#Trying to depict the teeth of all things is what made it take so long jknrjkeh

[thedailyvio]

Day 218

[eclipseberrycake]

Poly! MoonBerryCake x Reader Pt. 7

AN: The long awaited part 7. Before anyone fears, no this isn't the end of the series don't you worry. I don't have many ideas for the next few parts, but I'm sure I'll think of something or one of you can help!

Also how do we feel about giving Reader a tail? /gen I have a few ideas I've been toying with with reader having a tail, but I don't want to cross the line between too self indulgent and reflecting of my character, rather than trying to be as inclusive as possible.

-> Part One -> Part Two -> Part Three -> Part Four -> Part Five -> Part Six -> Part Six 1/2

Warnings: Depictions of past trauma/ injury, past depictions of being turned into a Twisted/ seeing a loved one as a twisted/ recovering from being a Twisted, mentions of vomit, past depictions of losing a lost one, talk of scars (In a positive light, but just in case!)

☁ The first few nights were hard. So, so incredibly hard. Not by any fault of your own, oh absolutely not, but that didn't make the nights any less taxing or offer them anymore rest.

☁ There were a few times you offered tearfully to sleep in your old room so they could hopefully get some rest, each one shot down with a stern No'. The mere thought of having you out of their line of sight was more than their nerves could take, especially somewhere where they couldn't reach immediately? Hard Pass.

☁ The first night was by far the worst. Cosmo can't say he really remembers recovering from being a twisted, but there was one thing that stuck out for him during the entire process. And that was you. You were there the entire time, gently pressing cool cloths to his forehead, helping him sip water, even keeping saltine crackers on hand in case his temporarily fickle stomach decided that food was somewhat acceptable.

☁ You were the same with Astro and Sprout as well, ensuring the recovery, as awful as it was, was still as seamless as you could make it. If there was one thing he did remember about healing from being a twisted, is that he would never wish it upon another being. Much less you.

☁ The first night you're returned, you're rushed to med-bay as a flurry of commotion happens. Those left behind are eager to see if you've been returned, especially poor Toodles who took your turning hard. She's holding Blu when they rush past, tears in her large eyes, but Rodger is quick to turn her away.

☁ Sprout is already barking orders with Ginger meeting them halfway, first aid kit in hand. They had given you minimal attention in the ride up, but they didn't have the time, space or resources necessary to give you proper medical attention.

☁ It's a flurry of action that follows right after. Astro stays up by your head, wiping the ichor that stained your mouth and clumped your fur. His cheeks are shiny as he does it, shaking his head every now and then before continuing his actions.

☁ Cosmo barely remembers all he did that night, there was so much that needed done. That wound you had received from-...From when you turned into a twisted had never closed, the excess ichor from being a twisted keeping you alive. It was an awful, horrid thought, but not one they could ignore as Cosmo hurriedly worked alongside his cousin to close it. Sprout busied himself with working on the claw marks across your face you had made in your confused state. Every bit he seemed to do made his grimace deepen. He wasn't sure what the other was seeing, but currently wasn't certain he wanted to know during this moment.

☁ Your teeth still remained sharp as you groaned in pain throughout the process, hands reaching back up to swat at the insistent burden yanking on your wounds, only for them to be caught by Shelly, who had followed to offer her help.

☁ She had felt awful about the entire situation, regardless if you would've done it either way. Vee as well, though she stayed further back to avoid getting in the way. Shelly's tougher skin made her more resistant to your claws and slashes, so she was a welcome helper, even if it made the working space a bit more cramped.

☁ Seeing you hurt like that was an awful feeling. Cosmo remembers feeling the bile burn at the back of his throat that night, increasing in every little noise or whimper of pain you made. Even when the worst was handled, he had to step back for a moment, hiding in Astro's chest as Sprout continued wiping away what was left. The same grimace was on his features, one much more intense than what was usually there when he was in doctor mode.

☁ He didn't speak more on it until far after Shelly had taken her leave with a tearful well wishes. Even then, the berry had only dragged a chair closer, hiding his face in his hands. Neither Astro nor himself knew where to go from there, and that just made them feel all the more worse as you seemed to fall into a fitful unconsciousness.

☁ Cosmo wasn't sure if it counted as sleep, honestly, not with how you still shook.

☁ "They have so many scars." Sprout finally spoke up, voice wavering before it cracked as he smoothed back his leaves, letting them fall back into place. "They hide them under their fur. How did-..." Sprout swallowed tightly at this before looking up at them with teary eyes. "How did we miss that?"

☁ Neither waited for a moment further before rounding around the medical bed to wrap their arms around the berry. He was tricky when it came to emotions, especially since this entire thing began, flickering between anger and denial like a coin, to see him break down like that was rare.

☁ "It's easy to miss." Cosmo nearly choked on the words, tears welling in his eyes as he flickered between watching your chest rise and fall to the floor. There was a crack in one of the tiles. You'd want that fixed, so no one tripped. He'd make not of it later. "Their fur covers it-"

☁ "Is that really an excuse?" Sprout cuts back in, his own eyes watching you in the same clinical way Cosmo found himself doing it. "For the others maybe. But us?"

☁ Cosmo couldn't find any rebuttal, swallowing tightly. He knows he himself has spent countless hours with his fingers running along your fur, playing with the stands and drawing shapes against the grain of it. He just never really focused on the skin beneath because he truthfully didn't think too. Looking back, maybe that was on him. He should've done better, done something more-

☁ "I don't think anyone's at fault." Astro's comment cut through the sudden silence. He had been dreadfully silent since getting back from the run so to hear him sound so exhausted was...jarring. He always had a sleepy, tired lilt to his voice, but to hear it like that made Cosmo's tail curl tighter against his back.

☁ Silence fell again before Astro was continuing. "I think, to a degree, it would be...more questionable if they didn't have any. They've been doing this far longer than you, me or even Cosmo's been in the picture. We can't stop them, but we can support them however possible as we have been." Astro swallows for a moment, using a star shard to bring a box of tissues closer. He takes one, wiping under his eye before setting it to the side. "They will always be like this. They'll be our self-sacrificing idiot who doesn't know when to stop, but that's why we fell in love with them. We can't change them and I hope none of us would try. Their scars are part of who they are. We-...I love every part of them, even the parts they may not love as much. Those parts we just have to love a little extra."

☁ The words stand, nearly tangible in the air for a long while. He's right. There are very few times when Astro isn't, but it's a jarring notion to understand what you truly went through. Even Cosmo himself hadn't known how long you and Poppy and Boxten had been doing it since he wasn't even the first returned. No, by the time he had been recovered, Finn, Shrimpo and Rodger had been well acquainted parts of the group and you had become comfortable in your role as a distractor.

☁ He wonders just how much of the burden you've carried silently with you. He's terrified of the answer you'd give if he asked.

☁ "I do...I do love them." Sprout choked, as if that was ever being brought into question. "I just- What if they hurt? What if every time we ask them to distract they're just a constant reminder of every past failure to them? They've done so much for all of us. Who are we to ask anything more?"

☁ "Like Astro said, it's who they are. I think if they truly didn't want to distract, they wouldn't. And I hope they would feel safe enough to come to us if the scars were causing them pain." The first tear falls down Cosmo's cheek, which is quickly wiped with a star shard covered in a tissue. "I mean, for heaven's sake, they turned into a twisted to save Vee on a run to save Shelly. If that's not the most selfless thing I've seen, I don't know what is."

☁ "Truthfully, I think I rather would've dealt with Vee's Twisted then theirs." Astro deadpans only to immediately flush a navy blue as Sprout cackles, Cosmo hiding his own laughs behind a hand. Astro practically swallows his tongue as he's quick to try and amend it with, "Not that I would wish that on any of us!"

☁ Sprout shakes his head as he finally leans back, his own cheeks shiny- which the star shard tries to wipe at only to get swatted at, making Astro pout. Both of Sprout's arms reach around to hook around both Cosmo and Astro as he takes a final deep breath. "We'll talk with them. Maybe now they'll see reason. Because yeah. I'm not dealing with that again."

☁ "They were so scary!" Cosmo whines, leaning on Sprout's shoulder. "But also-...Hear me out-"

☁ "Stoooop." Sprout groans, tipping his head back as Astro nods solemnly. "I'm hearing."

