your head, you turn your back to him and try and distance your body from his. It doesn't do anything to help when he pulls you closer subconsciously, except for maybe it makes you want to cry.

You'd confront him tomorrow, you decided.

If you need to.

———

The pace you set is leisure and if kt wasn't for the poor nail bed quickly coming to nothing, it'd seem like you weren't completely losing your head. It's all you can think about. Daisuke out with some girl—who you know for a fact isn't his sister, and who is all over him. He didn't even make a move to push her off! He hates that kind of attention so if he didn't object it, then he was asking for it. He wanted the girl on his side. In fact, for someone who insists the other person sits across from him at a restaurant- he looked quite comfortable with her nearly in his lap.

Maybe you're overthinking this, y/n.

The door clicks open and your ears strain to hear the sound of Daisuke's dress shoes. He's rather indulgent when it comes to dressing wear and the shoes were practically silent, even with the short heel on the back.

"I'm home." He says to no one particular, taking off his trenchcoat and hanging it on the rack beside the door. He stops his path to the bedroom when he sees you frozen in place and staring in the living room. He merely quirks a brow, going to take off his suit and tie.

Suddenly you can't speak and you have tunnel vision. It's unfair how calm he always looks—it's almost smug like he knows everything about you and more. Like he can read your mind and tell you your darkest thoughts and when you'll die because let's be honest, it'll probably be by his hand. Maybe you should back out now before you can say anything. Forget it all because what if you're mistaken? The more you think, the more weight is added onto your shoulders and the more it pushes you down, down further into the hole you want to crawl into. Maybe you should let it because all you want to do now is escape his piercing gaze. His eyes are studying you, taking in your form and the cogs in his brain are turning to find an explanation as to why you are standing there like a psychopath and not welcoming him home like you usually do.

You feel like you're drowning. Is the light getting dimmer? The black around your vision only seems to close in around Daisuke and you try to look anywhere else but his face. There's water in your ears, the popping of them only intensifies until you can feel it pounding into your head with faint static.

Am I going to pass out?

It's not until his hand comes down gently on your shoulder that the closing circle of vision widens out and suddenly all the imaginary water rushes from your ears. You glance down at his rings before back up him, barely catching the end of his words.

"Are you alright?"

He's never been one to beg, so you would have to answer now or he'll leave it be for the rest of the night and probably months after until you're like this again.

"I-can we talk?"

He eyes you suspiciously, narrowing his eyes and keeping his brow raised before nodding, slipping his tie off around his neck, folding it neatly into the palm of his hand. He gestures for you to start the conversation, going to the minibar curving around the kitchen and living area.

When you don't reply he urges you on, "Why so tense? Did something happen, darling?"

It'd seem like he didn't really care from how cold his voice was, but you've grown accustomed to the monotone to know that he truly is concerned for your health. He genuinely wants to know why you're acting so odd. It only makes this so much harder? You're wrong- you have to be. This must be a sick trick your brain has played on you. Or he must be playing some sick trick.

Anxiety settles itself into your gut and it seems like it won't leave anytime soon.

"Daisuke, are...- are you cheating on me?"

His eyebrows finally go lax but he doesn't look up from unbuttoning the cuffs of his white button-down. His fingers fidget at the buttons and instead of the previous loose form, his hand forms a fist.

"I- "

"Why—exactly, are you accusing me of this?"

His gaze sends chills down your spine. He's offended but he doesn't offer a defense. Suddenly your mouth is dry and you lose all your words? How exactly were you going to tell him you stumbled across him and some woman in a restaurant and practically stared them down for fifteen minutes.

You decide the bear it and swallow a lump that has formed in your throat.

"You were with a woman earlier this week snd well, the displays of affection that I saw were not very like you. You've been gone for long hours and even if you blamed it on the new job, Daisuke—you never tell me anything. Is she for a case? Are you using her for information? Go on, tell me about it. Give me a reason not to accuse you."

You regain your confidence but it falters when you meet his indifferent expression. You'd prefer it if he looked angry and the silence that fills the room is deafening and the tension suffocating.

"I can't tell you anything about our cases-"

"I'm your partner! What am I going to do? Rat you out to whoever is breaking the law? Why would I even how those connections, Daisuke?"

Daisuke inhales deeply through his nose like this whole conversation is a burden on him and you can't help but feel like a burden too. Was this relationship not worth the time to talk this out? One hand grips the bar and the other pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You aren't my partner, you're my fiance. My partner and I work together. So, no. I can't tell you about the cases."

You want to rip out your hair. This isn't about his stupid job or his stupid partner. This is about the dumb fucking restaurant and the dumb fucking woman who was hanging off him.

He can't actually be this dense!

"It's not about that! Either you aren't getting the point or you keep changing the subject because it's true!" Your voice rises in pitch, your confidence failing and turning more so into desperation. But you aren't crying yet. There are no tears and your eyes are dry and you absolutely refuse to cry in front of a Kambe.

It's like the beginning of your relationship all over again. A protective barrier around yourself so you don't get hurt and offended by his cold shoulder. Was it so bad to think you've moved on from that feeling? Why is it so difficult for him to just comfort you and push back those fears? Is he that emotionally stunted? You may not know much about his past and his family, but damn— at least you're trying to work through it with him. Can he put out a little more effort?

All he does is pour himself a glass. All he does... is pour himself a glass.

"You know what- forget it. If you're so entitled and so emotionally reserved that you can't even talk to me without a drink first, then I guess we'll talk about it another time—when you don't look like my voice gives you a headache."

Daisuke actually looks taken back by your words and you suddenly feel bad for hitting a sore spot. He may not have shown it often, but he doesn't particularly like not being able to show his true emotions; no matter the reason being.

"Y/N, wait.."

But you're back on adrenaline just as soon as he felt a drop, pushing past him to get to your coat. You just needed to calm down before you said something you'd truly regret. Words tended to stay in his mind much longer than they were intended to.

"I'm staying at my mother's. Don't call me, don't text me, don't come near me until you're ready to tell me what the hell you were doing with her. "

When he doesn't say anything more and you can practically hear the cogs in his head turn, you make your way out there door, making sure to slam it shut.

You slip on the coat angrily, slamming open the door without sparing him a glance but waiting for him to say something. Anything. Were you being too rash? You shake your head and scold yourself, mentally. You can't just turn around now, not after an outburst like that. He has to learn something from this.

Irrational or not, hopefully, his true colors would show.

[barbershop-fourtet]

So the weekly prompt on the discord was “Shake It Up” and this fic fits that in a few ways. I’ve had it sitting unfinished for a few months, so I finally decided to finish it as a LW, which was something that I didn’t have much experience in (it would have been my first, but a conversation in the creators’ lounge led to me getting super excited over another idea and LWing that one the day before I finished this one). Also, I mostly write angst, so I wanted to focus on one of my fluff pieces this week. I didn’t edit it as much as I would have liked, but I’m still pretty satisfied with the results.

Anyway, enjoy a Four sickfic with a side of dad!Time.

~~~

“Hey Four, are you feeling okay?”

Hyrule’s concerned statement caught Time’s attention. Turning toward the back of the group, he caught a glimpse of Four’s slightly startled expression. “I’m… fine, why do you ask?”

“You’ve been lagging behind a bit, are you tired? I’m sure we can rest if you need.”

Four waved him off. “I’ve just got a slight headache and I’m a bit dizzy, there’s not much you can do about that and it’ll probably be fine soon enough anyway.”

Hyrule didn’t look convinced, but relented, opting instead to walk alongside the smithy. “Alright, but if you need anything, I’m sure we’d all be willing to stop.”

“He’s right,” Time called back from the front of the group. “We’d rather you be feeling alright than have you burn yourself out.”

“I know, but it’s not worth stopping for. Really, I’m fine, we can keep going.”

Time didn’t miss the slight hesitation in his voice, but let it slide, and the group continued on. Every so often, he could hear Hyrule checking up on Four, but his exact response was lost over the din of the group. He trusted that the traveler could keep a close eye on Four and gauge whether he was able to continue or not.

Sure enough, after only a couple hours Hyrule called up to Time at the front of the group. “We need to stop for the night, Four needs to rest.”

“What, I’m fine, what are you talking about…”

“Four…” Sky whispered, gentle concern in his voice, “I know you want to keep going, but... you’re really not.”

Time only had to take one look at Four to see what they were referencing. He was incredibly pale, and even from this distance Time could tell he was shivering, despite how warm it was outside. Despite his insisting words, he was leaning almost entirely onto Hyrule, unable to stand on his own. 

Despite this, he persisted. “No, it’s fine, we’re not too far, I can make it.” But even as he said this, he pressed himself further into Hyrule, the other boy wrapping his arm around the shivering smithy.

The group had stopped walking at this point, all of them looking at him with concern. Time made his way toward Four, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I know you don’t want to slow us down, but we’d rather stop and let you rest before trying to continue. Are you willing to stop for now?”

The teen was silent for a few moments, and Time thought he would continue to fight, but he eventually muttered a small “alright, if… if you insist.”

Time nodded, then turned to address the rest of the group. “We’ll stop here for now. Let’s make camp and settle in for the night. I know it’s early, but the sooner we let Four rest, the sooner he’ll be better.”

They all nodded, grabbing their gear from Epona and setting up for the evening. As Hyrule walked by, Time grabbed his sleeve. “Would you mind staying with Four and looking after him tonight? I’d feel best if he wasn’t left to do his own thing.”

He nodded. “I can’t stay up all night with him, but I’ll keep an eye on him until night falls.”

“That’s fine, whoever is on watch can check on him occasionally, but I want someone making sure he doesn’t try anything stupid until he falls asleep. He’s smart, but he’s also just as stubborn as the rest of us, and probably doesn’t like the fact that we had to stop for him. He needs to rest, otherwise he won’t be ready to keep moving.”

Hyrule nodded, then made his way over to Wild, who was digging through his bag beside Epona. A few whispered words were exchanged, then Wild pressed a piece of flint and some firewood into Hyrule’s arms. He took a few steps away toward a clear piece of earth, and within moments a small blaze was crackling gently.

Returning to Four, he gently grasped the smaller boy’s arm and led him over to the fire, sitting him down closeby. Despite his earlier words, Four didn’t protest, only curling in on himself and leaning closer to the warmth.

Sky walked past, shrugging off his sailcloth and wrapping it around the smithy, earning him a grateful look. Twilight did similarly with his pelt, then Warriors with his scarf and Wild with his cloak, until Four was buried under a pile of warmth.

The evening proceeded mostly as normal, the notable exception being Hyrule’s insistence that he help Four eat. Four probably would have rolled his eyes and turned down the help, except for that fact that he was both too weak to lift his bowl, and that his hands were still trapped under all the fabric.

As the sun started to set, his head began to bob as he started nodding off by the fire.

Hyrule was quick to notice this. “Come on, it’s late and you need rest. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Wait.” They both turned at Legend’s voice, watching him dig through his bag. “I’ve got just the thing in here that should help- aha!” Pulling out a small bottle, he tossed it to Hyrule. “This won’t get rid of whatever he’s dealing with, but it should help it pass quicker.”

Hyrule nodded, letting Four down the potion before helping him take off his tunic and settle into the pile of blankets the others had set up for him.

The others, taking this as the cue that the day was over, began settling into their own bedrolls, Hyrule placing himself by the fire to keep the first watch.

~~~

When Warriors had woken him up, he'd said that his watch was uneventful, and a few hours later, Time was finding his own to be similar. Good. It would be best to have an easy night, Four definitely needed rest.

And speaking of Four…

Time leaned over and shook Sky gently, waiting a few moments for him to wake up.

“My turn?”

“Yup.”

He nodded, reaching for his gear and beginning to slip it on. “Alright. How’s Four doing?”

“I was about to check on him. Keep an eye on things, would ya?”

“Of course.”

With that, Time stood, walking over to his blankets and stripping off his armor. Dropping it beside the rest of his gear, he carefully picked his way through the tangle of bodies until he could kneel down at the smithy’s side.

The boy was restless, tossing and turning every few seconds. His shivering had stopped hours prior, but where his skin was once pale, it was now flushed a deep red. His breathing was slightly strained, and when Time put his palm against his forehead, he almost flinched at how hot it burned.

Legend’s potion seemed to be working though. Already a thin sheen of sweat beaded his skin, indicating that his fever had broken. If it continued at this pace, he’d probably be well by morning.

Time was almost too caught up in his thoughts to see Four’s eyes flutter open, glazed over as he glanced at the older man. He started slightly as Four shifted under his hand, moaning slightly as he turned his neck to face Time.

“Hey kid, how are you feeling?”

He mumbled something incoherent, but before Time could ask for clarification, he began to sit up, whining softly as his body protested the movement.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, it’s been a rough day for you.”

“...”

“Pardon?”

“I have to get up.”

“No you don’t, you need to keep resting, besides it’s late.”

“I can’t, you always complain when I sleep in late and you have to start up the forge without me.”

...now Time was confused. Was Four delirious? Did he think he was talking to someone else?

As quick as he could, Time racked his brain. Four had mentioned the forge, which meant there was someone he worked with as a blacksmith. The only other blacksmith Four had ever mentioned had been-

Oh Hylia, Four had mistaken Time for his grandfather.

“Wait, Four, I’m not-”

Time paused. Four always spoke of his grandfather so affectionately, but also with a tinge of sadness. Despite his experience being away from home, it was clear that the long separation from his only family member was difficult for him.

He certainly wasn’t any less capable or mature than the others but… he was still a kid, far from home and missing his family. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to fib a little this one time. Besides, he wasn’t likely to remember it anyway.

Lowering himself fully to the ground, Time grasped Four’s hand in his own. “Don’t worry about it, Link. I can manage on my own, you go back to sleep so you get better.”

Four looked conflicted. “Are you sure? I may not be at my best, but I can still help out a bit. I’m probably gonna have trouble falling asleep again anyway.”

“It’s fine. Lay back down, and I’ll stay with you until you’re asleep again.”

“No, it’s fine! You can go get things started for t-”

“Link. It’s fine, I want to help you.”

Four hesitated, and Time thought he would keep fighting, but after a few moments, he relented. “O-okay then, I guess if you don’t mind.”

Time nodded, expecting him to lay back down as he had been before.

But Four apparently had other plans, and decided to turn and curl up right next to the older man, slinging one arm around his waist as he settled beside him.

Time stiffened, but Four’s tension quickly began to disappear as he relaxed into Time’s side. He was about to say something, or subtly move Four off of him, but then-

“Thanks grandpa.”

-and Time’s heart melted a little, and there was no chance that he could move away now. Wrapping an arm around Four, he gently lowered them both onto the ground, him laying flat and Four’s body resting on his own, blankets strewn around them. Four hummed softly, pressing his ear to Time’s chest, letting his echoing heartbeat soothe him, and Time couldn’t help but imagine that this was what it was like to have a child, to be a father. To have a child. He and Malon hadn’t had that opportunity yet, but since he’d met them, these boys were his sons.

He couldn’t deny it- that was what they were to him. As mature and capable as they all were, they would always have that place in his heart.

Time was silent, trying to comprehend the wave of emotion that was crashing over him, when Four hoarsely spoke up.

“...I don’t feel great.”