☁ Cosmo laughs at this before you're suddenly jumping up, cheeks puffed and they already know what that entails. Cosmo grabs the nearest trash can while Astro gently pulls back anything that could get in the way while Sprout makes for the nearest medication cabinet.

☁ Cosmo holds the trash can for you as you purge the excess ichor in your body, watching your heaves with a heartbroken glance while Astro rubs your back, even if he himself looks nauseous at the sight and sounds. He's quick to switch with Sprout when he returns, measuring out the stomach medication the berry had grabbed. It had aided the rest of them when it came to rejecting the ichor and they hoped it would with you too.

☁ In the very least, as awful as it was, it was a good sight to see as it meant you were recovering in the very least. Even if your heaves sounded painful and tears tracked down your cheeks. It would a pattern that would continue throughout the night unfortunately, which they would need to stay up to assist you with, but it was a chore they were more than happy to do. You had been the one to sit with each of them throughout the night, making sure they had all the comfort you could offer at the time.

☁ So even as the minutes ticked like hours, they knew it was all worth it. Every trip to empty the trash cash, every startled awakening at the sound of your gags, every wince as you pleaded for mercy. Anything to get you back.

☁ The following days are better. The next morning, right before it could be qualified as noon, you were cognizant enough to recognize where you were, eyes unfocused as you swayed, trying to sit up only for that to be one of the worst ideas you've ever had.

☁ The boyfriend on duty is quick to come to your side, with a hand on your back as soft whispers buzzed in your ear. You curled in on yourself, eyes scrunching shut before a deep breath had you finally stabilizing enough you could blink your eyes. Sprout was right there, offering you a gentle smile as he tried to figure out what exactly you were seeing.

☁ You practically threw yourself at him, pulling him close as tears burned your eyes. You cried into his scarf as his hands slowly curled back around you, squeezing you tightly to his chest as his own shoulders shook. "Oh. bud, I've missed you."

☁ "I'm sorry." You blab. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." You cry, squeezing him tighter when it almost seems like he's going to pull away. You don't remember much about your time as a twisted except for spotting Sprout and smelling the ichor of a non-twisted toon being spilt. You prayed it wasn't you to cause that wound, that there was no wound at all, but subtly looking at his arm quickly dashes that hope.

☁ "No, no, bud you did nothing wrong." This time you allow him to pull away, only for his hands to cup your cheeks. "You're just as perfect as you always are." His green eyes shine with unshed tears, which quickly rectify that by trailing down his freckled cheeks. You sob at the sight, your own hands- with nails longer than you normally keep them- cupping his cheeks.

☁ Sprout crashed his lips against yours in a show of desperation, tears making the kiss taste salty as your shoulders fall in relief. IF he was okay, the others had to be okay, right? They had to be? You didn't hurt them too, did you? You prayed not.

☁ Pulling away, you angled his chin every which way, scanning his face as he gave you a few watery chuckles. "You're okay? All leaves, limbs and seeds?"

☁ Sprout caught your hands, pulling them down so he could look at you, nothing but sweet, adoring love in his eyes. "Leaves, limbs and seeds all attached." He coos, laying his forehead on yours as his shoulders heave with a long heavy sigh. "Oh, bud. You're okay."

☁ "You're not." You frown, feeling the tears threaten to burst out all over again. "I'm-"

☁ "It wasn't you." Sprout interrupts, making you blink. "No, a twisted flutter got me, but you? Even a twisted, you've proven you'll still protect us." His smile is sad, but relieved as you feel your stomach finally settle.

☁ You get a few moments more before the door is being slammed open, but not by another toon. No, it must've been ajar, because who else is waiting there but Blu herself, looking as grumpy as the day she accidentally fell into the snow in Bobette's shop, mewing in long, interrupted yowls as she trotted to the medical bed, jumping up and immediately crawling all over you.

☁ Sprout tried to grab her, but you waved him off, scooping up the baby and letting her place her paw on your cheek. You cooed at her, nuzzling your nose against her cold, wet one. She mewled once more before it delved into a purr, making you snicker. "I know, tell me all about how unfair your dads are."

☁ "Oi!" Sprout immediately called, looking only mildly offended before footsteps had you both looking over at the doorway once more. Cosmo was there, already panting as he leaned his head against the doorway. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, she was sleeping and then suddenly just took off and-" He looked up at that point, only for his mouth to gape open. He stilled for a second as Astro popped his head in, looking at the pastry. "Did you find-"

☁ He too was left slack-jawed before Cosmo was moving and he was following, both wrapping you in tight hugs and a flurry of kisses. It was comforting and perfect, and enough to make you forget about how awful your stomach felt.

☁ They were quick to fill you in on everything that had happened in your absence and, honestly? Hearing Astro talk about having his best friend back made your heart thrum and how happy he seemed, moreso now that he had everyone in his little family back at long last.

☁ While your side still hurt and your muscles still sung from the strain put on them. being wrapped between them felt safe. Safer than you've felt since the moment of pure terror that wracked your entire nervous system the second you knew only one of you would make it to the elevator.

☁ Still, you knew there was something on the horizon. A discussion that needed to be had and it made whatever was left in your gut churn and rot further than it already had.

☁ It didn't come until later that night when you were finally back in your room, eating something soft and easy to digest (My personal fav is oatmeal but I know now everyone can eat that so y'all get to choose <3), chatting with Cosmo when a knock at the door made you look up.

☁ Astro had popped his head in, scanning for your form before immediately relaxing when he spotted you. "Are you okay with a few visitors? Absolutely feel free to say no."

☁ You honestly hadn't expected anyone to visit you, really. Goob and Scraps had both had their own tearful reunions with you, Goob especially, and Poppy and Boxten had visited as well. You weren't overly close with anyone else, but while confused, you nodded.

☁ Astro scanned you for a second, as if to see if you were lying, but when he found nothing he stepped more fully inside. Sprout followed, immediately wounding to your side and pressing a peck to your lips. You smiled at him before looking back over, eyes widening at the two toons standing there.

☁ Shelly looked nervous, but waved even as her smile wavered, her tail giving a small, short little wag. Vee looked miserable if you were honest. You had never seen the main so...upset, making you frown. Was she upset with you? You know you probably shouldn't have pushed her, but you had no other option at the time!

☁ Astro took his own spot beside, across from where Sprout had moved to sit beside Cosmo.

☁ "It's a pleasure to finally meet you." Shelly begins, tapping her fingers together before meeting your eye. "I wanted to thank you personally. And apologize. It was me you were retrieving and-"

☁ "And it wouldn't have happened if I had just picked up the pace." Vee cuts in. She makes it a point not to look at you, making you frown, fingers curling around your blanket. Vee let out a sigh, antennae giving a little spark as she wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm...So, so so-"

☁ "You have nothing to apologize for." You hold up a hand, scrunching your features. "I made my choice. You had nothing to do with what i decided. I promise. i never would've done something if it wasn't something I was sure about doing. There was never a moment I was upset with you, either of you." You're quick to reassure, sending them both a smile. Shelly returns it quickly, but Vee only gives you a glance and you frown.

☁ That was Sprout's best friend. You knew you didn't have to get along with everyone, but you wanted to get along with these two especially.

☁ Shelly seemed relieved at least, which made Astro relax at least a bit, but that wasn't enough for you. "I promise, Vee. If anything I owe you all an apology." You wilted a bit, even if Vee finally looked at you. "My twisted is...not the best, even I could admit that and I should've planned with the twisteds better rather than risk putting you guys in that situation. So for that, I apologize." You continue, continuing even if Vee looks like she's going to cut in. "It's happened, and it's fixed already. We can just blame whoever started the Ichor operation rather than try to keep playing this 'who can blame themself the most' game."

☁ Vee gapes and you smile at her softly, opening your arms. "Hug it out with me? Therefore all is forgiven and we can't blame ourselves anymore." The television looks at you, then at Shelly, then Sprout before her shoulders fall and she's slumping forward. You wrap your arms around her, feeling the chill of her metal plates. Looking over, you make eye contact with Shelly, who smiles sadly at the action. You open one of your arms and the fossil is immediately burrowing into the hug as well with her tail whapping about.

☁ When you separate, they take their leave not soon after, seemingly much lighter than when they came in. But then you're left with the other three. Astro's who's already sitting beside you, but the other two crawl onto the bed so you're all sitting in a circle of types.