He chuckled softly, conscious of how Four bounced with the movement of his chest and not wanting to disturb him. “You had a pretty bad fever, you need to rest and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“...I can’t wait to get better so I can introduce you to my friends, they’re really nice people.”

Oh, this will be interesting. “I can’t wait to meet them, they sound wonderful.”

Four nodded, curling further into Time’s side. “They are. We’re always looking out for each other, and despite everything they’ve been through, they’re some of the sweetest, softest people you'll ever meet.” He paused. “Being with the other guys… it’s kinda like when I was four… being in a group is nice, ‘cause I don’t have to be alone.”

Time wasn’t sure what had happened when the boy was four years old, but it was probably good, given how fondly he was speaking of it.

“They’re really crazy and wild, and some of ‘em are pretty hotheaded, but they all care about each other… and me.” Time couldn’t see his face, but he could hear the smile in Four’s voice. “Especially Time, he’s really great. He acts all stoic and serious but…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t remember dad much, but… I imagine that he was something like Time, always so loving and caring, always looking out for us. We’re not blood related, but he’s… he’s like our dad, you know?” His head drooped as he began to nod off again, not noticing the emotion he was causing in Time. “He’s a really good dad, too…”

Time was not crying. He was not.

“Anyway, I can’t wait for you to see them. I think you’ll love them too.” He yawned, the last of the tension leaving his body. “...g’night grandpa. I love you.”