☁ Your eyes dart from one to the next to the next before falling to where your knuckles are white around the blanket, having returned to clutching the fabric. You have to actively uncurl your fingers.

☁ You know there's probably tons to discuss, but you don't even know where to start.

☁ So Sprout does. He's never one to beat around the bush, especially looking back to before you all were together, and it's something you greatly admire about the berry.

☁ "We saw the scars." Is all he says, his own eyes remaining downcast as he plays with his scarf. You swallow, debating your options before breathing out, letting down the walls you normally kept up around everyone else.

☁ "Most of them are front the beginning." You admit. "I wasn't a good distractor then. I wasn't even really okay. I did it when we absolutely needed one. We had none of the trinkets we do now and didn't even think about them at the time. So I was an extractor and Cosmo knows that me extracting is like teaching a fish to fly." You spill immediately, thinking back to the lacerations that once marred your skin. "I'm sorry if they bothered you. I tried to keep them as covered up as possible. in case they...upset you all"

☁ "It's not the fact that their there, starlight. Well, I mean, that's kind of part of it, but...Why didn't you tell us?" Astro prods, laying a hand on you knee as another gentle rubs your shoulder. You bristle at the question, rolling your shoulders for a second before responding.

☁ "They aren't number one on my list of discussion topics. I'd rather forget about them personally." Simple as that.

☁ There's silence for a second before Cosmo is raising his hand, pointing to a white line that circles around his forearm. "This is from my time as a twisted. You'd remember best, but my hand was all sorts of messed up, right?"

☁ You nod at this and he points to his eye, with a matching line circling around it, so faint if he wasn't pulling attention to it, most wouldn't notice. "Half my face too, right?"

☁ You nod once more and he mimics the action. "Are you ashamed of my scars?"

☁ "No!" You're quick to bark, immediately ready to quell any worries he has, but Cosmo isn't done, pointing to Sprout- who blinks at the finger like it personally offended him. "What about Sprout? He has his own scars. You ashamed of those?"

☁ "No, Cosmo that's not-"

☁ "Then what about Astro? He's got his fair share too." The pastry points to one of the hands on your knees, which indeed had it's own smattering of scars from his time as a twisted.

☁ "No." You stare him down, gaze hard as he meets your own just as challenging. "Then why does that change for you?" You don't have an immediate answer, and Cosmo pounces on that. "What makes your scars different from ours? Why would we ever be ashamed of your scars, of your journey, when you would never dream of even thinking about that of ours?"

☁ You gape at him, trying to find some sort of defense, but you can't. He seems satisfied at that, but it's not for long as you're speaking once more.

☁ "Mine were self-inflicted." You avoid looking at them, even as your heart practically chokes you. "You never signed up to be a twisted. I willingly trained and worked to become a distractor. These come with the territory."

☁ There's silence for a second before Sprout is speaking once more. "Do they hurt?"

☁ You frown at the question, but shake your head. "No. They don't."

☁ Sprout exhales in relief at this before leaning back on his palms. "This isn't meant to make you feel any type of way about them, bud. They're yours and we understand better than most that scars can bring...complicated feelings. There's just...so many. We just want you to care a little more about yourself."

☁ "Seeing you in danger all the time is hard on his heart." Astro gently jokes, even if he gets a light kick in return for the jab. The celestial takes a breath before leaning on your shoulder, one of his hands reaching to hold your own. "We just want you safe, starlight, above all else. The bed's too big for three of us."

☁ You take a breath that quivered in your lungs before nodding slowly. You had expressed to Astro before how terrified you were of your own twisted and never wished to expose it to them, but did so anyway.

☁ You could only imagine the fear they were feeling the entire time, especially on the retrieval.

☁ "I'm sorry. Not for doing what I did, I don't regret and never will." You began, finally looking back up at them. "But I agree. I've been a bit careless. It's a distractor's job to keep the twisteds occupied, but not by being a dumbass. I don't want to give up distracting though." By the end you're practically pleading.

☁ "And we would never ask you too." Sprout gives you a soft smile. "Even if you stress me the fuck out, you enjoy it. Just...maybe keep the distance between you and the twisteds a bit bigger. And keep an escape route open whenever possible. And a bandage on hand. And a can of pop. And-"

☁ You laugh, wiping your tears as you shake your head. "I get it. I'm sorry I scared you all."

☁ "Just remind us to never piss you off." Cosmo shakes his head. "You're scary when angry. Although, watching you protect Sprout like that-"

☁ "We are not having this conversation again!" Sprout immediately shuts down, hitting the pastry in the face with a pillow, quickly getting a swift hit in retaliation. The two tussle for a second, making you give a wet laugh as Astro nuzzles into you. Your finger taps on the back of his hand, silently asking for an explanation.

☁ He hums in acknowledgement at the unasked question, moving to kiss your shoulder. "You're hot in all forms. Cosmo especially likes your protective side."

☁ This makes you bark out a laugh, calling the attention of the other two back to you.

☁ "What are you laughing at?" Sprout grinned, straddling Cosmo who was squirming under the hand on his forehead keeping him pinned down.

☁ "You're all such dorks." You snicker, grinning before holding your hands out to them. "Hugs?"

☁ You're only able to let out a yelp at Sprout turns instead pull you into his chest, the other two also wrapped in the absolute bear hug. It makes your heart thrum happily, especially when Blu manages to pop her head up in a crevice and mew her greetings happily.

☁ So even while the first few nights were hard, as you lay there, wrapped in the embrace of your boys and feeling their laughter once more, you know that tonight won't be nearly as so.

☁ And if absolutely nothing else, that was what made it all worth it.

AN: Guys, remember how I made that joke (It wasn't a joke) about hating that Rodger and taking it out on their Bobette? GUESS WHO'S NOW A MARKETABLE PLUSH >:) Huge huge huge shoutout to @belifbel

RAHH LOOK AT THEM

[thethronezone]

High Consort Pt.2

Because I could not stop thinking about this mess of a relationship and if I have to suffer, so do everyone else... Here's more.

The Emperor promised to marry his Consort once he had successfully conquered Terra. And credit where credit is due because Big E actually kept that promise. Him in his armor, you in your finest clothes (specifically made for this occasion) and with only the Legio Custodes to witness the ceremony. There wasn't an exchange of vows, no reception or officiator. He simply declared himself Emperor and that you were, from this moment on and till the stars died out, his High Consort. The Custodes didn't sing, did not cheer, but stomped the ground, slammed their weapons agains their shields, all as one, making the air vibrate and the ground shake.

Guess what? You own Luna! Aka the fucking moon. Yeah, it was a wedding gift. I mean, technically the Emperor rules over it but in name? It's yours!

Like I said in the first part, if you want to work, then it's mainly administrative duties. It's actually quite important work, since you oversee some real secret government stuff. Not the worst of it, nah, the Emperor leaves that to Malcador.

Something Big E does leave to you? Organizing banquets, feasts and other festivities. Sounds more fun than it is, considering the fact that this also entails overseeing the guest list. Do you know how many people can fit in the (multiple) imperial ballrooms and gardens? A fuckton. And as the 'host' of the party, you get to greet most of them! Isn't that wonderful?

More things the Emperor calls you instead of your name! "Spouse", "my starlight", "dear one", "treasure". Those last three are only in private. Majority of the Imperium don't know your actual name and calls you High Consort. More accurately "the revered ruler of Luna, First Lord/Lady of the Imperial Palace, Keeper of Terra, the one and only High Consort to the one and only Emperor of Mankind". The title somehow gets longer each time.

You make the Emperor a bit less of a douche. He's still a bastard but you make him just a smidge more bearable. Probably because he does care about you. Will he steamroll you in every conversation? Yes. Does he not take your arguments seriously? Yep. Will he dictate every part of your life from the shadows? Yeah. But he does like seeing you happy so he refrains from doing some stuff that he knows would upset you. At least if you're there to see it happen.

The fights you have are fucking wild. You can be absolutely furious, screaming, throwing things at him, and the Emperor will just stand there and be like "You done yet?" which will make you scream and throw some more thing. Big E might try and placate you a little, "Dear, you are acting irrational, calm down", but most of the time he just waits until you get tired. And when you're all out of air he'll go "Good thing we solved that" and LEAVE. Fucking prick.

When Malcador ain't available, you vent to your personal Custodi bodyguard. Yes, they are ultimately loyal to the Emperor and will never badmouth him but this one Custodi will nod along when you call your husband a "rat-fucking-bastard".

It's not all bad of course. The Emperor can be downright romantic when he wants to. He knows all your favorites and always has this in mind when he gives you stuff or does stuff with you. New garden? Filled with your favorite flowers. Anniversary dinner? Your favorite food. A piece of jewelry he acquired on his resent battle on some distant planet? Your favorite color. When you reunite after a long time apart, he kisses your hands. The Emperor loves your smile, loves seeing you happy. All the art work he commissions of you depicts you smiling, from a subtle smirk to smiles where all your teeth shows.

In canon, the Primarchs were made out of the Emperor's and Erda's DNA (with some major gene manipulation in there) and yeah, that's still the truth in this scenario. Except there's also parts of you in there. Because if the Emperor likes you enough to marry you, then you probably have a bunch of traits that he likes. Wisdom, tenacity, courage etc.. So congrats! You now get to co-parent 20 18 of the strongest humans in the Imperium! At least one of them has your smile.

[werezmastarbucks]

the girl with expensive earrings

masterlist - part 1 of 6

in which you get what you deserve for saving Namjoon's sister

yoongi x clueless!f!nonKorean!reader

i gotta start adding tags because these stories literally come to my head like: dogsitting; party; girl code; confusion; shy!yoongi; setting ppl up; hurt/comfort

author's note: for the sake of being a better person i changed Namjoon's sister's name. not my fault they ALL have siblings already. also as usual i thought it'd be a oneshot, but the story turned out longer. sorry for the beginning: it drags out a little, but i had such a blast writing Minji and also I had to establish... stuff

word count: 4135

warnings: language, mentions of a car accident, overcoming trauma, mentions and depictions of abusive relationship

music: intro: ringwanderung by bts, delicate by taylor swift, girls by the 1975, meanswear by the 1975

You lived hard. Allowing yourself to celebrate sometimes was easy, especially now that you moved to Seoul. Still kind of new to the city, to its spicy food by default, with no warning or label; to its bity weather in December, to its people who never laughed hard in the streets, to the 'take off shoes everywhere' rule, and to the breathtaking beauty of Seoul in early spring. The latter was an ever pleasant awe: seeing the sun coming back again, seeing trees wake up. Seoul was good like honey for the soul that's been shredded to pieces.

The differences in cultures kept you busy, together with your new tight work schedule, so you didn't have a lot of time to ponder on your sad moments. The differences in cultures, that is, some of which shocked you to your core.

The complete absence of girl code on the streets. It became especially evident in Itaewon every weekend. Girls left alone, passed out on the sidewalk, their friends hopping into taxis to go home; the indifference of passing people when a girl yelped in pain as her boyfriend pinched the soft skin on her forearm; friends retreating when a smug and unknown guy approached a drunk lady to try and chat her up. This all made you feel uneasy. As a solo drinker on a Saturday, you noticed these things every time, and always tried to insert yourself into the situation, to an extent. You'd sit on the ground with a sleeping girl and wait for her taxi with her, not even sure she managed to mumble you the right address. You'd call her a made up name and wave your hand from across the street as if you knew her and see her eyes light up in relief, and the eyes of her pursuer go darker. You didn't think yourself a hero for that, mostly you were kind of terrified in those moments.

But there happened only one moment when you got so absolutely furious that you forgot fear.

This little girl, dollfaced and well-dressed, with her long shiny hair, against her supposed boyfriend. The guy was about three times bigger than her, with that kind of pig face that always told you about the character. The golden chain around his neck on top of white tee was nauseating to look at. He was stretching the wovels in his curses towards her, grabbing her by the hand, by the shoulder. The girl wasn't panicking yet, but was attempting to fight him off which he barely noticed. He was probably intoxicated as it was eleven at night in Itaewon. Neon orange, pink and red lights above your heads, noisy torrents of people pushing through to disperse into bars and karaoke places. And nobody paid attention to one girl struggling to get away from an abuser swearing like he stepped out of a cheap drama they produce in bulks every year. Opening his mouth wide, showing teeth. Textbook TV show villain, thinking that nobody would help her anyway.

You were about to leave the street when you spotted them, and, tuning your head around, realized you found yourself in the same pickle as the last time, when you watched a woman jump out of the fifth floor window. Street full of people but everybody is blind. You shrugged your shoulders, pumping yourself up. You're drunk, Y/N, you urged yourself, and when you're drunk you can kick anybody's ass. The fear gets an elephant dose of anesthesia and checks off. There's only them fighting next to an ice cream parlour, and your three cocktails bloodshot eyes. You made your move, bumping into bodies as you tried to cut the short distance. Spotted a bottle half empty on an unoccupied table. Itaewon was beautiful. Cherries in full bloom with wine red light shining through their petals, giving them an ethereal halo, and the distant small pecks of stars, like the girl's earrings. The last second before you intervened, you thought, she's too well dressed and they might be rich, and you might get in trouble. But your mouth was already open.

"Get away from her!" you barked, bottle in your hand, and as you twisted it, the alcohol sipped onto you hand. The guy moved his swollen red-drunken eyes on you and continued his rant with a different recepient. Korean language normally treated you well because most people who spoke it to you were doing it gently, with a mellow hiss, not chewing up their words. The way this person was expressing himself was far away from the romantic murmur you were used to hearing so you didn't understand a word. Except a couple of curse words that usually get memorized first in any language.

The girl though. She immediately moved towards you and stood at your side (but not hid behind) and her eyes stared with slight surprise and undying gratitude.

She replied to her boyfriend in a confident tone, as if you were any taller than her.

The guy reached for you two, and you stroke him on the arm. Your new companion yelped and barged into the fight, crashing down on him with her small and swift fists, the gems in her rings throwing flashes of iridescent fire.

You became friends after that night. Her name was Kim Minji and she was exactly the person deserving to be saved: exhaustingly happy, jovial, enthusiastic, a l i v e. She was going through that breakup with the force of all that was female in her. Drinking on her kitchen at nights opened up all the sides of her: she'd laugh hysterically, remembering the night when you met, calling you the paragon of solidarity, and then she'd throw herself onto your shoulders, squeezing you with all her surprising might, and then break into tears, because she used to love that man. She'd get serious while telling you about all the abuse she'd suffered at his hands, then get hysterical again thinking about it, thinking what it meant for her to break free. Then Minji would look at you with her huge watery eyes, light shivering inside the pupils, and whisper,

"If it hadn't been for you, who knows how long more I'd stay with him".

She was going through her emotions in circles, slowly healing, for three weeks, and almost every night you came over to console her, and it was beautiful. Perhaps the freshness and loneliness of a new country weighed on the closeness you felt for Minji: for a whole year people around you were reserved, collected and formal. And this insane girl reciprocated all the hidden desire to connect in less than a month. She needed her hand held; and she needed a hug every other hour; and she needed an ear to listen. At times she'd repeat herself, and you'd just nod. It was an unusual position for you because you weren't the background dancer. In life, you were usually the one who came to your best friend for help and she'd be forced to listen. But here, you were the new Y/N. Life had slapped you on the face so hard that everything before burned. You inhaled, exhaled, and went with the flow, forming this tight, unexpected and very intimately understanding, very unlikely friendship with the girl from Itaewon.

Minji had a flat in the Gangnam district and wore nine hundred euro earrings. When you admired them, saying that the glow was throwing sunspots onto the table, she smiled in the sweetest way and said that she just-

"ADORE Pandora. I don't know what's with me, but I am obsessed with their jewelry. My brother gave these to me for my birthday. Do you wanna see the others?"

You weren't by any means poor. The offer for a job came straight from Sogang University and made it possible for you to rent a reluctantly cosy apartment in Seodaemun. Yet you didn't have an array of diamond earrings in silk-bound little boxes in the drawer of your desk. You had a glimpse into Minji's wealthy life by looking at her jewelry. Not all of it was to your taste, but Minji was unapologetically in love with all of them and even tried to see if some would match your face. She was sincere, simple, emotional, and she completely won you over. The natural lack of curiousity and caution stopped you from asking who the hell her brother was, and what she did for a living, although you probably should have.