...okay maybe he was crying. “...goodnight Link. I love you too.”

~~~

Time woke to the feeling of Four stirring beside him. Lifting his head, he cracked his eye open to see the smithy blinking at him, eyes still bleary with sleep. “T-Time?” he croaked out. He coughed a bit, voice hoarse from sickness and disuse. “What- where…?”

“You were sick, remember? We stopped to let you rest.” Leaning over, he rested his hand on Four’s temple, noting with pleasure how much it had cooled overnight, with only a bit of sweat still covering his skin.

He blinked, squinting as he tried to recall the previous night. “...oh.” He glanced at Time, a tense look on his face as he reached for his gear. “Uh, I didn’t say or do anything weird, did I? I have a tendency to get pretty delirious when I have a fever.”

“...you were a bit… affectionate, but that’s it about it.”

“Oh.” He relaxed a little, fingering the stitching of his tunic before pulling it over his head. “That’s good, because I tend to ramble about weird things when I’m sick, so I didn’t want to confuse any of you or something.”

Time nodded, glancing to where Wild was dishing up food from a cooking pot over the fire. “It looks like breakfast is ready, do you want me to grab you some?”

“No, I can get it, I’m-” Four stood, only to wobble and fall back onto his knees. “...okay maybe that would help.”

Time chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Four’s hair. “Stay here and get yourself a bit more awake, I’ll bring you something.”

He stood, but was distracted by a small noise from Four. He turned, noting the contemplative look on the smith’s face, and kneeled down beside him.

“Are you alright?”

“Huh?” He glanced up, realizing that Time was still watching. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine, just thinking about something.” He paused, hands clenched in his blanket. “Last night, I- did you… I had this dream that…” His gaze dropped to his lap, watching his fingers twist his blanket into knots. “...nevermind, it’s probably nothing.” He smiled gently as he glanced back up. “Thanks for all your help.”

Time nodded, rising off the ground to check what Wild was cooking.

As he was walking away, he heard Four mumble something behind him.

He glanced back over his shoulder, noting the way Four’s cheeks were red and he was refusing to meet Time’s eye. “Pardon?”

His blush deepened before he met Time’s gaze with a soft look in his eyes. His response was a soft whisper, but Time heard it clear as day.

“Thanks, dad.”

~Bonus~

They emerged from the portal, looking around to see if any of them recognized the area.

All of them except Four, who immediately let out a surprised cheer.

“This is the Minish Woods! We’re not too far from my house, we can head there to rest up.”

Time nodded. “Lead on then, the sooner we’re there, the sooner we can plan our next move.”

Four grinned, grabbing the closest hand- Wild’s- and dragging it down the path between the trees.

“We landed right by the entrance of the woods, and it’s only a short walk from there, hurry up!”

They hurried after him, amused by his excitement, until they reached the door of a lone house.

Four didn’t hesitate, opting to throw it open and yell “Grandpa, I’m home!”

...no response came.

Four frowned, eyes searching the room, before walking into a side room, calling out for his grandfather again.

He returned to the main room, a concerned look on his face. “I don’t understand, he’s normally here, working in the forge, I don’t know why-”

“Of course it’s when I decide to leave for just a few minutes that my grandson comes home.”

Four’s face split into the biggest grin imaginable as he raced forward and tackled the man in the doorway.

“Good to see you again kid, but where have you been, young man?”

Four giggled, pulling back slightly and wiping a few tears off his cheeks. “The same old hero-ing, you know how it is.”

“Of course I do, it took you away from home for long enough when you were young. Well-” he glanced at the others, who were watching the reunion from a respectful distance. “Younger, at least. Younger than these boys, by any means. I’m assuming these are the ones you’ve been writing me so many letters about?”

Four nodded eagerly, stepping back and gesturing for the others to come closer. “Yeah! These are my friends that I’ve wanted you to meet.”

The introductions went smoothly, with a few rolled eyes (Legend when Four called him a hoarder) and shy looks (Wild when Four referred to him as a pyro).

And then Four got around to introducing Time.

“This is…” Four blushed, his gaze dropping to his shuffling feet. “This is… well, he’s the responsible one of the group, kinda like… the dad. He’s the one doing his best to keep us from doing something stupid.”

Smith- as he’d asked them to call him- laughed, extending a hand toward Time. “Well, it’s nice to see that there’s someone keeping an eye out for my boy.”

Time smiled, clasping his outstretched arm and shaking firmly. “He does that well enough on his own, actually. If anything, he helps me keep the other wild ones in line.”

“Well, you’ve only seen what’s happened when he’s alone. If there were four just like him, well, that’d be-”

“Aaaaaand that’s enough of that story! I’m sure we can have time for stuff like that later,” Four cut in, cheeks red. “They, uh, don’t need to know that kind of stuff, grandpa.”

“Oh, you’ve been pretty mature around them, haven’t you? They haven’t seen your… colorful side, have they?”

Four pouted. “No, they haven’t seen it yet, and I don’t feel like changing that right now.”

Smith chuckled, wrapping his arm around Four’s shoulder. “Well, that’s too bad. All the same, I missed you, kid.”

Four sighed, leaning into his grandfather’s embrace, a content smile on his face. “I missed you too, grandpa.”

[wafflebloggies]

a troubling guest [2]

noname belongs to @lacking-hydration! i’m having way too much fun with this whole thing send help

bits and pieces for context:

[a step too far]

[a little light mischief]

[part 1 of this!]

[part 3 of this!]

*

Alan had always been a realist. For this reason, he wasn’t disappointed by the sight of the Captain’s folded arms and pointedly offended scowl as he opened the door. It wasn’t an encouraging sight, but it certainly wasn’t a surprising one, either.

It was the first time they had seen each other face to face in months. Alan’s stomach had been twisting sickishly ever since he made the call, and his unhelpful imagination had framed a million ways it could go- good, bad, really bad, terrible- but now that the moment had actually arrived, he felt… not much of anything, really. Nothing he could put his finger on. Just tired, and a little sad.

Before he could say a word, the Captain unfolded his arms and pushed past him into the hall. His voice carried back to the porch as he stomped into the kitchen, and Alan heard the chunk of the fridge being opened.

“This had better be good, Alan."

"Come in,” Alan said to nobody, as he shut the door. He followed the Captain into his own kitchen, and found him staring into the depths of the fridge with a deeply annoyed glare, as if something inside had just handed him a steep library fine.

“Captain-”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve.” The Captain shut the fridge with unnecessary emphasis and turned. “You ghost me for months, you leave me on read, and then you just expect me to drop everything and come running? You think I’ve got nothing better to do?”

Well, you’re here, aren’t you? Alan captured the words before they actually escaped, a little frightened by how easily they almost did, and managed a sort of strained chuckle instead. “Well- maybe the jury’s out on that right now-”

The Captain bridled. He had a way of making it clear that he was getting on his high horse that was nowhere near as subtle as he probably imagined it was, like a volcano that wanted the maximum amount of anxious attention focused on it before it exploded in earnest. “What, you think I just get to slack off and stop creating content because you’re not around? Have you even been watching the channel?”

“Of course I-” Alan stopped. With an effort, he shook off the rising, horribly familiar sense of helplessness, and lowered his voice. “Listen, Captain, we are not having this conversation right now, okay? There’s something I have to-”

But the Captain was already shaking his head. He held up a hand with pompous authority, as if he was getting ready to stop a marriage service, or maybe to direct traffic.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, we are. We are having this conversation, because I’d like an explanation, Alan. I’d like you to explain why you thought it was reasonable to just walk out on me, and never call, never even write-”

“Never even- what are you talking about? You’re the one who-” Alan pulled himself up short for a second time. Knuckling a frustrated hand into his own temples, he dragged it down his face, tried to breathe. He was starting to get a headache, a very specific kind of dull overstressed ache behind his eyes that he hadn’t felt in quite a while. In several months, in fact.

“Look, I’m not getting into this. You are not going to drag me into this, because this isn’t-”

“I want-”

“This isn’t about you!”

In the ringing silence, the two of them stared at each other. They both felt it- they both saw it, in the other’s eyes. In that flickering, painful moment of synchronicity, the moment and that moment, months ago in the rotunda, were one. The space of time, the distance between them; just how much had changed, and how much hadn’t. What had been experienced, healed, endured, in their months apart- the depth of their rift, the waste of it... and how terribly vital it had been.

Alan moved first. He heaved a deep sigh, forcing his shoulders to unknit, forcing the tension and anger from his face.

“It’s about him.”

Alan’s uncanny guest had crept into the living room doorway, moving little by little, clinging to the frame with fingers splayed and white-knuckled, like a limpet waiting for high tide. It looked up as Alan spoke, and the fraught, unfocused gaze of its human eye trailed over him and onto the Captain.

It went absolutely still.

The Captain had a similar reaction. He looked at the thing for what felt to Alan like a very long time, while a whole variety of complicated expressions dovetailed into each other on his face. He raised his pointer finger, slowly.

“Who… is he?”

“I was trying to tell-”

“Why does he look like you?”

“It’s a little hard to ex-”

“Why does he look like that?”

“I… I don’t know,” admitted Alan. “But it’s okay, he seems pretty harmless.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before the thing snapped abruptly out of its stupor. Before either of them could move, it let out a ghastly, rattling shriek that sounded more like a rabbit that had just stuck its foot in a plug socket than anything else, and flung itself at the Captain, tackling him headlong to the floor.

The Captain rolled, trying to shake it off, but it hung on with hands that seemed longer than they’d been a moment ago- amorphous, strong, and sharp. It tore at whatever it could reach, howling non-stop, a blur of teeth and pointy elbows and wild eyes. Alan was too stunned to react for a second or two, but once his shock broke he scrambled forwards and made a grab for the thing’s shoulder. His reward was a vicious blow to the face that knocked him off his feet.

Lunging, the Captain caught hold of the thing by the scruff of its neck, but it twisted and bit at his arm. He recoiled but managed to hang on, and it bucked and fought like a mad cat, grabbing at anything that came too close. As the Captain tried to keep his grip, the too-long, blackened fingers sought and scrabbled for purchase, latching onto the first thing they could find, which unfortunately happened to be-

“Ow ow OW not the face not the FACE-”

The Captain’s mask stretched out in the thing’s grasp, the fake skin distorting like a rubber band. Something had to give, and with a high elastic noise like a guitar string snapping under stress the mask twanged off, catapulting out of the thing’s hands. It whipped across the room like a Frisbee, nailing Alan square in the ear just as he managed to sit up.

Thrown off-balance, the thing hit the floor shoulders-first and bounced back to its feet, snarling. Its eyes were frantic, far past reason, the weird right-side one a livid, burning purple. Black goop slipped from under its sodden hair and coursed freely down its face and neck, spiralling down its arms. Its hands, fast losing their resemblance to anything even approaching human, clutched and jerked shakily at its sides.

The Captain stepped in front of Alan, holding up his hands in warning.

“Don’t-” he started, but the thing was beyond listening. At the sound of his voice, it bared its teeth, and sprang.

The Captain flinched, splaying his fingers. With a bright flicker, a screen flared between his hands, a jumbled blur of images as he fought to concentrate. A UFO, a kitten, a few frames of an old Soviet cartoon, and then at the very last second the image stabilized into a nice, clear picture of a brick wall; weathered, slightly mossy, and very, very solid-looking.

Even if the thing had wanted to hit the brakes, it was far too late to stop. It slammed into the picture face-first with a nasty, semi-liquid thud, and slid to the floor, out cold.

Dropping his hands, the Captain let out a relieved breath, letting the screen sputter out into nothing. “Whoof. I knew that Shutterstock license would come in handy.”

Behind him, Alan sat up, holding the mask between finger and thumb as if it was something Leica had caught and left on the floor. It took the Captain a moment or two- and a mild double-take- to notice it, but as soon as he did he swiped it quickly out of his hand, with a rather testy “Thank you.”

In the fragile silence that followed, Alan got to his feet, rubbing his ear. The Captain quickly turned his face away and bent his head, hooking the mask back into place with practised speed. This done, he straightened, shook his jacket back into line with an officious little jerk, then hesitated.

“Are you...” He cleared his throat, grimacing and waving a hand as if he hoped he could somehow communicate what he meant by sheer vague arm-flapping alone, thus getting away without actually having to say it. He fought it out, extracting the word like a stubborn tooth.

“...okay?”

To tell the truth, Alan didn’t feel particularly okay. He felt very shaken and as if he was probably going to have a swollen lip, but right now he had nothing to show for it but a metallic taste in his mouth and a general feeling like someone had fed a fistful of loose change into his skull and rattled it hard. On top of it all, the really pathetic thing- the thing that made him feel somehow worse and better all at once- was how much it mattered just that the Captain had asked.

He nodded, gingerly. “Yeah, I’m- I’m fine. Are you?”

“Oh, you know. Much better now nobody’s trying to claw my face off.” The Captain sniffed, feeling behind his ears to make sure the mask was secure, and took a long, steadying breath. “Okay. Okay, how… how about we walk it back a little? Fill me in from the beginning.”

“You mean about him?”

The Captain rolled his eyes. “Oh, no, actually, I meant about why you took down your Magica De Spell picture- of course about him!”

Cautiously, ready to jump back at the first sign of movement, Alan knelt down by the thing where it lay crumpled on the floor. He was a qualified first-aider, but he was a little at a loss to check for fractures where he wasn’t sure there were bones, or to seek a steady pulse when he didn’t even know if there was a heart. He could only guess the thing was still in one piece from the slight rise and fall of the chest, and the hectic flicker under its closed eyelids.

“I didn’t think he’d flip out like that,” he said. “He’s been quiet this whole time, I- I mean, more or less, anyway, he’s had a couple of… moments.” He swallowed. “Captain, this is gonna sound crazy, but I think… I think he was made.”

It didn’t take him long to relate the little he knew. The Captain listened, fiddling with his mask, which didn’t seem to be sitting comfortably after its rapid trip across the room. At one point, he poked the thing on the floor gently with his foot.

“Pretty shoddy craftmanship,” he remarked. “Look at him, he’s barely corporeal. Can’t even keep a consistent physical form. Huh, like I’d expect anything better from that toxic, pseudoscience-pushing hack...” He broke off, running a finger around his eyesocket, which still looked a little out-of-kilter. 

“For the love of- have you got any glue?”

“Um, your usual stuff dried up, I had to throw it out. I… probably have a gluestick, is that any good?”

“Alan,” said the Captain, still feeling his mask irritably, “I hardly need to remind you that this is an incredibly advanced and delicate myco-cellular biosynthetic prosthesis.” He paused. 

“What kind of gluestick?”

“Uhh. Elmer’s.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it. Thanks.”

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

Here’s a silly little thing I did on request for @crunadh for the prompt “Healing”. What if love has actually healing powers – or at least Geralt believes it does?

2.183 words, Rated T, read under the cut or on AO3

"Oh. Oh! Yeah, right there. Go ahead, uh... don't stop... a little harder..."

"You're embarrassing," Emhyr muttered, but he actually didn't stop. His hands vigorously kneaded Geralt's back, and the latter's muscles responded to it like butter to sunshine.

"The word you're looking for is enthusiastic," Geralt replied with a groan. "Who knew you were so good at it? You're a natural. Oh, yeah, right there!"

"We have servants for that sort of thing," Emhyr returned.

But he still didn't stop. His fingers squeezed with just the proper hardness to relieve all the tension his spouse had gotten after his training. The same had probably been right by stating that even a horse needed regular exercise and that he needed to resume it. The comparison seemed somehow indecent to Emhyr, but in the end, it was probably apt – a witcher without exercise was useless, and if he had to compare it to anything, it was perhaps to a well-trained soldier, whose skills would rust without regular training. Oh, all these comparisons were useless because in front of him on the bed, completely naked and with tangled hair, lay his husband, and he knew exactly what this sight did to him.

"That's right," smirked the latter now. "But you like it. You like it so much that you..."

He uttered the last words in Nilfgaardian, another thing he had begun to practice again lately. This earned him a hearty slap on the backside.

"Your pronunciation of arse leaves much to be desired."

"Maybe so, but you have healing hands," Geralt growled delightedly underneath him. "You will find..."

He suddenly fell silent. Emhyr, who had noticed that even Geralt's buttocks were tense and had begun to loosen them with a vigorous kneading, asked irritably, "What?"

Deft as a snake, Geralt wriggled around under Emhyr's dexterous hands, accidentally presenting a first success of the latter's efforts.

"You know," he said, unusually serious, "you actually have the ability to make me feel better when you touch me."

Emhyr snorted. If there was one thing Geralt was not, it was romantic; and he had not for a moment supposed that this desire for a post-exercise massage had any meaning other than a new form of foreplay that his witcher loved so passionately.

"It's true," Geralt protested, "healing hands."

"Oh, really?"

Emhyr thought this was nothing more than a strange but somehow cute form of dirty talking, and wordlessly he brushed off his dressing gown.

Geralt's eyes lit up on his reply, "Let me show you what these hands can heal."

                                                        -:¦:-

A few days later, their breakfast was graced by Ciri's presence, who was now back in the palace more often and had begun to take a renewed interest in her future duties. Her morning greeting faltered when she noticed Emhyr's left hand resting on one of Geralt's thighs.

"I beseech you, at breakfast? You can't keep pulling the young married couple card all the time."

Geralt merely grinned, but Emhyr, on whose stoic countenance her insolence bounced that morning, calmly brought the teacup to his mouth and took a sip before answering.

"The leg is aching," he simply replied, and Ciri's expression became compassionate.

The effects of multiple fractures and magical healing were more noticeable some days than others, she knew this, and so Ciri asked with interest, "And that helps?"

"Sometimes," Geralt said. Then he grinned again. "I've told your father before that he has healing hands, but he won't hear of it."

Ciri screwed up her face as if he had made a dirty joke, but then she suddenly mused, "You know, there might even be something to it. I once read about how lovers can actually develop healing abilities when they interact with each other."

"That's nonsense," said Triss, who had just entered the room.