Finally came the time to open up to Minji, after you learned half of her life story during the long Gangnam nights.

You told her about the reason you came to Korea which was, except for the job offer you broke all your bones for, the death of your best friend. Minji could be very collected and quiet when she needed to; for about twenty minutes at a time. She had a big heart, really, and never made you feel small, and never pulled the blanket of attention on her when it wasn't her turn to pour her soul.

She probably realized why you two clicked so well and what even made you stand up for her in the first place; her tears of sorrow as she empathized with you were as rainbowy as her expensive earrings, as clear as her ceiling-high windows overlooking a busy intersection and the skyline; as melodic as the confident and telling purr of her Porsche Macan. You got yourself involved with some rich people, you were thinking, on the way to yet another coffee and gossip girldate, and you were highly suspicious of Minji's unwillingness to speak about her family.

"Oh, they are great, you know", she'd sing, "but you know, I am not a fool myself. I landed a great job at Samsung. I know, maybe my connections helped, but, ugh, and I might not look like it, but I am smart".

You'd never told her she didn't look smart. She looked expensive, and sweet, and high maintenance for any guy who'd take a burden of listening to her every day.

"What do you do there?" you finally asked her.

"I make ads. I'm in marketing", she replied shortly and you didn't mistake this for sheer shyness. Maybe she didn't want to make it awkward between you, maybe she found it plain boring. Minji liked talking about boyfriends and your job more. She'd ask about the kinds of projects you do at university and always make the landmark adorable face - Ö - when you told her funny stories about your students.

Friendship like this was probably unbelievable, but cinematographic cirucmstances collided you together, and the ultimate action you'd undertaken had to have certain consequences, right? Not even once did Minji act unpretty or smug; she didn't do drugs like you imagined rich young people did, who have a lot of pressure at work; her drug was gossip, and who sleeps with who, and what they wore, and what they posted on twitter seven years ago during a rain on a Monday. She had excellent memory for drama and no patience for self-belittlement.

"My brother always tells me that girls like you and me should live with our heads up high", she said. You snickered.

"How does your brother know I am like you? I am quiet and you're extraverted".

Minji shook her head furiously and pushed the chewing gum around her mouth with her little tongue. Her pearl-white teeth sucked in the air.

"No, I know who you are. You were the only person in the whole fucking Itaewon to care about little me getting smacked around. You're the person who listened to my bitching and moaning about a short dick of a douchebag for a whole month-"

"Three weeks", you corrected her. She waved the correction away like it was cigarette smoke.

"You are one fine ass woman with a steel core. After what you've been through; and still you choose to help fools like me", she gave you a strange, deepening look that was too momentous for her usual self.

You shrugged. She was right. That was the moment Kim Minji has decided your fate.

Minji called on a Sunday, a little distressed, and you felt scared that she got into a drama again. But she sounded reserved and somewhat business-like while having this sickening finality to her voice. So, maybe something even more serious. There we go, you thought while dressing up in front of the mirror you scooped up in a second hand store in Seochon (very beautiful, reminded you of old Seoul). There we go, her and her rich ass got into trouble with mafia and now she wants me to wield a half-empty soju bottle into the mafiosi faces. As you left the building, to the sound of the train rushing above your head matching your steps, you were creating wild scenarios in your head where the whole time Kin Minji was evil after all and she is going to sell you instead of herself to the black organ trafficking market; or she'll sell you into sex slavery to the people she owes money to; or to one of the K-pop idols; what if she is involved in a Burning Sun type of scheme? Sometimes you had to pull your mind by the reins and shut it up. The apocalyptic tales it spun in the moment of hesitation scared you to no end. You looked at the late summer Seoul sky while waiting for the taxi. Something /still/ was so important that Minji didn't want to speak about it over the phone.

You were biting your lips as you pushed the door of a coffeeshop and spotted her at the table, furiously writing something on a piece of paper, a phone pressed to her ear. She nodded at you; no need to say in what manner. She did everything furiously whereas you did things spontaneously. You were written in different fonts.

"Heeey", she stretched her back, clutching her little fists. You looked at your own nails, freshly done, to avoid going first. But Minji didn't seem too pressed about it.

"So", her eyes were searching your face, "have you seen the MAMA yesterday?"

You frowned,

"What is that?"

She shrugged like it didn't matter.

"The music awards ceremony".

"Oh. Did anybody fall off stage? Did that hilarious guy perform? The one who always gives joke performances?"

Her face twisted in a giggle,

"Oh, no, but there were some funny moments. Not enough drama, though. No secret touches, you know. I scanned the twitter like a hound for fancams, and nothing. BTS swept all the awards, as usual".

You nodded. You've seen the celebrity faces occasionally on the streets; the buses usually had their cutesy images slapped on the sides, and that's how you knew that a certain SUGA had his birthday in March, and that you all loved Lisa. Sometimes Minji mentioned something about the turbulent and never-ever scandal-dry world of K-pop, but you listened to different music and just got used to hearing their upbeat melodies on the background wherever you went. In fact, if you strained your memory, you could recall a couple of explosive controversies in the year and a half you've been living here. But they all looked the same to you; glitter and shiny clothes, dancing in synch, melodic voices, songs about... jeans? You were sure you were on the right track.

You sucked on the straw of your drink, thinking about it, then caught Minji staring at you with a smile.

"Anyway", she said, "don't get mad with me, okay? Promise".

Your frown returned and you felt the hairs of your eyebrows stand a little.

"What did you do?"

She put one arm on the table and started working her fist, nervous.

"My family is not the most ordinary, and we are usually cautious about new people, we have to be. It's not easy for me to warm up to someone like I did to you. I just", she puffed, "like you so much that I really wanted to give it some time to see how... you were?"

She winced with the last words.

"So far I have no goddamn clue what you're talking about", you replied, the bubbles in your drink flowing up. "Unless you're telling me your family is famous".

She sighed with relief.

"Yes".

"Don't tell me you're related to the North Korean leader or I'll flip the table", you said from under your lowered lids. This was horrifying and equally exciting. All you wanted was to start anew, and a good friend.

"No", she laughed.

"Kim Nam Gil?" you asked with hope. The only actor whose name you knew because he was your official crush of the year.

For some reason Minji blushed a little.

"No, but my brother, the one who..."

"The one who gives you diamond earrings because you're his little sister", you said, internally tender about it.

"Yes, he's an idol".

This didn't make much of an impression as you could name about two of three of them. You were a little embarrassed about not knowing more, but again, your world was so different from Minji's; and a year and a half is not nearly enough to completely assimilate into a country when you work every day except Sunday, from morning until six. Not much time for pop culture left.

"I only know Jungkook", you said with resolution. Minji giggled.

"Well, close. Anyway, I'm saying this to you so that there's no unspoken secrets between us".

You shrugged and smiled.

"Thank you. Um. It's cool. I think you get to see shows for free? I'm not mad about it. I hope your idol brother buried your ex's body somewhere in the sea?"

This provoked a short laugh.

"God, I barely ever spoke to him about Taejeong, because he'd lose his freaking little mind. Nam is way too protective of me, I don't know where it's coming from, but he was usually livid when I told him we fought".

She pushed her empty coffee cup around the table.

"I did tell him about you saving me, by the way. I had to explain why and how we broke up".

You got hung up on the livid part. Holding your chin with your fist, you said, dreamily,

"Wow, you're the forever baby sister. That is so marvelous. I always wanted a male twin when I was little".

Minji tried to comfort you, as always,

"It's not all that great. He was an ass to me when we were growing up".

"Still", you looked at her and saw that she wasn't finished. She bit her lower lip seeing your raised eyebrows:

"I also had to warn you about it because I wanted to beg you to come with me to his birthday party".

Before you could answer, she went on, using her weapon: throwing her head into her hands like she was a dying servant from a sixteenth century royal household.

"Oh, Y/N, it's such a boy club every time. They never take their sisters with them, and I am alone, or like if someone is dating at the moment, he brings along this girlfriend, and what's the point of partying with her, if she's going to be gone in a week, you know? I just know they will drink all the whiskey on the boat and start doing the maknae throw again..."

Her eyes were begging you.

"What's a maknae throw?" you whispered, horrified.

"You'll see... if you come with me", she promised. Minji was so good at this subtle manipulation. She left just enough of the information hanging so that you'd get interested. Your nostrils flared. You weren't of their kind. Frankly speaking, you didn't think much of the celebrities in flesh: you believed them to be jaded, dangerous and boring. You had no ultra expensive clothes to matched their lush lifestyle. You didn't know how idols celebrated birthdays and what presents they were used to receiving.

Looking at Minji, you probably looked more and more scared, so she reached across the table and grabbed your hand with her warm, moisturized palm:

"They are good boys. But they are that... boys, you know? I need a gal to save me again... please come to Nam's birthday with me... you'll have fun, I promise".

You pouted.

"We're not even dating and I can't resist your whining, Minji. How are you even real".

She threw her hands in the air.

"What does your brother like? Except you", you asked, tired already of the upcoming thought battle you'd have to engage into. Not even a small part of you wanted to see idols. Might seem insane, but life was just beginning to look stable again: you started sleeping half a night, every other night. You had someone to talk to, like a normal person, about your normal human life. A small part of you was hoping that, since Minji was so down to earth and kind, maybe her brother was, too. Maybe - just maybe, idols are also humans and not sillicon, flesh eating, brain consuming monsters?

"He is artsy. Likes... fine things. Collects vintage prints and figurines".

"What a delicate flower", you approved, "there's this antique store I found in Seochon where I think I saw cool looking old Japanse vases".

Minji nodded confidently:

"Grab them. Grab all of them".

Minji said it's a boat birthday. You settled with your favorite high-waist jeans, a comfortable top and a jean jacket in case it gets cold. September was still a summer in full swing, even if with a moan. The skies were getting more and more orange every day. The dude was a Virgo which meant nothing to Minji since the Koreans didn't care about the Western zodiac.

"He's a dog", she said with the feeling and held the taxi door for you as you managed out of the car. You nearly forgot your jean jacket inside, balancing the three vases wrapped in colorful paper in your arms.

"What does it mean to you?" you inquired. Minji hummed something. The embankment was empty save for a couple of slick unoccupied cars and a mid-sized boat of brown wood, glistening in the late afternoon sun, her bow proudly poking in the direction of the western side of the harbour. This baby could easily contain around thirty people, you thought, and your stomach dropped. You regretted not having cuffed yourself to Minji because you were so uncomfortable thinking about such gatherings. The parties. You were too much of a yes person. You really didn't want to go, but Minji said 'boys club' and made these pity eyes, and you couldn't in good conscience leave her alone. She must have other, more glamorous girl friends, no? you thought, looking at her from the side while she folded your jean jacket in her hands. Maybe not. She did say she has to be cautious of people.

"So", she said, inviting you onto the dock.

"So?" you repeated, a bit feverishly. The boat was getting closer and closer. You could already hear the muffled music coming from the inside.

"You never asked me which band", she said, too excited, in your humble opinion.

"Wait, you're not gonna pimp me to them, are you?" you demanded, and Minji burst into snickering.

"Oh, you really hate all the idols, don't you?"

"I don't hate- I don't know them. Dude, I only heard about the Burning Sun stuff!"

Minji sighed, somewhat tragically, and at that instance, a guy emerged from the boat and ran down the gangway.

"Minji-ya!" he screamed. Didn't yell or call her out, he outright screamed when he saw her. This tall guy, heavy blinking watch on his wrist, in a light, Hawaiian-style shirt on top of a beige tee, ran towards you with his arms outstretched and grabbed the whole of Minji so that for a second she completely drowned in the hug.

"Namjoon", she uttered, fighting him off in small, goofy motions. You tried to hide your huge clunk of a package behind your back, with no visible success. A second Nam spent looking at his sister and mingling with her hair, and then turned to you and said, with strong American accent:

"Y/N, thank you so much for coming".

You couldn't really contain the good mood you got into upon seeing this family reunion. Maybe it's not that bad, you thought. The guy kept respectful distance and didn't say anything else, waiting for your move. You just stood there, smiling.

"Happy birthday, Nam..."

"Joon", he bowed slightly, like a very luxurious, dreamy waiter. You bowed in return out of habit.

"Joon?" the smile was growing stupid.

"Namjoon".

"Oh".

Someone's head poked out of the boat entrance and immediately disappeared. Namjoon laughed the way people laugh, when they give their sisters nine hundred euro earrings for holidays.

"She's a little gobsmacked, because she thinks you'll eat her for dinner..." Minji explained.

"Minji, you and your fucking mouth", he suddenly said, and dimples appeared on his cheeks. You sighed internally.

"She doesn't even know who you are", she continued, giving you a partner-in-crime cheesy look.

"You don't know BTS?" Namjoon gasped, with an air of playful mockery.

"I know Jungkook", you reported faintly.

The Kim siblings laughed in unison in their wealthy ha-ha-has.

[dustmusings]

let me take care of you

Rex x F!Reader

word count: 5.7k

description: you have been suffering from depression for a few months and have shut yourself off from the world. a few weeks after getting laid off from your job, you get an unexpected knock at the door.

warnings: i'm gonna say this is 16+ just to be safe, heavily implied sex, depiction of depression, suicidal ideation, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, mutual pining - let me know what I've missed !

a/n: okay so this is sooooo self-indulgent it's actually embarassing. I wrote the first bit of this when I was truly going through it and... yeah, it's just Rex taking care of the reader hehe, with a bit of suggestive stuff but not proper smut. if that's your kinda thing, I hope you enjoy! (also this is the first oneshot that I've actually posted so gimme constructive criticism pls !!)

Everything felt foggy.

For the past months, your life had felt like you were just going through the motions. Wake up, go to work, come home, struggle to sleep, and repeat. You didn't enjoy the things you used to anymore. It had been too long since you had taken a walk in the park, since you had sketched or written, and it hurt that you couldn't seem to even try and do them. Like there was an invisible force stopping you, and yet, there wasn't. It was just your own mind, lacking in whatever hormone would make you happy.

You couldn't find it in yourself to take care of yourself properly, and ever since being laid off from your job a few weeks ago, you had gone into the worst of it. You weren't eating properly, you couldn't sleep, sometimes staying up all night even though you would lay in your bed and just pray for it to be different. You hadn't seen your friends in months, though they would try and check in on you. You always told them you were busy, but you knew they knew what was going on. You had been like this before, though this time it was worse.

You shut yourself off from the world.

You hadn't been out of your apartment at all in days when you heard the knock. You made your way to your front door, and your breath hitched when you peered through the little hole and saw who was behind it.

Rex.

The clone stood in the hallway, his helmet at his hip, looking down the hall, and handsome as ever. There was no way you were letting him in while you were in this state. You hadn't brushed your hair in maker knows how long, you hadn't showered in… maybe a week? and the last time you had brushed your teeth was probably 2 days ago. Your personal hygiene was sorely lacking.

You watched the Captain through the door, your breath fogging up the glass, and jumped back when the knocking of the door reverberated around your small apartment.

What is he doing here?

You hadn't seen Rex since you lost your job, though he was among the few people who checked in with you regularly, trying to ask about how you were or convince you to come out of the house. Your stomach churned at the idea of people fussing about you, and now one of them was standing outside your door. A particular one of them that, in any given other state, you would be dying to see.

Your deep attraction and affection for Rex only made this situation more uncomfortable for you, the thought of answering the door making you feel physically sick.

You then heard your name called from behind the door in a deep, questioning voice, and your knees went weak.

“Are you in there?” He asked, followed by another knock.

You wanted to reply, to say anything, but you couldn't find your voice. What would I say? You elected to just go back to your bed, let him leave on his own, and pretend he was never here.

You scooted backwards but caught your hip on a table, sending a pile of your precious books hurtling to the floor. You held your breath, hoping Rex had not heard the noise, but it was no use.

Rex called your name again, and this time, it was gentler, “…Please let me in”

Your eyes watered as you walked up to the door, your finger hovering over the button that would cause it to slide open.

“I'm fine Rex, you can go” You tried to sound as resolute as you could, but the quiver in your voice was obvious.

“Cyare… let me in. I'm not leaving”

The nickname hit you hard, and you truly felt like clutching your chest as it pulled at the part of you that desired the clone on the other side of the door like no other.