"Well, in this case, I guess you can talk about relief as a priority, but what if there's something to it? Love can release endorphins..."

"Healing is due to the body's own substances, which can be triggered with magic, but certainly not by love," Triss said, and thereupon a somewhat heated discussion broke out between the two, which soon encompassed utterly different topics.

                                                   -:¦:-

The matter was forgotten for a while as everyday life had a grip on them, but like flashlights, it brought itself back to mind repeatedly. Such as when Emhyr – which, given his idiosyncrasy of often poring over papers in an uncomfortable pose until late at night occurred not so rarely – experienced a headache. Geralt, who had already tried in vain hours ago to lure him away from this work to get some rest, had put his hands on his husband's cramped shoulders, pressed a kiss on the back of his head, and looked over his shoulders.

"That can wait until tomorrow," he said firmly.

And Emhyr, quite contrary to his habits of not being distracted from a task, had actually put down the quill, laid back his head, and let his spouse handle his shoulders. Geralt had to think of the countless times Emhyr's presence, his touch, the mere feeling of his hands in his had given him a sense of relief.

"There is something to it after all," he said thoughtfully.

"Hmm?"

"Healing hands," Geralt replied, "What if that really works? On both sides?"

"Don't be silly. There's nothing healing about it. Your fingers just happen to rest on neuralgic points and cut off the pain supply, that's science, Geralt."

Despite the pretentious tone, Geralt had heard exactly the essential point from these words. He leaned over, nuzzled his cheek against Emhyr's, and whispered, "That means you don't have a headache anymore?"

Emhyr looked at him in surprise but had to silently admit that this was true. And he, too, remembered countless occasions when it had been this way – Geralt had a talent for making a difference with a single touch, and no doubt it was the same the other way around. It was intuitive, something neither of them had ever consciously thought about. The soothing effect of a hand, even fleetingly placed on tense muscles. Fingers intertwined, untangling strained thoughts. A firm stroke over the back after a nightmare. The gentle touch on temples that were taut from endless brooding. As Geralt had said: the ability to make the other person feel better just by touching them. He had to admit that there was indeed something curative about it.

                                                       -:¦:-

The implications of these findings, if taken seriously, were remarkable. They both mulled over these considerations without actually talking about it, and almost unconsciously, the mutual touching increased. If the reason they were doing each other well with this was their mutual affection, it only seemed to strengthen it. In other words, Geralt and Emhyr could not keep their hands off each other. As if to regularly reassure themselves that their touches had the desired effect, they touched each other more and more frequently. It was undoubtedly an exciting boost for their love life, which had never suffered from too little attention, but now reached unexpected new heights. It almost seemed as if they wanted to combine true love's kiss with true love's touch, but if they were enchanted, this spell could not be broken.

Although they had rarely hidden their affection, it seemed even more apparent now, and they were seen holding hands in the palace more often than before. It seemed to lift the general mood. As far as Emhyr was concerned, it would have been an exaggeration to say that he displayed certain contentment. But overall, everything seemed as bright and rosy as it should be for newlyweds.

Nevertheless, everyday difficulties had not disappeared, as became apparent one day when Ciri accompanied a limping and cursing Geralt to the infirmary set up by Triss. They had been hunting together – a concession they had both wrested from Emhyr, for Ciri, too, needed a balance to the duties she had, after all, voluntarily accepted. It quickly became clear that this balance could not be found in the ever languishing Movran Voorhis, which had led to some disagreements and the latter's near resignation. After those waters were smoothed, Emhyr had agreed, to the astonishment of both Ciri and Geralt, that she could occasionally accompany him when he took on a contract – nothing too dangerous, nonetheless.

This time, something had gone wrong, and it was only thanks to Ciri's quick intervention that Geralt escaped with a dislocated kneecap and a broken arm, while she herself only suffered a few scrapes. As always, Emhyr had been notified immediately, and he watched the treatment of his court sorceress with a wary eye, holding Geralt's hand.

Ciri, observing that Geralt apparently used the touch to nearly break his spouse's hand between a string of juicy curses, which the latter stoically accepted, said at one point in surprise, "Say, you two, you didn't really take that seriously, did you?"

"What?"

"Me, rambling on about the healing power of love the other day. I was just teasing you, but apparently, I started a little something..."

Triss, who had just conjured up a magical ointment for the re-set kneecap with flowing hand movements, looked up at Ciri and replied, "Well, I for one took it seriously."

As all eyes turned to her, the sorceress could not prevent a certain blush from shooting into her cheeks.

"What? It's not so far off, even though I was skeptical at first. So if you were just making it up, Ciri, you were amazingly clairvoyant. Love may release hormones that can relieve pain, among other things – so, for instance, with a touch."

To everyone's surprise, Geralt started laughing, and even Emhyr showed a slight smile.

"It's clear you were messing with us," Geralt said to Ciri. "However, I have to admit; there was something rather stimulating about the idea..."

"Oh please, don't elaborate," Ciri moaned with a disgusted expression. "If I had known that you would become the purest lovebirds after this…"

"I guess you fell into your own trap there, girl," Emhyr opined. "When apparently it can be scientifically proven that there is some truth to your love theory."

"I didn't say anything about it being scientific," Triss interjected. "There are only a few writings by physicians on this."

"Doctors aren't scientific enough for the sorceress, that's it," Geralt sneered but quickly regretted it when she turned to treat his arm.

"We can test out which one you prefer," she replied calmly. "Traditional splinting of the bone as done by barber-surgeons, often with little accuracy, wraps of dubious hygiene and at most weekly dressing changes, as recommended in the now obsolete but still used publication Osseous Therapeuticus. In the meantime, you can try a lot of loving affection; it allegedly promotes the healing process and, in some cases, shortens it. However, some report that the pain is a bit detrimental to libido. Or we might do it my way. That hurts, too, but instead of hoping for a dubious result for about two months, you can move your arm again without any problems in a week. I still recommend holding hands with the other arm, though. "

The others stared at her, speechless, until Geralt, feeling quite powerless at the moment, finally inquired, "You made that book up, didn't you?"

Emhyr, on the other hand, stated, "In this case, I trust entirely in the healing abilities of truly competent hands," which, of course, settled the matter.

                                                      -:¦:-

That evening, however, when they were alone, and it was up to him to take care of his spouse, which essentially consisted of making him comfortable, Geralt couldn't help but remark, "And I still think there's something to it."

"Well," Emyhr commented rather dryly, "it's obviously some dubious science, but this thing about releasing hormones..."

"Not that," Geralt interrupted him. "It's only logical; you can find some writings about it at Kaer Morhen, though these days they might not be considered particularly ethical. Still, I think the idea that true love can heal..."

"That wasn't what Ciri was implying," Emhyr interrupted him, frowning. "Hold on. You knew about this hormone thing and all that all along? But you tried to make me believe in the power of love?"

Geralt made a somewhat embarrassed impression. Emhyr raised his brows – which, depending on his mood, could mean anything from mockery to skepticism to blatant rejection. This time, however, it was something else.

"I would consider that a touch of romance; however, I suspect you had some baser instincts."

With one arm in a sling, Geralt's shrug turned out a bit awkward.

"Well, it worked," he returned. "You were very affectionate lately."

"That's the dumbest thing I've heard lately," Emhyr blurted. "You don't think there would have been any other way to achieve this.... aim?"

"Oh yes, certainly," Geralt admitted bluntly. "But it was more fun that way. And healing it was in any case."

"You're such an idiot," Emhyr muttered, shaking his head. "Why do you think it was healing?"

Geralt grinned, and Emhyr instantly regretted his question.

"Sexual healing."

[flowercrown-bard]

Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1  part 2  part 3  part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 belongs to this

Content warning: Memory loss (only briefly and not shown too explicitly) and brief mention of future death (very brief and only in the last section. To skip stop at ““I am with Jaskier,” he said instead of a real answer”)

can be read as a stand alone, I think. Only brief references to earlier chapters

Almost 5k sorry. I blame Lambert for this

“I’ve been thinking,” Geralt said and let his hand trace lazy patterns over Jaskier’s arm. “But I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Promising start.”

Geralt huffed out a laugh. “Sometimes I do have good ideas.”

“Mhhmm,” Jaskier said and snuggled closer to him, his hand coming to rest on Geralt’s chest. “Staying in bed was an excellent idea. So what have you been thinking about?”

Jaskier dragged the blanket further up until it almost covered his whole face, only the eyes peeking out to look up at Geralt.

Geralt hoped Jaskier couldn’t feel his heart speed up uncomfortably. He had been toying with this idea for a while now, ever since he had realised that it would be no use trying to regrow their flowers. The time for that had passed and the air had become too cold for them to sprout.

“You are cold, aren’t you?” He didn’t need to ask that question when the answer was so obvious in the way Jaskier was seeking out his warmth while being buried under a heap of blankets.

“Of course I am. It’s mid-autumn.” His tone took on a teasing note. “Good thing I have a lovely witcher to keep me warm.”

“What if you had more than that?” The question was out before Geralt could stop his mouth. He silently cursed himself. He had meant to ease Jaskier into his idea, not blurting his thoughts out as they came.

Jaskier’s brows knitted together and he rose slightly to get a better look at Geralt.

“I don’t need more than that. You are quite enough for me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Geralt swallowed nervously. “I meant, what if you had more than one witcher around you? With no flowers to sell, no music lessons and no contracts we won’t have much this winter.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Jaskier’s words tumbled out of his mouth with all the enthusiasm of a young bird that was soaring up into the sky for the first time. “Please say you’re taking me to Kaer Morhen!”

Geralt sighed. This was exactly why he had hesitated to tell him. “Do you think you will manage there? You know the winters aren’t very … pleasant in the keep. Colder than here.”

“Lucky me then, that I have a lovely witcher to keep me warm,” Jaskier repeated with a playful smirk.

Geralt’s lips twitched up, but his fingers stilled in Jaskier’s hair. As much as Jaskier’s enthusiasm made his heart leap, he needed him to be serious.

“It’s just an idea,” he said carefully. “I haven’t thought much about how to get there yet. I don’t want to disappoint you if it doesn’t work out.”

Jaskier swatted his hand against his chest. “You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried. Not when you’re so sweet suggesting we could go see the family again.”

Geralt’s lips stretched into a real smile at the word family. He had known of course that this was what his brothers and Vesemir were to Jaskier, but there would never come a day where Geralt would tire of hearing Jaskier say it out loud.

“Now, as much as I love being utterly lazy and cosy in bed with you,” Jaskier said while throwing the blankets off, ignoring his own shivering. “I believe we have preparations to make.”

--

“I can’t believe I ever missed this.” Yennefer’s voice cut sharply through Jaskier’s chatter, as he was doing his best to introduce Yennefer and Kris, who had been helping them with their travel preparations, to each other while also being unable to form a coherent sentence out of excitement.

Kris just gave Yennefer a lopsided grin and a nod in greeting.

“I guess you’ll be taking over from here?” they asked, fond exasperation in their voice.

Yennefer scoffed, though her eyes rested softly on Jaskier, not hesitating to steady him should the need arise. “I’m only taking them to their little vacation spot and then I’m off. Nothing could convince me to endure more of this” she nodded her chin towards Jaskier’s ear-to-ear- grin “than necessary. I don’t know how you do it.”

Kris just shrugged, but whatever answer they might have given was cut short by Jaskier’s mock offended gasp.

“You – “ he pointed an accusatory finger at Yen. “You love me and you know it. You just lack the mental strength to compete with my wit and charm.”

Geralt rolled his eyes at them. At least one thing that hadn’t changed, Geralt noted with the hint of a smirk on his face.

“Come on then,” Yennefer said. “We have no time to waste. Any longer and Jaskier might become ancient instead of just old.”

With a sly smirk she turned to Kris, whose eyes widened at the sight of the portal that appeared in front of the cottage at a wave of Yennefer’s hand. They looked on in wonder, as Geralt guided Jaskier through it. The last thing he could hear was a bemused “Enjoy your time off from these idiots” before the familiar headache that came with walking through a portal overtook his senses, only receding when he stepped out to feel frozen forest floor beneath his feet, the wall of Kaer Morhen towering over him.

“Since when are you able to portal so close to the keep?” he asked with a frown once Yennefer had passed through the portal as well.

“Since your bard would break his neck trying to make his way up the mountains,” she said, a look of barely concealed worry on Jaskier, who was swaying and leaning heavily against Geralt. Apparently travelling per portal didn’t get any easier with age. “I will renew the warding spells soon enough. At least until I have to get back here in spring to get you back.” Her lips quirked up. “That is unless Jaskier doesn’t do something to piss me off in the next few hours, making me leave you two to get back on your own.”

“Thank you, Yen,” Geralt said, hoping that his voice conveyed all the sincere gratitude he felt. None of this would have been possible if Yennefer hadn’t answered his letters so quickly, ready to make sure that Jaskier was safe and happy for the winter, even if she didn’t let up with her taunts.

“Just go see the others. I’m sure they’re already waiting for you.”

Yennefer was, of course, right.

The three of them hadn’t yet reached the gates, when they heard a shout of “Get your arses out here! They’re finally here!” coming from inside the keep.

Geralt felt his shoulders relax at Lambert’s unmistakable voice and the last of his tension left him, once he saw his family walk towards him. It had been too long. He hadn’t realised how much he had missed them.

The only thing keeping Geralt from running towards his brothers and tackling them into a long overdue hug was Jaskier, who was still gripping tightly to his arm.

The other witchers stopped their approach, their smiles frozen, when they finally laid eyes on Jaskier.

They stood still, as if Jaskier was a scared animal that could spook at any sudden movement.

No, that was not it. They looked, like they were scared of Jaskier. To anyone else they might look no different than on any other day, but Geralt knew them well enough to see the hints of fear around their eyes.

His heart clenched as Eskel turned his face slightly, a vain attempt to hide his scars in the shadows. Coën unfolded his arms, hunching his shoulders to make himself appear smaller and less threatening, while Vesemir did his best to ease his frown into what might have looked approachable and welcoming for a witcher, but for anyone not knowing them, would still seem like a threatening scowl.

Lambert was the only one, who did nothing to hide the tension in his body and his strained expression.

For a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity no one said a word. Geralt could hear his brother’s stuttering hearts and held breaths.

The unspoken ‘What if he doesn’t remember us?’ hanging heavily in the air.

An indignant snort next to him broke the silence.

“It’s been a while since my beauty has left anyone speechless for that long,” Jaskier said with a wink, not a hint of uncertainty in his tone. “Or maybe you don’t even recognize my handsome face under all these wrinkles?”

“Fuck, buttercup.” Lambert was the first to release his breath in a sharp laugh, laden with relief. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

Jaskier’s answering laugh was enough to ease the tension out of the others. Smiles took the place of tense frowns and they finally got to embrace after years of being parted, only breaking away from each other when Jaskier’s shivering became too hard to ignore and he was ushered inside by Vesemir.

--

Jaskier hadn’t said anything about it, but it was obvious that he was aching. Winters were always harder for him and the sudden change in the climate - travelling from the mildly chilly south to the frozen north in a manner of minutes – left Jaskier shaking and pulling a grimace he was barely able to hide at every movement he made.

Yennefer clicked her tongue disapprovingly when Jaskier insisted that he was fine. She would hear none of his complaints, when she brought forth something that looked almost like candy, but judging from the face Jaskier pulled when he swallowed it, tasted nowhere close to the delicious treats he always liked to sneak.

It was worth it, though, to see the poorly concealed expression of pain fade from Jaskier’s face.

His steps were still slow and a bit wobbly at times, but Jaskier made it back to the library where the others were sitting, ready with blankets and a roaring fire in the hearth, without even once groaning in pain.

“What did you give him?” Geralt asked Yennefer quietly, once Jaskier had nestled himself under the blanket with Eskel, swatting away Eskel’s attempts at draping the blanket in a way that wouldn’t leave an inch of Jaskier bare.

“It takes away some of his pain. Triss showed me how to make it.”

Geralt perked up, willing his heart not to speed up in foolish hope. “It’s healing him?”

Yennefer sighed and leaned back, her eyes boring into Geralt with fierce seriousness. “I know what you’re thinking. Stop it.”

“I wasn’t –“

“Of course you were. Yes, it’s healing him in a way. It makes sure he is feeling a bit stronger and makes it so that Jaskier won’t hurt that much. But what he has is nothing that can be healed. Not permanently.”

Geralt felt himself deflate, even though he had known nothing would ever come of this train of thought. “He will still age.”

“As he should.” Before Geralt could speak up again, she gave him his answer. “I can do nothing about his mind either. I won’t alter any part of who he is. And this is who he is now.”

“Our lives have been made longer.” Geralt wasn’t sure why he said it. One could hold a sword to his throat and still he wouldn’t subject Jaskier to even half of what had been done to them. It just…Geralt had to at least voice it, even as he knew the thought would be leading nowhere.

“You don’t want that for him,” Yennefer said softly.

“No. I don’t.”

“He doesn’t want that either.” She paused, letting her eyes drift over to Jaskier, who was talking animatedly about their garden, describing the flowers in vivid detail and imagining with a dreamy expression how pretty wolfs and the griffin would look with flowers in their hair. “I talked to him about it, did you know? Must have been almost a decade ago. I offered to look into magic that could prolong his life. Do you know what he said?”

Geralt grunted, not sure if he wanted to hear it.

“He said his songs gave him all the immortality he could want. He said he was allowing himself to make the selfish choice and grow old.”

Geralt scowled, but swallowed down against the lump in his throat that was making his words come out choked. “Nothing selfish about being human.”

“Many would disagree.”

Laughter rang through the library as Jaskier brought one of his anecdotes to conclusion, his warm eyes landing on Geralt with a smile that showed off all of his wrinkles in their full beauty.

Something that had been pressing uncomfortably on his heart came lose in Geralt’s chest. “Nothing selfish about being happy then.”

Geralt’s eyes didn’t leave Jaskier, even as Yennefer reached out for his hand and offered the little comfort with her touch that she could. He skin felt smooth against his. Geralt missed the wrinkles of Jaskier’s fingers.

“I wouldn’t have had to see you grow old and aching all the time, if we had stayed together.”

“No,” Yennefer agrees. “But neither of us would have been as happy as you two are and as I am with Triss.”

“Nothing selfish about being happy.”

--

Yennefer had barely left the keep to go back to her own happiness, when Jaskier called out for him to get the thing they talked about.

Geralt dodged his brothers’ questioning eyes. Jaskier had spent too long agonizing over this to spoil it for him. Immediately after sending the letter to Yennefer asking her to help them with a portal, Jaskier had started gathering ideas for this, even writing them down, so as not to run the risk of forgetting anything.

Jaskier was practically vibrating with excitement, when he took the bag from Geralt under the curious eyes of the others.

Geralt shooed Eskel off his seat next to Jaskier and took it in his stead, ignoring the only mildly scolding look he received.

“Vesemir, you are first,” Jaskier said brightly and held something out for the eldest witcher, who accepted the gift with a lifted eyebrow. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly when he read the cover of the book.

“Bestiary of serpents and other sea-dwelling monsters,” Vesemir read out loud. “Where did you get this, lad? There is barely any reliable information of sea creatures out there.”

Jaskier’s smile turned sheepish, but there was a boyish glint in his eyes. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

Vesemir obliged, opening a random page. For a heartbeat his expression didn’t change, before he burst out into laughter.

“This is the stupidest stuff I’ve ever read,” he snorted, before glimpsing at the shelf designated specifically for books featuring hilariously incorrect descriptions of various beast – most of which had their origins in Jaskier’s songs – where this bestiary would undoubtedly find its new spot of honour.

Geralt stayed quiet, as the rest of the witchers received their gifts and Jaskier’s eyes shone brighter with each smile he got out of his friends.

A knitted blanket for Lil’ Bleater, who by now barely deserved that name anymore that earned him a soft look from Eskel.

“Can’t let her get cold,” Jaskier said with a shrug. “We old folk must stick together.”

A pin with a greenish yellow gemstone called Griffin’s Eye that Jaskier had bought from a fisherman who had found it in the sea, for Coën. Jaskier explained that it could be worn in a beard, just as some people would put jewellery in their hair, though Jaskier didn’t fail to sternly remind Coën that there was no need to hide his scars beneath his beard, as he was just as handsome as the rest of the witchers.

“Well, apart from Geralt, of course. He’s the prettiest,” Jaskier said with a wink. “But I am biased, so that hardly counts.”

A little wooden figure of a cat that Jaskier had begged Geralt to make for Lambert.

“For when you miss Aiden.”

It earned Jaskier a “Fuck off”, but Lambert’s attempt at disguising his softened eyes with outrage had no one fooled.

“That’s everything,” Jaskier said, beaming at the way Lambert, Eskel and Coën were running their fingers over their gifts to feel the texture and Vesemir was already thumbing through his book with a chuckle on his lips.

“Not quite,” Geralt said, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

When Jaskier gave him a confused look, Geralt pulled a little shard of sea shell out of his pockets and placed it on the sill of the fire place.

“It’s for good luck. For our second home.”

--

Despite what Lambert had said to welcome Jaskier, there was no doubt in any of the witchers that Jaskier had changed.

Geralt could see it in their expressions, when they weren’t sure how they should talk to Jaskier; in the way they wouldn’t shove him playfully anymore like they used to for fear of hurting him.

Eskel had always been gentle with Jaskier, but it was strange seeing Lambert and Coën walk on eggshells around him.

It was hard to miss that Jaskier noticed as well.

At first he didn’t pay much attention to it, but after a while, Geralt couldn’t help but notice Jaskier flinching, whenever Lambert went to pat his back only to change his mind last minute. He couldn’t unsee the way Jaskier’s face fell when Coën opened his arms as if going in for a hug to then let his arms fall limply and awkwardly, before Jaskier could fling himself into his arms.

The whole idea of coming to Kaer Morhen had been that Jaskier would be around familiar faces other than Geralt’s; that he could be with people who knew and loved him from before.

“They just need time to get used to it,” Geralt said in what he hoped was a soothing voice, after Lambert had cut himself off from making a cutting taunt and left before Jaskier got the chance to say anything. “They won’t be idiots throughout the whole winter.”

Jaskier cracked a weak smile. “They’re always idiots.”

“Of course they are.” Geralt leaned in conspiratorially. “Are you going to pass up on your chance to take advantage of that?”

Jaskier’s eyes, already sparkling in mischief were answer enough.

The next days were filled with harmless, but incredibly annoying pranks Jaskier pulled with the help of Geralt.

It was almost like old times, when Lambert and Jaskier would try to outdo each other to prove that they were the superior nuisance. With the small difference of course, that no one dared to take revenge on Jaskier.

That is, until one fateful morning, Lambert stormed into Geralt’s room, scratching his arms frantically.

“You!” He pointed accusingly at Jaskier, whose delighted grin was half-hidden by the blanket. “You have gone too far.”

“I don’t know what you’re accusing me of,” Jaskier said with the shit eating grin of someone who knew very well what they were being accused of and that they deserved every bit of it. “I am only a helpless and innocent old man after all.”

Lambert snorted. “Innocent, my ass. You put fucking itching powder into my shirt.”

“Oh, is that what it was?” Geralt had to repress a snort at Jaskier’s big eyes and not-at-all-innocent tone. “I must have misread the label. Old and fragile as I am.”

“Fuck off, buttercup.”

“That is no way to talk to your elders, young man. Truly, if only I wasn’t so – Hey! Put me down!”

Lambert didn’t pay his protests any mind, kicking the bedroom door open with his foot.

Geralt followed them, conveniently ignoring Jaskier’s calls for help that were broken off by his own laughter.

The sounds of mirth too were soon replaced by an undignified shriek, as Lambert unceremoniously, yet carefully dropped Jaskier into a pile of snow in the court yard.

Geralt stood to the side, leaning against the doorway, content to watch in amusement as Jaskier enacted his own revenge by throwing snow at Lambert. Geralt was only forced to join in when some stray snowballs not so accidentally hit him in the face as well.

He knew Jaskier’s hands would be freezing soon and they would spend the rest of the day making sure Jaskier didn’t catch a cold, making him drink tea and bundling him up in a blanket in front of a warm fire.

But for now, Jaskier got to enjoy the snow and the knowledge that Lambert was back to being the annoying bastard that he was always meant to be.

--

After that, the tension in the keep eased away steadily. Geralt’s brothers were still hovering over Jaskier, ready to jump to his aid at any minute, but after Jaskier had started loudly complaining about ‘young people these days’, they had taken to making it into a game of who could keep an eye on Jaskier the longest without being spotted or betting playfully scolded.

Coën didn’t exactly win with in a rout, but he certainly managed to secure his place close to Jaskier, when one day after supper, he just picked Jaskier up and started carrying him to wherever he wanted to go.

Jaskier’s delighted laugher mingled with half-hearted protests made Geralt’s heart swell.

“No, Coën, put me down this instant! I refuse to get carried about like a sack of potatoes!” He struggled in the griffin’s arms, weak enough to make it clear to anyone watching that he wasn’t truly trying to escape. “If you don’t let me down now, I will annoy you into letting me go!”

Coën chuckled at the threat and only tightened his grip. “Don’t be ridiculous, bard. I used to give Ciri piggyback rides all the time when she was around. If I could manage that rascal, I sure as hell can manage you.”

“Are you challenging my ability to be a nuisance?” Jaskier asked with a glint in his eyes that promised trouble.

Safe to say, Jaskier made good on his threat to be as bothersome as possible. And safe to say that with every attempt at annoying him that felt closer to how Jaskier had been as a young man, Coën seemed to take more joy in carrying him around.

Geralt feared it would take the entire winter to determine which one of them would win this battle of stubbornness.

--

Seeing Jaskier interact with his brothers as he had always done before lifted a weight from Geralt’s shoulders, he hadn’t been aware he had been carrying.

Still, there were days, even weeks at a time, when Jaskier retreated into that far-off place in his mind. He still teased the witchers, still laughed and was happy, but there was something off about it.

Geralt couldn’t be certain if Jaskier’s relationship with his family was still the same because he knew that he had loved them for years, or because he wasn’t aware of how much time had passed since he had last been in the keep.

After all, being surrounded by men who still looked the same as they had decades ago was bound to mess with Jaskier’s head, especially when every so often, he seemed to lose all sense of orientation and time on his own.

On days like these, Geralt could feel the pitying looks of Eskel and Coën burning into him.

Lambert was the only one who didn’t fuss over Jaskier when he got that distant look in his eyes or treat Geralt like a thin sheen of ice that could shatter at the lightest pressure. He had always been one to throw explosives at frozen lakes.

Lambert closed off himself, becoming gruffer than ever.

Geralt was almost grateful for him. As much as he appreciated Eskel’s concerned touches on his shoulder telling him that he was there if Geralt needed him, he didn’t want pity, didn’t want his family to treat him like he was about to break.

They were already deep in their cups, when Geralt couldn’t help but voice his thoughts. Eskel and Coën had left him and Lambert to drink alone after one too many jabs from Lambert, when the others had become too obvious in avoiding talking about Jaskier, who had spent the day staring into the fireplace mesmerised, only moving when Geralt urged him to eat.

Lambert scoffed at Geralt’s clumsy thanks for not pitying him.

“Well, he’s my friend too, isn’t he?”, Lambert said, gripping his tankard tightly, scowling at is as though it was the cause of all his problems. “The others might have forgotten that Jaskier’s not only your family in their ridiculous selflessness, but I for one am pissed that sometimes my friend doesn’t recognise me.”

Those words startled Geralt out of his drunken haze. “Being pissed off is selfish?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Lambert’s scowl deepened. “That’s what I’ve always been called though when I got pissed. I was pissed when I was dragged to this shithole as a child. I was pissed when I was send out to save people who would spit at me. I don’t fucking care if my anger is selfish.”

Unbidden images of Geralt storming away from Jaskier because he couldn’t handle seeing him like a shell of himself, fought their way to the forefront of Geralt’s mind. Images of Jaskier holding him close when it all became too much for Geralt.

“Good. You have every right to be angry.” Geralt said, eyes boring into Lambert’s. “But just for the record. It’s not - It’s not selfish. Or if it is, then we both are.”

--

More often than not, it was like old times. Once everyone had gotten used to Jaskier disappearing into his mind every once in a while, the old routine was back. Evenings were spent with Jaskier prodding everyone for details of their hunts or sitting in the library together while Jaskier played his lute, for as long as his joints allowed him too.

Yennefer’s medicine did not work miracles. She had made that abundantly clear before she had left, but it gave Jaskier the chance to make music for longer than just a few minutes before the ache in his fingers would force him to stop.

In the mornings, Jaskier would watch them train and spar with a familiar spark in his eyes.

Seeing Jaskier perched on a bench, nestled in a blanket to keep the cold at bay with an expression of pure joy was worth enduring Lambert’s merciless teasing about Geralt getting slow and lazy in his time off the Path.

Geralt couldn’t deny it, the long absence of any real fight was showing, but it felt good to spar with his brothers again.

He had been unsure how Vesemir would react to his decision of giving up hunting for a while, but all his old mentor did to acknowledge it was frown when Geralt got bested by Coën for the third time in a row.

“Retirement is no excuse for sloppy footwork.”

--

As the snow started to thaw and the witchers grew restless, itching to go back on the Path, Geralt found himself in Eskel’s room, sitting together on the bed like they had when they had been children.

Despite Eskel’s multiple attempts of talking to Geralt about Jaskier’s state, Geralt had successfully managed to avoid this conversation. Until now.

It was different knowing that soon their time here would end and their paths would split again, Eskel going off to risk his life and Geralt tending to flowers and taking walks on the shore with Jaskier.

It was good talking to Eskel. Talking to anyone, really, but Eskel had always known what to say and how to comfort people.

He didn’t ask about Jaskier. Spending the winter months with him had answered all questions better than Geralt could have done. Instead, Eskel asked about Geralt. How he was handling the quiet life, if he was alright, if there was anything Eskel could do to help him.

It was so close to how they used to talk before the trials and then after their first year on the Path.

Just like back then, Geralt didn’t know how to reply. How was he handling all of this? He didn’t know. Maybe it was alright not to know.

“I am with Jaskier,” he said instead of a real answer. Eskel nodded, as if that meant anything to him. Maybe it did. Geralt knew that it meant everything to himself.

“How will you manage after?” Eskel said carefully, tone blank, but one of his hands rested on Geralt’s shoulders, grounding him.

Neither of them explicitly said it, but they both knew what ‘after’ meant. After Jaskier was gone. After there was no quiet life on the coast left for Geralt to return to.

Geralt didn’t answer for a long time.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, leaning into Eskel’s touch. “But I will manage. Somehow. We still have time. For now, I am going to plant flowers and watch him smile and be happy.”

Eskel gave him a long look, but didn’t reply.

Maybe it hadn’t been fair for Geralt to escape the path and build this new life. Maybe it had been selfish to turn his back on the world and let his brothers continue on their own.

He thought of sea shells on window sills, of laughter and soft smiles, of flowers and toes that dug into sand until the sea washed his doubts away. He thought of Jaskier’s hand in his, squeezing lightly as if to say I am still here. Thank you for being here with me.

Maybe Geralt was selfish for choosing Jaskier and maybe he was stupid in refusing to think about what would come after. But for now, it was enough to have Jaskier’s smile and his blue eyes in his life and just be happy.

[perseusannabeth]

Bottled Up Storms - Chapter 2

So I’m finally posting chapter 2! Shout out to work for putting me in the clinic that gives me lots of time to write. 

Read on AO3

Chapter 1

Bottled Up Storms Masterlist

Word count: 2502 bc apparently I can’t write consistent sized chapters oops. 

Cassian ran his fingers through his hair after shutting the door behind him. His shoulders and wings sagged as he thought about what had just happened, what he had just found out. His heart felt like it would beat out of his chest it was beating so fast. Nesta, his Nesta, was pregnant. Except she wasn't his Nesta, she wasn't his anything, not in her eyes anyway, and definitely not in his eyes. He could never be worthy of Nesta, but she was everything to him, because she was his mate, a fact which he had known since he had seen her stood so tall and proud in her father's house as a human. Even then, despite her body being human and weaker, she looked like a warrior who could clear the battlefields in one fell swoop.  

Cassian sigh as he forced himself to move from outside her bedroom door, and managed to force himself into their small living space. His mind was swirling with thoughts and unbidden memories from that night. He had gotten his mate pregnant. He fought his instincts, which were telling him to go to her and never leave her side again, just like they had the morning after they had slept together. But he knew he couldn't do that, not if he ever wanted a chance with Nesta. He knew that any wrong move could mean that he chases Nesta away, and this time for good, and he would do anything to prevent that. Perhaps the fear of losing her was what stopped him from telling Nesta about the mating bond. He knew she couldn't feel it, there was no way in hell that Nesta would leave his balls attached if she could feel the mating bond. Cassian had seen the disaster that was Feyre finding out Rhys hadn't told her about their mating bond, and knew that he should learn from his brother’s mistake, but he was a coward, and couldn't bring himself to add another strain on their relationship.  

Before the war, he had considered telling her. He almost did so many times, but there was never the right time, or they were interrupted or something bigger was going on. Or maybe he was a coward. Actually, he was definitely a coward, he knew that. He knows that he should have told her a long time ago, when it first snapped into place for him. But Cassian knew that she didn't feel anything. He suspected the mating bond was one-sided, which is why he never told anyone. He had pulled at the tether tying him to Nesta and found nothing. So he had resigned himself to just accepting whatever scraps of Nesta he could get in his life.  

Cassian couldn't quite believe that Nesta was pregnant. He had dreamt of it once or twice, and he couldn't quite believe that this was real, that this was happening. He had dreamt of having a loving family with Nesta, raising children together and being madly in love. They were always worse than the dreams he had of Nesta, now mixed in with memories of that night panting above him, moaning his name, kissing him, grinding down on him, throwing her head back in ecstasy, her pert breasts bouncing as she moved in ways to make sure that he hit her sweet spot, doing all the work because she thought Cassian was an idiot. Cassian was too in awe to do anything but let the goddess of a woman on him take her pleasure from him until she moaned his name and he felt something in him snap as he flipped her over and-  

Cassian groaned, rubbing his face, trying to avoid going down that path. He adjusted himself, his trousers already feeling a little snug, an uncomfortable feeling which he'd had to get used to, because he can't ever stop himself from thinking about that night. Ever since they had sex, it had been hell trying to avoid Nesta. He wanted more, and not just of her body. He wanted to sit with her when she was reading her books, eat his dinner with her, wash the dishes with her. He wanted to hold her in his arms in bed because he had never slept so peacefully as he did when Nesta had laid next to him. He wanted Nesta to permeate his entire life, so he could feel her presence in every aspect. Even when she was driving him crazy, she somehow calmed him, soothed his soul in a way he had never felt before.  

He had been stupid enough to assume that having sex with Nesta would make things easier for them, that there would be less explosive sexual tension involved. He was a fool for being so weak that night. He knew he shouldn't have, the voice of reason in his head warned him this was a bad idea. But the voice of reason that night had been too quiet, drowned out by the alcohol, and the lust coursing through both their veins. Rhys had once said to him that he thought with his dick, not his head. Cassian at the time had been very offended, but now he thought perhaps Rhys had been right. He didn't always think like that, but maybe he did with Nesta. He knew he had that night, anyway.