You had met Rex years ago, at the job you had recently been let go from, working as a civilian medic on Coruscant.

The Captain could rarely be convinced by his brothers to take himself to the medbay, much more of the suffer in silence type. However, once you had begun working there, he had started making trips there for every little bump and scratch, and sometimes even when he was in perfect health, he would go claiming a cold or headache. He had always had a soft spot for you, and though he'd never admit it, he made it obvious. Everyone around him knew, everyone around you knew, but for whatever reason, you hadn't cottoned on at all.

He found you exceedingly beautiful, obviously intelligent, and just the most wonderful and bright spark of a person he'd ever met. Though, that was far from what you were feeling like at the moment.

You had also been enamoured by the Captain from the very start. The moment he walked into the medbay and made eye contact with you, you were done for. Whether it was his loyalty to his men, his commanding presence, or his wonderful smile that did it, you didn't know, but you were kriffed from the beginning.

“I can't let you in” You said, leaning your forehead into the door.

“Why not?” He said in a hushed tone that you could barely hear.

“I- I'm just not feeling well okay?” You choked out, vastly minimising the issue.

“I dont mind Cyare, just let me in. Please” He begged, but you just shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut.

You and Rex had grown into good friends quite naturally. In his needless visits to the med bay, he would often stay after hours and help you clean up, and you would fall into conversation about anything and everything. You shared many opinions about a variety of topics and would talk about your respective favourite things. Rex found that he learned a great deal about the wider galaxy from you, and he could hear you talk about art for hours upon end.

You were a fantastic artist, absolutely brilliant in any media, but Rex loved your sketches the most. You had brought him to your apartment once after work, when he had practically begged to see your work. He liked the simplicity of it, creating life with just a few stokes of a pencil. Your drawings held such character, such joy, such sorrow, and Rex thought that they were always so uniquely you. For that, he loved them.

“Rex I-” You didn't know what to say. You sank to your knees on the floor, letting your tears silently fall down your cheeks.

“Please…” He said one more time, and you finally broke.

You reached up and pressed the button, and the door zipped open to reveal your defeated posture to him. You dared not look up at him. You didn't want him to see you like this at all, but the thought of looking him in the eye when you knew how dishevelled, how weak you looked, you couldn't stomach it.

“Oh Cyare” He said softly and closed the door behind him, sinking to his knees in front of you. He tentatively placed a hand on your knee and began rubbing his thumb back and forth. “What's happened? You haven't been in the medbay for weeks”

“I was laid off” You replied quietly.

“What? Why would they do that?” He asked, genuinely confused. You were a talented medic. He could see no reason for it.

“Money is tight. We are at war after all” You chuckled a little bit, knowing that much was obvious to Rex.

“What are you upset about? I'm sure there's somewhere else that would take you, you're a great medic” He asked so innocently that you could almost laugh.

“It's not about that…” You sighed, running a hand over your face, still looking down.

“What is it about?” Rex said softly, shuffling forwards so his armoured knees touched your bare ones.

“I just… I can't do it anymore Rex” You whispered, the first time you had freely admitted it to anyone before.

Rex tensed up. He brought his other hand up and gently grabbed your chin, tilting your head to look at you properly. The look in your eyes already told him the answer to the question he was about to ask, “Can't do what?”

“It. Life. Anything. I just want to disappear” You said, choking on your tears and overwhelmed by the thoughts that weighed you down. Rex's amber irises burned into yours with such an intensity, but not for long, as his arms made their way around your body, and he pulled you into his lap.

You cried into his chest, with him stroking your hair and holding you close to him with the other arm, scared that you would somehow get your wish and disappear in his arms.

He was at a loss for words. He couldn't understand how someone he thought was so wonderful and incredible could be harbouring such hateful feelings about themself. He feared saying anything that would upset you, and the last thing he wished to do was deny how you were feeling by telling you that you were wrong, so he just held you in his arms, silently letting you know he was there for you, no matter what. The sound of your crying was making his heart break, but he stayed like that until it died down.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” He asked tentatively, drawing back and holding your jaw so he could see your face.

“I dont know… four or five months, maybe?” You replied, and it felt like he had been stabbed in the chest.

How had he not noticed anything was wrong? He felt like he had failed you, that your friendship was for nought if he couldn't even tell when you were upset. He didn't place any of the blame on you, but he had to ask…

“Why didn't you tell me?”

You sighed, “I didn't want to concern you with it. It's for me to deal with”

“What? It's not just for you to deal with, of course I'd want to know if you're not okay. I'm so sorry I didn't notice” He said, his tone so heavy with guilt.

“It's okay, it makes sense that you didn't”

Rex almost took offence to the comment, but the small smile on your lips didn't evade him, “Why does it make sense?”

“Uh, I guess I was always happy around you” You admit, “You- Uh we’re good friends, you know? I like spending time with you”

Despite the comment about being friends, Rex's heart soared, “I like spending time with you too Cyare”

“Why are you calling me that all of a sudden?” You asked. You knew what it meant, you'd spent enough time among the clones, and it was impossible to escape when you overheard their unabashed flirting on your few trips to 79s.

“Um” Rex gulped, not feeling like right now was the best time to admit that he was wildly in love with you, “I don't know, I care about you, you know? Like you said, we're good friends”

You nodded, seeming satisfied with the explanation, and Rex breathed out a shaky breath.

“I'm sorry you had to see me like this” You looked down, playing with your fingers as heat rose to your cheeks.

“It's fine, I really don't mind. Besides, you still look good to me” He said, and your eyes snapped back up to his instantly, your breath becoming short. Rex thinks I look good?

“Thanks Captain” You grinned shyly, your face feeling positively on fire at the compliment.

“It's no problem” He smiled, then he became more serious, “Have you eaten today?”

“Uh- no” You looked away again, feeling ashamed.

“Alright, let me fix you some food then” He readjusted his hold on you and picked you up, setting you down on your couch. Your head was spinning from the intimacy of feeling his breath fanning over your face.

“I don't really have any food here” You admitted sheepishly.

“Okay, how about this then” He crouched by the couch so that his eyes were level with yours, “Why don't you go and have a shower, do whatever you need to feel a bit better, and I'll go out and get us some food”

“Rex… I can't ask you to do that for me” You spoke hesitantly, but he shook his head.

“You're not asking, and in fact, neither am I” He said with a playful glint in his eye, “Go and freshen up, that's an order soldier”

You giggled at him and took the hand that he offered to help you up.

“Yes sir” You saluted him and marched off in the direction of the refresher, earning a laugh from the clone.

You stepped into the refresher and looked yourself in the eye for probably the first time in days. You did not look good. Your eyes held bags that looked so heavy that they could weigh down the skin they inhabited, your hair was a complete mess, and your skin was dull and lifeless.

You sighed, grabbed your hairbrush, and decided to start there. It took a few minutes, but soon, your hair was completely knot-free, and you stripped off and stepped into the shower. You took your time finding the perfect temperature, which ended up being almost scalding hot. You leaned your elbows against the wall, letting the water hit your back and relieving some of the tension you could feel there.

Now that you were actually in the shower, you didn't feel like leaving at all. Though, the idea of Rex being outside the door when you finished was enough for you to quickly wash yourself and your hair and hop out again. You brushed your teeth twice and moisturised your clean skin. Looking in the mirror, you looked a lot better than you did before you went in the shower, and you were eternally thankful for that. If you were going to see the person you had been in love with for years, you only wanted to look your best.

You stepped out of the refresher and headed for your bedroom with your dirty clothes in hand.

“Hey, are you-”

You jumped out of your skin when you saw Rex stood in the living area with a bag in hand, and he did too when he saw you with only a towel wrapped around you. Your eyes went wide, and you wrapped the towel tighter around your body on instinct, only fueling the less-than-pure thoughts that were spilling into Rex's brain. You looked so incredible, your hair dripping water over your body, which was seemingly glistening with its new cleanliness, and your towel left little to the imagination.

“Um yeah, you're out, cool, uh- I'll let you get dressed” He turned around and cursed silently to himself for being so awkward.

You just chuckled nervously, feeling utterly mortified, and made your way to your room as intended. You found a fresh oversized t-shirt and pair of soft shorts and slipped into them quickly, rejoining Rex in the other room.