It didn't matter what was to blame. The damage was done, and Nesta was pregnant due to his carelessness. He should have made sure he had taken his tonic even if he hadn’t been having sex for months since before the war, he should have made sure Nesta had something afterwards just to make sure, he should have never slept with her in the first place, he should have never let her walk away that morning. He just hoped and prayed to any of the gods who would listen, that this pregnancy wouldn't be the thing that broke Nesta beyond repair. He couldn't live with himself if this made Nesta spiral even more than she already was. He had already guessed that perhaps the things he had said on Solstice had hurt Nesta more than she could ever say. Cassian just added it to the list of things he failed her in. He knew he should stay away from her after that because anything he did would make it worse. And now he had made it so much worse.

Cassian wasn't keeping tabs on Nesta, he would never do her the disservice, but he had heard people talking around the camp. He knew that she would visit Emerie, and the two had something that might resemble a friendship. He knew that she would spend time in the healers’ tent. He remembered the way that during the war she had helped in the healers’ tent. He was glad she was going out and about, that she was giving herself some sort of purpose. Although Nesta put up a front of being an ice queen, he knew that she cared about people, perhaps too much. Healing was a way for Nesta to help people, and he felt that perhaps that was a fitting place to start healing herself too.  

Feyre had suggested that Nesta trained with the females, to try and give her a sense of purpose, and so she could fight. Cassian said he would see how things went, but had never mentioned it to Nesta. He saw the way she couldn't even look at the fighting rings, and that was enough to tell him that fighting and training with the females was the last thing that would give Nesta a purpose. Nesta could not be what Feyre had become. Cassian knew better than anyone that you couldn't send someone into the training ring if they didn't want to be there. It was always going to be a recipe for disaster, for the person training and everyone else close by. He wasn't going to force Nesta to do something she had made very clear she hated, despite all his jokes and teasing when she had been newly made. She had been through enough, she didn't need to suffer anymore. If Nesta ever asked him to help her train, he would be more than happy to help, but unless that happened then training would never happen. He knew that Amren had taught her some things, but he didn’t know what. He just knew that he trusted Amren to teach Nesta what she needed to know.

Cassian closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He finally was starting to understand why Azriel said he got stress headaches because sure enough, he could feel a dull pounding in his head. It wasn't incapacitating, but it was annoying. He'd have to go to the healer's tent before it got any worse. With Nesta asleep, there was nothing else to do but wait until she woke up. They needed to talk about what happened, and about what would happen in the future. He needed to make it very clear that he would support her no matter what, and be there every step of the way.  

Cassian left Nesta a quick note telling her where he was just in case she woke up while he was gone and left it on the kitchen table. Then he left and quickly went over to the healers’ tents. He asked for a headache tonic which they procured quickly enough. Then, as he was leaving the tent he saw the healer who had been to see Nesta.

"Theodora!" He called over to catch her attention.

Theodora looked up slightly startled to hear her name being called, but her expression settled when she saw Cassian. She gave him a small nod, which Cassian took as he could go over to her. Theodora was sat cleaning her instruments, lots of little shiny objects that Cassian couldn't even begin to guess what their use would be. There was an empty chair nearby, which Cassian sat on, not wanting to loom over the female ominously as they spoke.  

Before Cassian could even open his mouth, Theodora spoke in a rather cutting voice. " I hope you're not here to ask for personal information about my patient. You should know better by now. I will not indulge it to anyone. It is her choice who to tell, including the High Lord and Lady." She didn't even look up at him as she spoke. Rather than it being the picture of Illyrian female submission, Theodora somehow made her not looking at Cassian seem like an insult to him. Cassian felt the corners of his mouth lift slightly at the female who had obviously decided that Nesta needed to be defended no matter what happened and that she would be the person to do it. He was glad that Theodora was going to be looking out for Nesta.  

"That's not why I'm here and you know it. I would never do her the disservice," Cassian raised his hands in surrender as Theodora finally looked up at him.  

"Then why are you here? You have your headache tonic." She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him.

"I wouldn't force her to tell anyone. Not even if it was my brother and her sister. That’s her business. I just want to help her." Cassian let a small sigh escape him.  

"Good. If you did try, I would have to make sure you were unable to get anyone else pregnant," Theodora glared at Cassian now.  

"How long will the sickness last?" Cassian asked, deciding to just ask the questions he needed to ask before Theodora castrated him, although he couldn't help frowning, feeling offended that she would ever assume he'd want to get anyone else pregnant.  

"It can depend on the person. For some, it only lasts for a few weeks, for some it can be 3 months. There are even those unlucky souls who are sick for their entire pregnancy. The normal amount of time is around 3 months. I have a tea she can drink which will help in the mornings. She should drink it first thing when she wakes up."

"3 months?" Cassian couldn't hide the shock, the horror of the idea of Nesta suffering even for 3 months. He prayed to the caldron that she wouldn't be the rare cases that have it last the entire pregnancy. Then again, with her being made, who knows how different a pregnancy will be for her, compared to another fae.  

"What does that look on your face mean?" Theodora asked, looking at Cassian as though she'd never seen him before.  

"If she keeps the baby, will it be dangerous for her? I know it's dangerous anyway, but will it be more dangerous because she was made?" Cassian looked down at his hands which were pulling at a loose thread hanging off of his shirt. Even at over 500 years old, Cassian couldn’t hide his nerves when talking about Nesta.

"I'm not sure. She doesn't seem very different to anyone else, so I can't imagine her body will react too differently to someone who wasn't made. The thing is, I can't be sure. I've never met someone who was made before her, let alone treat them."

Cassian felt his whole body slump as a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He had done this. He had possibly put Nesta in danger, again! If she kept the baby, she could be putting herself at risk. He would never ask her to keep the baby, no matter how much he dreamed of having a family with her, but now, this was something else entirely. He had hurt Nesta so many times and in so many different ways, through failing her, being a coward and being the Illyrian bastard that he was.  

Cassian stood up suddenly, almost dropping the headache tonic and the tea leaves for Nesta, but thankfully he managed to catch them. "Thank you for your help," he managed to choke out to Theodora as he quickly walked away.  

He heard light footsteps following him. "Where are you going now?" Theodora asked him, eyeing him with concern.  

"I have to go back to Nesta. I have to somehow convince her to get rid of this baby."

"What if she doesn't want to?" Theodora said, eyeing him warily. Cassian knew why. He knew what happened to those who wanted to keep a child when the father wanted to get rid of it. He knew enough of his mother's suffering.  

"I won't force her, and I won't abandon her. I just, I can't-" Cassian choked up on his words. He paused, forcing himself to take several deep breaths before continuing, his voice shaking. "I can't let my stupidity kill her."

Theodora looked as though she was trying to formulate a response, but Cassian didn't give her enough time to do that. He simply nodded at her and walked away, back towards the cabin where he had left the female he loved, sleeping peacefully.

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[creepy-spooghetti]

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 5- Shatter Me

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"So you used to come here a lot, then?"

"All the time. I guess it was just the perfect place to... hang out, and not be disturbed." She shrugs, her feet dangling past the large tree branch as she gazes down idly into the wide body of water below the two of them. Its surface is glistening with sunlight, and she imagines schools of fish, small turtles, and fresh tadpoles to be swimming underneath. She had forgotten just how peaceful it was here, completely away from society, where it allows her to be alone with her thoughts.

"That's understandable. It is a nice area. Really quiet." He leans his back against the trunk of the tree, his eyes shifting up to the sky currently overcast by fluffy clouds and keeping half of his concentration directed at his task. "You liked solitude, then."

"What do you mean?" She glances at him curiously, and he meets her eyes for a short moment.

"You came here alone all the time, right? So you must've liked solitude."

"Oh, well, I mean—" She shakes her head, trying to collect her words and say them in a sensible manner. "No, I didn't come alone all the time. Mostly, I had Wyatt... with me..." Her voice lowers the more she talks, and she feels a wave of grief wash over her, once again. She knows she won't be able to successfully hide her emotions, so she turns her head away and tries to compose herself. There's a few seconds of silence before Jack speaks.

"...Wyatt?" There's a sense of recognition in his tone, and she curls her knees up and into her chest instinctively, holding back a tear. "Wyatt... Colson?" Her eyes dart to him, her expression molding into one of consternation.

"...How did you know that?" It doesn't cross her mind that murder and a disappearance draws attention from all places, and that word spreads fast. She also doesn't realize that he, among others, have been keeping tabs on mysterious and abrupt events such as that one, and he knows the names by heart.

"Uh, w-well," He replaces his startled expression with one of veracity and oblivion. "he was the guy that went missing, right? Heard it from... my mom." He seems unsure, and she furrows her eyebrows though doesn't comment on it. There are more important things to fret over.

"Yeah..." The word comes out as a mere whisper as her eyes avert down to her hands. "I guess... I guess he is."

"You were close?" he asks, leaning forward slightly. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Um, y-yeah, I mean... he was my cousin."

"Oh..." His gaze softens as he absentmindedly fiddles with a loose thread hanging from his hoodie, tilting his head to the side. "That's unfortunate... sorry." A forlorn sigh travels from between her lips before she can stop it, and she shakes her head lightly.

"Yeah, well... there's nothing you can do about it. Things happen."

"If it makes you feel any better, I lost my dad when I was just a kid." Her eyes move up to meet his curiously, and he glances down at his hands. "Car accident. It really crushed my mom, I don't think she ever got over it." Sympathy shines within her eyes, and she replies.

"Wow. I'm sorry."

"Eh, don't be. It was a long time ago, I hardly even remember the guy." Changing the subject, he leans toward her and asks another question. " Do you have any other family down here?"

"Besides my grandparents? No." A serene breath flows out of her nose as she watches the leaves in the trees rustle and feels the breeze glide through her hair, giving her an inkling of solace. "I used to have a couple of friends that I played with sometimes. Don't know where they went, though."

He nods in understanding, squinting his eyes as the sun's bright beam reflects off of the water and hits him straight in the face, screwing with his whacky sight. Perhaps this isn't the best place to be sitting at the moment. She turns her head to look at him once again, though parts her lips in concern and narrows her eyes. "Uh... you okay?" When she receives a slightly confused expression, she clarifies, growing perplexed. "Your nose? It's bleeding."

Only then does he feel the warm, sticky substance drip down slowly until it reaches his lip, and he lifts the back of his hand up to wipe it away, unintentionally smearing it across his skin. "Oh, yeah, um." He uses his sleeve to get the rest of it off his face, though it proves fruitless when even more of the liquid crimson continues to run out of his nose. "This is— I mean, it's normal."

She furrows her eyebrows suspiciously, taking notice of the sudden nervousness present in his voice. "Really? It looks kinda..."

"No, no, it's fine." He takes a Kleenex out of his pocket and presses it to his nostril in an effort to slow the bleeding as he considers the height of the tree the both of them are sat in. "But... I should get going, before my mom, uh... worries." He twists his body around until his foot is securely settled on a tree branch to his right, and he begins to climb down.

"Uh, yeah... okay." She watches him skillfully maneuver from tree branch to tree branch, never missing a beat and moving at a pace faster than she could ever dream of. She hadn't observed his actions when he first followed her up the tree, too busy focusing on not slipping and breaking her neck. Now that she's paying attention, she finds herself intrigued. "You're pretty good at that. Were there trees where you come from?" It's a bit of a strangely-worded question, though she figures it gets the point across well enough.

He jumps to the ground and looks up at her, shrugging and once again being pressured to wipe the blood away from his face. "There was a really nice one a while back, but lightning hit and destroyed it during a storm." She hums in response, realizing that he likely can't hear it from the ground due to the distance between the two of them. A faint buzzing sound erupts through her ears, and she swats at the air, her first guess being that a fly or bee found its way to her and decided to test her patience.

"You can find your way back, right?" She raises her voice, hoping that he's able to understand her. Thankfully, he nods in confirmation.

"Yeah, I'm good." The buzzing continuously grows louder, and as a result, she jerks her head from side to side, trying to get a look at whatever pesky insect decided to torment her and put a stop to it, but she fails to see anything. "Can you find your way back?" She runs a hand through her hair to see if there's something nestled inside, though to her relief, doesn't find anything.

"Nah, I came all the way out here without knowing where I was going." He releases a light chuckle, noticing her sudden change in behavior and craning his neck farther back to get a better look at her.

"Something wrong?" The buzzing only grows louder, and it becomes more difficult to hear what he's saying clearly, though she manages and presses a hand to her ear.

"I-I think it's just a bug or somethin'." As the obnoxious noise increases, a headache presents itself, and she taps her temple with the heel of her hand to get a handle on what she's hearing. At the same time, Jack's chest starts to tingle with a familiar ominous feeling and his gaze falls to the trees around him, searching for the source frantically as apprehension dawns on his face.

Thinking now would be an acceptable time to get out of the tree before she ends up falling into the water, she carefully scoots toward the trunk, hoping the sound will dissipate if she gets away from whatever's nest she mistakenly disturbed. She glances down at Jack, her vision becoming strained for unknown reasons, and lets out a startled gasp at what she sees.

His skin seems to have darkened to an unnatural tone, looking more like an ashen grey than the pale ivory that it was previously, and in place of his eyes are black, endless sockets with some type of thick substance that steadily leaks down his cheeks.

It's an alarming sight indeed, but before she can say anything about it, her vision becomes clearer and she notices that he looks just like himself, again. That was... weird. She grasps a branch, still attempting to clear the headache and unpleasant buzzing as she cautiously makes her own way down the tall tree. I must be going crazy.

Her sight is obscured once again, making her blink to try and rid herself of the blurriness. She shakes her head as the buzzing turns from bearable to unexplainably harsh, greatly disorienting her as a wave of dizziness strikes her body. Her grip tightens around the branches that are currently supporting her weight, and she leans into the tree, not willing to move and risk falling to the ground below.

"Jack... how many feet would you say I had to brave before I reach the bottom?" She only asks because she fears looking down would cause her to lose her balance. Through the thick droning, she hears only silence. Maybe he didn't hear me. "Jack?" She makes a point to speak louder to ensure that she's discerned, but still, he doesn't respond, and she bites her lip nervously. Don't tell me he left. "Jack?"

"Y-yeah, no, you're not far. Could probably jump if you wanted." Tension is released from her chest, and she wills her body to calm down. She doesn't catch how his voice wavers anxiously as he knots his eyebrows together, not looking away from the forest and what it may hold within.

She lets out a breath that she means to reassure her, though it only makes her hands shake as she every so slowly descends further down, her feet staying locked on whichever branches she blindly steps on to act as her support system. Hey, this isn't so bad. Just take it slow... and you'll be down in no time. It's a piece of cake.

But she thinks too soon, for not three seconds later, an invisible force latches itself around her shoulders, and before she can even react, she's being pushed away from the tree. Her fingers untangle themselves and her feet lose their place, shock traveling through her mind and making her briefly paralyzed. She feels her heart skip a beat as her breathing momentarily stops, eyes snapping shut and brain in a frenzy. All she can think about is hitting the ground. Smashing her head on a rock. Breaking her arm. Twisting her leg. A stick being stabbed through her back and impaling her.

The outcomes seem endless as gravity forces her body closer and closer to the ground, but instead of dying and going to heaven, she feels strong arms loop themselves under her own, not stopping her legs from colliding rather hard with the ground but cradling her torso and cushioning her head with a sturdy chest.

Her heart still runs what feels like a thousand beats per second, and the world around her slowly starts moving again. Her mind is able to comprehend what happened fairly quickly, and she cracks her eyes open, gaze moving up and landing on Jack's face, sunlight from above darkening the edges and making it seem as if he's glowing a bright yellow. She expects him to look startled, if not slightly amused, but is taken off-guard when she instead sees that a concerned, distraught expression is etched across his admittedly handsome features.

She feels something wet drip onto her cheek, just below her eye, and assumes it to be some of the blood from his nose, therefore doesn't make it her first priority to wipe it away for fear of seeming rude. His eyes nervously shift around the two of them as he hurriedly pulls her to her feet, keeping a hand on her shoulder until she's stable. Her hand grips the tree trunk as her body is hit by another overwhelming dizzy spell, content that the buzzing in her ears has stilled and mentally praying that the headache will go away.

"You okay?" She rubs the side of her head gently, trying to soothe the pain and nods.

"I think so. Thanks, Jack." With that same hand, she discreetly swipes it along her cheek, removing the blood that was oozing without much thought and glancing down at it. What she sees confuses her, and she brings her hand closer to her face to get a better look. What is now smeared across her skin is a rich, tar-like solidity, similar to what she 'saw' coming out of his eyes, or lack thereof. But that isn't possible. Maybe it's just such a deep scarlet that causes it to look unusually dark.

Feeling a bit disgusted but more so befuddled, she wipes it on the tree and gets the majority off of her hand. Who bleeds black blood? She knows for a fact that the liquid coming from his nose before looked thin and was a bright red, so what changed about it? Perhaps it's only her perception; after all, she isn't exactly in the best shape right now, mentally or physically. So she turns to ask him about that very thing, only to blink in surprise when she finds he isn't there.

She takes a couple of unsteady strides forward to see if he's hiding behind a tree, or somehow blending in incredibly well, though she isn't successful. "Jack?" She glances around, toward the trail they followed to get here, but again, she's unable to see him anywhere. "Jack!" A feeling of urgency fills her heart, urgency about what though, she hasn't a clue. He was about to leave, but she expected a goodbye of sorts, not a sudden disappearance. Besides, she would have heard him leave, right? He was just right behind her. Where could he have gone so quickly? "Jack, is this a prank?"

A brief cough exits her mouth, but she doesn't pay it any mind, too focused on finding the boy. She stumbles toward the path, bending over and rinsing the goop off of her hand in the river water beside her but being careful not to topple over into it. Another cough, this one more forced, and she clutches at her head to ease the pain each one brings. Looking down the length of the path, she sees nobody, which greatly confuses her.

"Jack! Seriously, are you hiding?" A moment later she presses her mouth into her arm to conceal the strained coughs that now steadily erupt from within and tries to catch her breath. "Jack—" This time she's cut off as another violent hack comes from her throat, leaving it scratchy and her desperate. She doubles over and shuts her eyes tightly, bearing the turmoil that her body is suddenly putting her through for unknown reasons.

Her stomach grows queasy and her head throbs, stressed tears brimming her eyes as the coughs only worsen after each second. Before she can even grasp what's happening, her legs collapse and she falls straight to the grassy terrain below, fighting for any breath of oxygen that she can possibly get only to come up empty every time. The tears now fall, streaming across the bridge of her nose all the way down to the tip before dropping.

Her fingers withdraw and clutch handfuls of dirt as her body shakes vigorously, though not from fear, merely from distress. Her mind is in a haze of agony, making her hyper-focus on one thing only; breathing. She feels as if her organs have become detached and are going to spew from her mouth any second, and a fierce burning sensation in her lungs makes her gag as stomach acid arises, dribbling down her lip. Her hacking is combined with pained sobbing, her condition only getting more gut-wrenching the longer it continues, all the while that same unpleasant buzzing never quiets and abuses her ears with its shrill pitch.

Her stomach convulses and sends half-digested food up through her body, and consequently, she retches and it gets spit right below her face. The discomfort fogging her mind begins to dissipate, and the hacking she was forced to suffer through comes to an abrupt stop, finally allowing her to suck in a deep breath of air that her body has been struggling to grasp. A few more light coughs come out of her mouth, and she rolls on her side, trying to recover as she gasps for much-needed oxygen.

Her muscles loosen themselves in relief, and she lets out a quiet cry, a mixture of both alleviation and affliction. She lays there for around five minutes, gathering her bearings and recuperating from the unforeseen exertion, before taking in a soft breath and fluttering her eyes open. The terrible droning, at once, fades away and gives her a chance to get her thoughts straight. She weakly pushes herself up, unable to stop from looking down at the pile of acid, regurgitated food, and blood laying on the grass that her body pushed out.

She gently places her hand on her sore, scratchy throat and massages it, hoping to soothe a bit of the pain, if not all of it, and trying not to have a panic attack over the fact that she nearly hacked her very own lungs out not seven minutes ago. Stray tears dribble down her warmed cheeks and she wipes saliva from her chin, finding the strength eventually to stand to her feet and begin her slow, thoughtful trek back to her grandparents' cottage.

___

His feet feel almost weightless as he runs at high speeds, far higher than what the average person could ever go, his body twisting whenever necessary to ensure he doesn’t accidentally slam into one of the hundreds of trees around him. His mask is now pushed back over his face and hiding the dark grey tone of his skin and the sharp rows of teeth in his mouth, though his empty sockets remain visible.

The tingling in his chest begins to lessen the farther away he gets from the river, but he doesn’t take it as a sign to slow down. Instead, he quickens his pace, avoiding the thick foliage, leaping over a fallen tree, and sliding down a small hill, in a hurry to make it back. He fears the worst could happen if he were to stop.

Easily navigating through the familiar forest and toward Hoody’s house, his lungs aren’t even starting to get tired and his legs aren’t yet begging for a break, only a few of the advantages of being a literal demon. Even in a rush, he still somehow manages to be stealthy, so much so that nobody could hear him unless they were listening extra closely. The area around him lacks most of its natural color through his perspective, and even a bit of its shape, but that only means his hearing, among other senses, are keener and are able to detect threats from far off.

He can see the scenery that surrounds him, though the details leave quite a bit to be desired. The black, slimy tears continuously cascade down his navy-blue mask and fall to the ground beneath his boots; it would be pointless trying to keep them at bay. He learned this long ago, and now it doesn’t even cross his mind.

Finally, the old cabin comes into view, camouflaged by weeds, low-hanging vines, and overgrown grass, making the perfect place to take residence in. He sprints until he’s at the front door, and knocks swiftly, clearly frantic and in need of attention. He knows that the man must be there, for he was the one who told Jack to report back to him when he was finished with the assigned task, and he’s been gone for several hours at this point, so he must be expecting him back soon.

To his relief, it only takes a minute before the door swings open, revealing the tall man— though shorter in comparison to Jack— clad in a mustard-brown hoodie and black and red ski mask standing in the entrance of his home sweet home. He tilts his head up at him, narrowing his eyes though it can’t be seen from behind the stretchy piece of cloth covering his face and any emotion he may otherwise show.

After a moment, he nods in silent greeting and steps to the side, giving Jack room to walk into the house as Hoody closes the door behind them. He turns to face him once again, leaning casually against the door frame and studying Jack’s body language. “What’d you find out?”

His sentence is short and straight-to-the-point, not surprising Jack in the least. Hoody was never one to stretch things out; he’d much rather just hear what needs to be said using as few words as possible. Jack allows his muscles to relax slightly, now eased by the knowledge that he’s currently in a safer area than he was previously, and quickly collects his thoughts.

“It’s worse than I thought,” he starts, voice muffled by the mask shrouding his face. “He wants her and he wants her soon. If we’re gonna do something about it we need to act quickly, otherwise, it’s a lost cause.” Hoody crosses his arms in understanding, processing the information that his trusted companion is delivering to him.

“Do you know where she lives?” Jack shakes his head.

“No, but she told me that she’s here visiting family. She’ll be leaving eventually, if she’s not gotten to, first.”

“What family?”

“Grandparents. You know that couple that got murdered a while back?” He receives a curt nod in response. “Apparently, they were her relatives. Aunt and uncle.”

“They had a kid.”

“Yeah, Wyatt Colson. Adopted. He was her cousin.” Jack shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, waiting through a brief silence before speaking again. “They were close, she and him.”

“Did you get her name?”

“Y\n L\n.” Hoody pulls his phone out of his jeans, focusing on the screen as he scrolls his contacts and looks for one labeled ‘Ben’, clicking on it and shooting him a quick text telling him the girl’s name and to research her immediately. He gets an effortless ‘yup’ soon after, and stuffs his phone back in his pocket, turning his attention back on Jack for more information.

“How old is she?”

“Young. Only sixteen.” Jack subconsciously bounces on the heels of his shoes, though the action is barely noticeable and disregarded by Hoody, who keeps his gaze locked onto the boy’s masked face. “She was nice. Something was definitely troubling her, though. I could feel it.”

“So she’s emotionally vulnerable. That makes her easy bait.”

“Maybe. He was messing with her head, but she was trying to resist it.” Jack remembers her odd behavior before he left, and he recalls feeling pressure in his mind as she gripped at her hair. She looked distraught, though he could sense that she wasn’t giving into the fog of thoughts her mind was likely being covered in at the time. Not easily.

“What do you think about it?” he asks, and Jack considers the question a short moment.

“I think she may stand a chance. From what she told me, she seems to come from a more or less broken family. All the more fire to fuel her hate. That could be a good or a bad thing.”

“We’ll see what Ben’s results are, then make a final decision.” Jack nods, not quite wanting to just forget about her and let her fall victim to the inevitable like so many others before her. He senses potential, something that isn’t very common for them. He would be less than content to just brush her aside as if she was simply meaningless to all of them, knowing they could have helped, possibly saved a soul from eternal torment and what could be referred to as slavery.

He is well aware that it would be a big risk, bringing another person to their base after so many years of isolation, and he knows it could easily result in catastrophe. But he isn’t very doubtful about this particular case; he saw no reason to be when he was speaking with her. She seemed innocent enough, then again, it’s always the ‘innocent’ ones that end up stabbing you in the back.

All he knows is that if they’re going to do something, they need to do it soon, because she’s in immediate danger, and he has a feeling she doesn’t even realize it. She won’t until it’s too late.

___

Her eyes drift up from the dirt to the familiar cottage that she’s grown acquainted with during the past few days, and she releases a shaky breath, the action itself causing her mild pain in the back of her throat. God, water sounds so refreshing right now. She walks closer, only noticing her grandfather sitting on the porch when she reaches the gateway and avoids direct eye contact. She knows that he’s going to try and speak to her, especially considering the conversation this morning, and she wants to dodge that until she feels a bit more like herself.

She’s still totally puzzled at what happened over an hour ago and has wracked her brain for answers, only to fail each time. Maybe she just caught the stomach flu? But stomach flues make you throw up, not cough until you feel like you’ll explode at any moment. Perhaps something got caught in her throat and triggered her gag reflex? Highly doubtful. Gag reflex doesn’t work like that.

She forces a fleeting smile across her face as she draws nearer, but drops the act once she sees that his eyes are closed, his lips are parted, and soft snores exit his mouth as his head is leaned comfortably against the wall behind him. Oh good. He’s asleep.

Hopefully, she can sneak in undetected by her grandmother, who is most likely up at this point in the day and well aware of her surroundings. She steps quietly onto the porch and grips the handle of the screen door, pulling it open and cringing when it makes a long, drawn-out squeak in response. She glances at Pops in concern, shoulders relaxing when she sees him still dozed off.

Her facial expression twists into one of agitation as she opens the second door, this time with less caution, and walks inside, knowing that her Nana had to have heard that obnoxious noise. Her hearing is relatively better than her husband’s, after all. Her gaze shifts toward the living room, biting the inside of her cheek when she catches a glimpse of her grandmother sitting on the recliner beside the couch, glasses on and attention directed at the book in her hands.

She doesn’t seem to have noticed Y\n come inside, much to her relief, and she looks at the staircase directly ahead of her, glancing in-between Nana and it as she silently closes the door and wonders if she can pull this off. It’s only a few feet away, but Nana would surely see her walking and be interested in a conversation. The very thing that Y\n desperately wants to avoid for the time being.

She swallows, inwardly wincing at the discomfort that radiates from the back of her throat, and carefully moves forward, hoping beyond hope that Nana won’t spot her. “Oh, hi, Y\n.” The girl freezes, turning her gaze back toward Farrah and meeting her eyes regretfully. “You were out a while, this time. Almost five hours.”

She nods, not wanting to speak unless absolutely necessary, at least not until she gets ahold of some pain relievers. The elderly woman tilts her head forward, setting the book in her lap and giving her granddaughter her full attention.

“I didn’t know you could cook.” Y\n’s eyebrows knit together in confusion before she pieces it together in her head and allows a knowing expression to form across her face. After hearing the silence, Nana speaks, again. “It was good, Y\n. Thank you.” She hums in reply, wanting to leave it at that, however, when she starts walking up the stairs, she hears her grandmother’s voice. “Are you alright?”

She nods once more, making her exit quick and shuffling up the staircase, stopping only when she reaches her room. She grabs her bag and digs through it, eventually grasping a plastic bag filled with various medicine that she thought was appropriate to bring along with her, just in case. She pulls out the bottle labeled ‘Tylenol’ and unscrews the cap, pouring two of the red, blue, and white capsules into her palm before putting their container back into the bag.

She grabs her water bottle and, after a moment of hesitation, swallows the medicine without much trouble, taking a sip of water afterward to subdue the pain a bit. She then sits on her bed, hands tangling themselves in her hair as she tries to hold the weight of stress on her shoulders. It still feels hard for her to fully process, everything does, really. She almost wants to cry again, but refrains, mainly because it would only cause her greater physical pain, and that’s one of the last things she wants right now.

The sun shining in through her window hits her back and warms her insides, bringing her a sense of consolation. It will be okay. It has to be, right? She will get through these trials. She can handle them. Can’t she?

A quiet whimper forces itself from her mouth, and she covers her face in an effort to compose herself. Why me? Why now? She hears her phone chime from her pocket, indicating she just received a text. That’s strange. Nobody ever cares enough to text her anymore. Growing curious and wanting to focus on anything other than her pathetically devastating situation, she slides it out and presses the sleep button, quickly typing out the password and going to her messages.

Unknown number? She blinks and wipes away a tear before it’s able to fall from her eye, looking down at the glowing screen and clicking on the contact. It reads, “Yo, is this Y\n?”

“What the…” She can’t help but mutter, ignoring the twinge of pain it causes and furrowing her eyebrows in bemusement. Is it somebody from school? Her thoughts then turn to Jack, though she shakes her head in disregard, deciding that it wouldn’t be possible. We never exchanged numbers.

After staring at her phone for two minutes straight, she sends a message back, almost certain that somebody from her school somehow got her number from one of her friends. Or, well, ‘acquaintances’, at this stage in her life. “Yes… with whom am I speaking?”

She waits for a response, tapping her finger against her leg absentmindedly and gazing through the window. Her e\c eyes land on the treeline, halfway expecting to see something standing outside. It reminds her of when she awoke last night and saw that mysterious, eerie figure posing at the edge of the forest, its creepy white mask standing out in the dark of the night.

Even after several minutes, she doesn't get a response, and she comes to the conclusion that it's likely a prank, no matter how strange and abrupt it is, and tosses her phone on her bed, choosing to forget about it. A movement in the doorway draws her awareness, and she turns her head in that direction, raising her eyebrows when she sees Nana standing there with a commiserate expression painted across her wrinkled features.

"Sweetheart..." Y\n cranes her neck to the side and parts her lips, beginning to feel the Tylenol take effect and lessen the aching in her throat.

"Nana?" Farrah rubs the back of her neck, almost nervously, as she walks farther into the room. "Is... something wrong?"

"Your grandpa told me what happened this morning... I'm sorry, baby." She makes her way beside Y\n, sitting on the bed and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Y\n's posture slumps as she realizes what she's referring to, and her gaze shifts down to her lap. She twiddles her fingers, sensing the tension in the air between the two of them. "Are you gonna be okay?"

She waits a moment, thinking over her reply. She doesn't want to worry her, besides, she's positive this has been extremely hard on Nana and Pops, much harder than it could have ever been on her. That was their daughter, their grandchild. And that, on top of already having lost their son to ridiculous family disagreements? And not having the emotional support of anybody but themselves? It makes her feel terrible for them.

"Yeah..." She clears her throat, looking anywhere in the room but Nana, and fighting the tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks. "Y-yeah, I'll be fine. It's... fine." Her voice cracks, and she feels Farrah's fingers ghost through her hair to calm her down, console her in some way.

"Hun, if you need to talk, or anything else, you can come to me. I know it's a lot of... hard information to process, and so suddenly, too." She only nods wistfully, not even trying to mask the hurt on her face, anymore. Nana notices and gives her a quick hug before standing to her feet and exiting the room, leaving the girl sitting alone once again, with a heavy heart and an uncanny suspicion that things are about to get even more dreadful from here on out.

[nervousmendes]

Drunken Haze | Shawn Mendes

Shawn x reader (smut)

a/n: this was a failed attempt at writing smut for the first time. (it's very mild, mostly just sexual tension and making out) do check out more of my work on my masterlist right here

summary: Shawn sees the reader at a bar and makes a move.

warnings: mild smut (making out) and very little swearing

Cez does his fair share of research when it comes to choosing a bar to spend the night at, and when you're in Paris (yes, with a French accent) it's totally worth it. Brian walked in first, Shawn and Cez not far behind. "Man I'm so getting shit-faced in here." he sighed as the three of them observed the fancy lights, furniture and wall hangings, taking in the scent of alcohol and cigerettes suspended in in the warm air of the closed space. Cez being the only bright one in the three, quickly spotted an empty booth in the lounge but Shawn's eyes fell straight on a blond haired women, her black dress hugging her hips so well and her toned legs crossed one over the other while she tipped her head back, letting the expensive wine in the glass she was holding flow into her system.

There was something about her that intrigued him. Maybe it was the confidence she radiated, the way she sat with her back poised, the way her silky hair flowed down her shoulders or maybe it had something to do with how her skin glowed in the dim lighting. He felt the urge to approach her, like she pulled him towards her. And it was as if his legs knew what his heart wanted when they started making calculated steps towards the bar counter that she was facing. His thoughts went every which way trying to figure out what to say as he took the stool exactly beside her's, completely ignoring the five (or more) empty stools on his other side.

"Hey." He internally patted himself on the back for sounding a lot more confident than he actually was.

"Do I know you?" Her face broke into a polite smile, and her thick french accent dripped with the words she spoke out of her red stained lips.

"Maybe?"

Too cocky.

"You don't give me a businessman vibe." She said looking at him from head to toe. Looking. She saw the black denim that covered his toned legs, his satin, white shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and the little scar on his cheek that gave his soft facial features a more rugged look. Shawn watched her keenly. His hand went to his hair, fingers pushing a stray curl out of his eye.

"What makes you think I'm a businessman?" He turned in his stool and rested his arm on the bar counter to make her shift her vision from his face to his forearm that flexed under the thin fabric.

"They're usually the cocky ones." He was searching for what to say slightly taken aback by the fact that someone found him cocky, considering that no one has ever called him that before, not in a bad way. He wasn't offended, just surprised. In fact he liked that the whole 'be confident' thing was working.

"But you seem nice, I'll give you that." She chuckled while twirling the empty wine glass in her small hand.

"Will you let me buy you your next drink?"

She considered it, and almost nodded yes for affirmation but then her brows drew in an L shape. "I think I've already had too much to drink." She was mentally trying to count how many times the bartender filled her glass with Chartreuse.

"So why don't you tell me your name, mysterious, handsome, American man?" She said leaning close to him. The already deep cut neck line of her dress plunged down even further, dangerously low, making Shawn draw in a sharp breath through his mouth.

"I love mysterious and handsome, but I'm actually Canadian." He narrowed his eyes at her with a smirk and she couldn't help but smile.

"And nice to meet you, I'm Shawn. Et toi?"

"I can tell you skipped your french classes often back in school." She broke into a chuckle, making Shawn grin right back at her, his face very close to hers.

"You know nothing about me, but I'm afraid this one's true." He whispered, his minty breath fanning her face. She laughed again while placing her hand on Shawn's toned bicep that was rested on the countertop.

"You're funny." Her gaze burned into him.

"I wasn't even trying." Liar.

"I'm guessing that's a lie." They never broke eye contact.

"For someone that guesses a lot, you're pretty accurate."

"You know nothing about me." She said just like he did a minute ago, her lips almost grazing his making sure to not touch them. What a tease.

"How about," the tips of his calloused fingers went to her bare shoulder, "I start with knowing what those pretty lips of yours taste like?" and stroked the soft, supple skin on her arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

"That's a good start." She inched closer.

"So is that a yes?"

Instead of giving him an answer, she touched his lips with hers, hands going to either side of his neck. He covered her mouth with his, tasting the expensive alcohol she had been drinking all night. He nudged closer to get a better angle, his large hands taking purchase on her waist. Their tongues danced with each other's, deepening the kiss. He moaned under his breath when she licked the roof of his mouth, and he used that as an opportunity to suck on her lower lip. Her nails scratched his scalp, tangling her fingers in his long, soft curls and she quickly figured how much he liked it from the way he kissed her harder in response to tugging his hair. She broke the kiss for air, he assumed but then when he pulled her in again, she opened her mouth to speak.

"I live only ten minutes away, let's get out of here." She was breathing heavily. He nodded and gave her a quick kiss on the lips before getting off the stool and helping her down shortly after. He left a quick text to Brian asking them to carry on with whatever they were upto and rolled his eyes at Brian's response telling him to "not bust that nut too quick". They got in an Uber and sat beside each other, lips red and swollen, breath heavy, and their thoughts everywhere. They didn't say a word to each other. They didn't know what to say but they were both trying to reach out for some sort of connection. She cleared her throat in an attempt to gather the right words before she spoke. Her eyes were set on her hands that played with the hem of her dress.

"Is now a good time to tell you.." He looked up at her, signalling for her to go on. She gulped, "that I actually know who you are, and I acted like I didn't because I didn't want you think of me as someone who would see you as an object just because you're a celebrity." She made air quotes on the word 'celebrity', like it was such a weird thing to say, a word that gives a human, with a little fame they never knew was coming their way, the title of an object.

"That is the best decision you ever made. If I knew you knew I'm sure I wouldn't even have made a move. You have no idea how glad I am that you did that."

She finally dropped the hem of her dress and looked back at him through her long eyelashes. That was it, there was no holding back anymore. Shawn's lips crashed into hers and she kissed his mouth back with that much force, curling her fingers into the collar of his shirt. His one hand went around her waist, palm flat against the small of her back, and the other was tangled in her beautiful, blond locks.

Their lips didn't leave other's even while unlocking the door, and just like you see in the movies, they kissed their way into her bedroom until Shawn's legs hit the cot and his butt landed on the soft spring mattress of her bed. She kicked off her heels and threw one leg to his other side, her knees on either side of his legs, straddling him. His hands slid down from her waist to fill his palms with the flesh of her toned bum. He cooed as he kneaded them with every movement she made sitting right on top his hard-on that strained his tight denims. Shawn drew his lips away from her mouth to leave wet kisses down her jawline and along the expanse of her throat. He attached his lips to the spot under her ear and sucked on the skin there, causing a shivering moan to tumble down her plump lips. He explored her neck and her chest with his hungry lips, tasting the lavender flavour of the soap she lathered on herself earlier that evening. Somewhere along kissing and a lot of exploring later, all the clothing they helped each other get rid of were scattered on the floor, sweat covered bodies moulding and crashing to give each other the climax they longed for.

(I cannot write smut for shit so I cut the crap out and got to the point.)

She woke up to the warmth of the sun shining on her golden skin through the half drawn blinds, feeling a mild headache from all that she had to drink the previous night. That's when she remembered him. She jutted her head out of her pillow to see that his clothes weren't on the floor anymore. She shifted under the sheets to find an empty bed beside her and a post it note neatly placed in the centre, exactly where he slept. She took it in her hand, squinting until she could read what it said.

Sorry, I left without saying goodbye. I'm playing a show today and I have to be there early. Last night was really fun. x

- S.M

Her lips formed a shy smile and her cheeks were tinged a shade of red as she recollected the events of last night. She folded the piece of paper in her hand contemplating whether she had to throw it or save it. She looked down at it one more time, and that's when she noticed that something was written on the other side. She turned the post-it around, to find a phone number written on it and under it he'd written, "maybe I'm glad I didn't say goodbye".

She laughed to herself, carefully placing the paper in her journal, already excited by the idea of seeing him again. She met Shawn less than twenty four hours ago and hardly knew anything about him, but there something about him that drew her in, made her want to get to know him better and of course feel that pretty mouth of his between her legs once again.

_______________________________________________

I'm thinking maybe I'll do a part 2 to this so let me know what you think. Hope you liked this one. Reply to this or leave me a message if you want to get added to my taglist!!

[moonstruckbucky]

Come Over (4/7)

Summary: You’re new to New York City. Fresh out of post-grad and wanting a change of pace, and this change comes in more ways than one.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader. Neighbor AU.

Warnings for Chapter: A lot of cursing, a lot of italics, and a lot of football talk. (Ya girl’s a NE fan so.)

Series Masterlist //  Main Masterlist

“Bucky, Sharon, this is my brother Clint and my best friend, Sam.”

The words are acrid as you say them, your throat constricting as if it wants to choke them back down. But you don’t, and you ignore Sam’s pointed look when you mention the words “Bucky’s girlfriend”.

Following your embarrassing event in the hallway, face aflame, you’d repeated your question, this time directing it at both of them rather than just Bucky. Sharon had agreed, and though you plastered on a smile, there was a sinking feeling in your gut. She’s nice enough, from what you’ve seen so far. But there’s an underlying tension between you.

At Clint’s, she plants herself between you and Bucky every chance she gets—in the kitchen as you socialize and on the couch when the game starts. You’re not dumb; you know she feels some sort of discomfort with you and Bucky being friendly with one another, and you idly wonder if this is who he’s always arguing on the phone with.

At first it’s uncomfortable sitting beside her and not saying a word, but then the beer and the excitement of the game kicks in and you kind of forget she’s there, she's so quiet. You, on the other hand, are on your feet with your brother and Sam and surprisingly Bucky, all yelling obscenities and orders at the players on the screen.

“Where’s the fucking flag?” you holler, gesturing at the TV. When the game continues with no penalty, you and Sam collectively groan. “Helmet to helmet and there’s no goddamn flag? These fucking refs!”

“That’s what you get when you support cheaters,” boasts Clint with a smirk. Bucky whistles lowly as you slowly turn a murderous glare to your brother.

“Careful, brother,” you warn, leaning across Sharon, who leans back as if you have an infectious disease, to point threateningly at Clint. “Don’t start a war you can’t finish.”

Clint cups his hands around his mouth and taunts, “My sister supports the Cheatriots.”

“Listen,” you say, rising from your seat again to tower over the group. Sam has his arms crossed and a look that says you’re gonna get it, Bucky watches on with wide, curious eyes, Sharon looks as if she’d rather be anywhere else, and Clint merely waits with a teasing smirk and his arms crossed. “Spygate? Witch hunt. Honest mistake, whatever. It was bullshit. And goddamn, motherfucking Snowplowgate was a pathetic excuse at cheating. And Deflategate was the biggest crock of shit to ever grace the NFL. Clearly nobody at that piece of shit organization has any idea what a goddamn fucking gas law is or how it even works! “May have been aware”—bullshit! Brady missed four games and they still won the goddamn Super Bowl.  The Patriots haven’t done anything any more sacrilegious than any other team in the NFL. They just get the most shit because they have integrity and they win. Six rings, asshole, count em and eat shit.”

Sam mimes a mic drop and a glance at Bucky shows he’s impressed, eyebrows raised high and icy blue eyes sparkling. Sharon looks between the two of you and you feel your face heat. Clearing your throat, you scoop up your beer, drain it, and step around the couch to head towards the kitchen.

“Excuse me.”

Unsurprisingly, Clint has followed you in; you can hear Sam and Bucky talking and laughing through the entryway. He leans against the counter next to the fridge as you dig around, shove a few chips from the bowl in your mouth.

“So I think Bucky just fell in love.”

You nearly choke on your chip as you sharply inhale. Coughing harshly, you wash it down with your newly opened beer and wait for your eyes to stop watering.

“Excuse me?”

Clint smirks and shrugs. “You heard me. Home boy looked about ready to propose.”

He’s speaking low enough that you won’t be heard, but still you crane your neck to look over his shoulder into the living room. Bucky and Sam are now sitting side by side on the couch, Sharon on the end scrolling through her phone. None of them seem to have heard anything.

You grunt. “You’re full of shit.”

He grins and shakes his head once. “With the way he was looking at you? No way.”

“I think you need your eyes checked, brother.” 

“Oh are we discussing the way Bucky practically undressed Y/N with his eyes after her tirade?” chimes Sam as he enters the kitchen. You hurry to shush him, slapping a hand over his mouth as you cast another look into the living room. Bucky and Sharon sit stiffly on the couch, exchanging hushed but frenzied words if Sharon’s expression is anything to go by. Bucky’s shoulders are tense as he leans his elbows on his knees, the taut muscles straining against his navy long-sleeve. 

What you don’t notice is the look that passes between Sam and Clint, matching smirks curving their mouths as you watch Bucky and Sharon in the midst of an obvious argument. You chew the inside of your cheek as Bucky leans back into the couch, shoulders relaxing, but only slightly. Sighing through your nose, you turn back to your brother and friend.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what we were discussing,” Clint finally answers with a cheeky little smile to which you roll your eyes.

“Whatever, guys. You both need your eyes checked. Pronto. Maybe your heads while you’re at it.” Behind you, they scoff, and you lead the way out of the kitchen.

Even without having witnessed an argument between the couple, you can feel the tension. Fortunately, halftime is over and the game resumes, just barely cutting through the negative atmosphere. Soon, you, Sam, Clint, and Bucky are all yelling at the television again.

Halfway through the fourth quarter, it’s a tie game and Sharon’s phone goes off. She checks it and begins to rise from the couch.

“I have some work to do,” she announces, shoving her phone back in her jacket pocket. She turns to Bucky, “We should go.”

He looks imploringly up at her and gestures to the TV with his beer. “There’s only eight minutes left. Can we stay? Or I’ll catch up to you? I just want to stay to the end.”

It unsettles you, the way he asks her, the trepidation in his voice. As if she were a bomb about to go off and not a person. You keep your gaze averted but your ears are open, as are Sam’s and Clint’s.

“I really think it’d be easier if you and I left together, James. I’m sure Y/N will tell you the outcome later.”

Though you can’t pinpoint why, the tone in which she says this has your grip tightening on your bottle. Just a fraction so that it’s unnoticed. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Bucky stare her down for a few beats too long before he sighs, sets down his beer a little harder than intended on the coffee table, and stands up.

Disappointment floods you, and you hope it doesn’t show on your face when Bucky announces they have to leave. Sharon’s watching him like a hawk when he says goodbye to Clint, Sam, and finally, you, leaning over you to hug you—if you can call it that. He barely touches you, and you know it must be because Sharon’s narrowing her eyes at the two of you. He straightens, shoulders and smile stiff, and then the two of them are gone.

“Aight,” Sam says a few moments later in the quiet of the living room, “I’m just gonna say it, she’s such a bitch.”

“Wow, she sounds like a bitch,” Wanda observes the next day at work. You’re on lunch in the cafe on the bottom floor, and you’d told her all about your interesting weekend. Like your brother and Clint, she’s convinced Bucky has a thing for you despite his...wonderful girlfriend. 

“You’re telling me. Obviously she’s got some insecurity issues going on. She would not let me near him at all. I thought she was going to burn holes in my head when he hugged me goodbye.”

Wanda grimaces and sticks a French fry in her mouth. “Yikes. You said you hear him arguing a lot? You think it’s with her?”

Snorting, you nod with an incredulous expression. “I’m almost positive it’s her. I can never hear exactly what he’s saying, but if yesterday was anything to go by, they fight a lot. Poor Bucky. He’s always so nice. How could he be with someone so...not?”

“Maybe they weren’t always like that, you know? Maybe this is all a recent development.”

You hum thoughtfully, eyes losing focus as you zone out for a few minutes. Your Stark watch beeps, signalling the end of your lunch. Sighing, you stand up from your seat and Wanda follows. After dumping your trash, you head back to the elevator.

Truth is, you feel bad for Bucky. And for Sharon...kind of. But only in the way that something has happened to her to make her see anyone and everyone as a threat to their relationship. It isn’t healthy, and you know Bucky’s smart enough to know it, too. But what could you do? You aren’t close enough with him to advise him to end it, and sitting idly by while she controls him feels wrong.

You think so much and so hard about it you get a headache. Fortunately, you have enough work on your plate to keep yourself occupied.

Later that evening, back in your apartment, you’re about to settle in for the new Dateline episode with a glass of wine when an all-too-recognizable moan is heard through the shared wall of yours and Bucky’s apartments. You grimace at the same time your heart drops, and you pull heavily from the wine glass and turn up the TV.

If at all possible, Sharon seems to get louder, more high-pitched the higher your volume goes. 

Guess they made up, you type bitterly to Sam. Sharon’s wailing like a banshee.

You know it’s another territorial move on her part, and you can’t help but wonder if Bucky knows that as well. He’s far quieter, so much so you can’t even hear him over the whines of Sharon.

Your phone pings.

Awkward, Sam types back, need to escape?

Tempting. But I have an early start tomorrow.

Your date with Dateline gets cut short when they go for round two.

The next morning is...awkward, to say the least. Bucky’s dressed casually, no doubt for work, while Sharon hangs off him in the doorway. She’s giggling, and even Bucky has a grin on his face. When he notices you walking towards them, eyes pointed straight ahead because it’s awkward enough having heard them last night, his face goes bright red. You wait for the elevator, foot tapping and mind silently telling it to hurry the hell up because you really don’t want to be stuck in an elevator with Bucky.

But luck is not on your side and you hear his door close just as the elevator doors slide open. Bucky’s feet thud on the hallway carpet as he jogs to catch the elevator, and you’re almost ashamed to admit you very nearly press the ‘Door Close’ button on him. But he shoves an inked arm through and slides inside, leans against the wall adjacent to you.

He’s still as red as a tomato as he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at his boots. The air in the elevator tense and thick and it nearly makes you choke. Your heart thuds in your chest as you shift from foot to foot, even pull out your phone and scroll through social media in order to escape the awkwardness.

“I, uh, want to apologize if you heard us last night,” he stammers, that blush of his creeping down his neck and up to his ears. He’s rubbing the back of his neck when you glance over at him, give a small shrug to play it off like you’re indifferent. “Sharon can be...passionate.”

Internally, you wince. Didn’t really need to know that. But instead you respond with, “Glad you two seemed to work out whatever was up with you on Sunday.”

Bucky flinches and frowns deeply, taking to scratching at the light stubble on his jaw now. “You noticed that huh?”

He sighs when you nod. “Sharon’s…away for work a lot. It kind of puts a strain on things.”

For reasons unknown to you, you feel a small rise of irritation as the elevator touches down on the ground floor, and you sneer, “Well, I’m glad you both have the passion to sort out your issues.”

You can tell Bucky’s watching you wide-eyed and confused as you saunter out of the elevator, and even you can’t quite tell where the urge to snap at him had come from. His ignorance to acknowledge his girlfriend has security issues? The fact that he’d kept his neighbor up until almost midnight sorting out their issues? Or perhaps it’s just your unreasonable, growing jealousy that Sharon gets to know what he sounds like under those particular circumstances. Gets to see every expression that passes over his face or the way his body reacts to minute little teasing.

God, you’re so fucked.

Chapter Five