He had taken off the top half of his armour, leaving just his blacks, the Republic insignia adorned proudly on his chest. The tightness of the top showed off his toned physique as if he wasn't even wearing anything, and you had to tear your eyes away from it.

“What did you get?” You asked quietly, sitting down next to him on the couch.

“Noodles, is that okay?” He asked, looking to you a little nervously.

You chucked at his demeanour, which was decidedly un-captain-like as he looked to you for approval, “It's perfect, thank you”

You both picked up the boxes that held your food and dug in, and your bodies turned to face each other as you rested against oppsite ends of the couch. It was good to have a proper meal, with actually nutritious foods. When you had eaten as of late, it had mostly been ration bars or random snacks you could find in your apartment. You hummed contentedly, and Rex smiled at you.

“Good?”

“Mhm” You smiled, swallowing a bite, “Thank you Rex”

“It’s alright” He said nonchalantly.

“I mean it, thank you for… taking care of me” You said, then looked down, “I'm finding that difficult at the moment, so it means a lot”

“Cyare” Rex moved towards you and placed a hand on your knee, “It's really no trouble, I just want to see you feeling better”

You looked up at him and gave a tight lipped smile, “Well, thank you anyway”

“No problem. You look a little more alive now, by the way” He teased.

“Hey! You're the one that said I looked good before, you cant take it back now” You challenged, and he smirked.

“I'm not taking it back. You just look even better now” He said, but his smirk dropped when you froze up at his comment.

“You dont have to say that just to make me feel better, you know” You said, looking down and taking your final mouthful of noodles.

“I'm not just saying it” He said quietly, and you looked up to see his light frown. You put down your food box as he continued to stare at you seriously.

“What is it?” You ask.

“It's nothing, don't worry about it” He said quickly and put his own food box down as he finished.

“Rex” You scooted closer to him so that your knees were almost touching, “What's the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter” He avoided your eyes as he spoke, and you used the technique that he employed earlier on, gently taking his chin between your thumb and finger and guiding his gaze towards you.

“What is it?” You asked again, and his eyebrows pinched together as his eyes flicked between the two of yours.

“You're so beautiful Cyare” He said, tentatively placing his hand on your lower thigh.

Your breath hitched in your throat at the gentle touch, and you searched his eyes for any dishonesty but only found them to be as earnest as usual.

“I- I should've been telling you every day since I met you” He said, his voice breaking just a little as he spoke so softly, “I should’ve been telling you how much you mean to me, how much I care for you, how important you are” He stroked his thumb back and forth on your thigh, sending tingles up your spine.

“Rex” You breathed out in a whisper, your hand sliding around to cup his sharp jaw. He leaned into your touch, and you felt as if you could melt at the sight.

“Say something” He urged, his eyes pleading for a conformation that you felt the same way.

“I-” You didn't know what to say. You felt the same, but the words got caught in your throat. It felt wrong to truly admit to your affection for him after bottling it up for so long.

“Rex, I've always cared for you, far more than a medic should care for their patient” You admitted, and his eyes lit up.

“You have?” He asked, and you nodded in reply.

“And for the record, I think you're beautiful too” You let a small grin creep its way onto your face.

“That’s good to know” Rex smirked, bringing his other hand to your cheek.

He looked deeply into your eyes, the eyes that he always found so fascinating, and he leaned his forehead against yours before tilting his head towards your lips. You shivered with anticipation.

“Is this okay? I don't want to take advantage of you if you-”

“Just kiss me Rex” You whispered against his lips, your eyes fluttering shut. He didn't delay after that. With your permission, he couldn't say no.

His lips met yours tentatively, as if testing the waters, but as soon as he felt you kiss him back, he pulled you in more urgently. His lips moved against yours, melding together as if it was how they were made to be. You felt your need for closeness growing, and you pulled him towards you as you deepened the kiss. Rex slid his hand up your thigh, resting it on your hip and tracing small circles with his thumb as his other hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer as he devoured your lips.

Rex pulled back, his teeth lingering on your bottom lip for a moment, and you both caught your breath.

“I can't tell you how long I've wanted to do that” You said, your breath still short.

Rex grinned widely, “Yeah? I can guarantee it's probably not as long as I have”

“Probably not” You chuckled, “Unless you somehow wanted to before you even looked at me for the first time”

Rex raised his eyebrows, “You've wanted to kiss me the whole time we've known each other?” He asked, and you nodded your head shyly. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“I dont know, I guess I just figured you wouldn't feel the same” You shrug.

Rex just shook his head with a smile and pulled you onto his lap “Oh, how wrong you were”

“Is that right?” You smirked, “I'd love to hear all about just how wrong I was”

Rex smirked back at you, and placed a kiss to your cheek, “I've wanted to kiss those pretty lips of yours ever since I laid eyes on you” He confessed, and your breath hitched as he continued to place featherlight kisses along your jaw. “I thought you were the most beautiful person I'd ever seen” He kissed down your neck slowly, gently nipping at you with his teeth at the point where your neck meets your shoulder, which earned a small whine from you, and you could feel him smirk.

“I've never felt the way I feel about you, about anyone else” He murmured against your skin, burying his nose in your neck and inhaling your scent.

His words were driving you crazy. They were all you had ever wanted to hear from him, and here he was, speaking them aloud as he kissed your skin so gently, as if you would break if he pressed any harder.

“Rex” You whispered, and he looked up at you, waiting for you to continue.

“What is it, Mesh'la?” He whispered back, his lips ghosting yours. You shuddered in his arms, your eyes fluttering closed, and he watched your every move with anticipation.

“Rex, I-” You leaned your forehead against his, needing an anchor before you spoke your next words, “I need you”

Rex's heart skipped a beat. Possibly a few beats. “What do you mean, Cyare?”

“Please, take me to the bedroom” You asked, begged, and Rex took action immediately.

He held you to him as he stood up, and you wrapped your legs around him tightly. He made his way to your bed quickly and gently laid you onto your back, crawling over you so he was holding himself above your body.

“You're sure about this, Cyare? If it's just a lapse in judgement because you're not in your right mind, I understand, no hard feelings” Rex stroked your cheek with his knuckles, looking into your eyes intently.

“Rex, please. My judgement is just fine. I want you. I've always wanted you” You said, the neediness so obvious in your tone. Rex's expression then settled somewhere between amusement and adoration.

“You want me?” He smirked, his lips hovering just above yours.

“Yes” You spoke breathlessly.

“Say it again” He commanded in a whisper, his amber eyes burning into your very soul.

“I want you, Rex”

He breathed out a shaky breath and brought his lips to yours, speaking between chaste kisses, “You have me, all of me. You always have. I've always been yours”

It was almost too much to hear. Your heart was pounding in your ears, and you thought you'd made it all up.

“I've always been yours Rex” You whispered against his lips, and his breath stuttered.

“You're mine?” He asked in a murmur. The flame of desire burning in his eyes was clear.

“Only yours”

He pressed his lips to yours with a newfound desperation, his hand trailing down your body and holding your hips in place as he slipped his leg between yours. You grasped at his body, your hands finding themselves underneath the top of his blacks, and he stopped kissing you to pull it off. You absolutely marvelled at the sight.

In all your time knowing Rex, mending up his various wounds, you had never had the honour of glimpsing at his form without a shirt on. You traced along a scar at the centre of his chest, “How did you get this?”

“I was shot” He shrugged with a grin.

“No big deal for a big important Captain like you, I suppose” You teased and matched his grin as he rolled his eyes.

“Shut up” He mumbled against your skin as he buried his head in your neck, leaving soft kisses and less soft bites. You struggled to keep small moans from escaping your lips at his touch, and Rex noticed you holding back. He wound his way up to your lips, pressing a short kiss to them before he spoke.

“Don't hold out on me cyar'ika, I want to hear you”

You bit your lip and nodded at him, then kissed a trail across his strong jaw, earning a soft groan. As your kisses made their way down his neck, and you brought your hands to trail down his body, he groaned more deeply. The sound was driving you insane. Before you could breach the top of his blacks, Rex gathered your wrists in his hand and held them above your head, your eyes blown wide with desire and longing, your breath ragged.

Rex just looked at you for a moment, committing the intoxicating sight to his memory. His other hand found your face as he shifted the leg that was between yours, earning a whimper, “Don't worry about that, just let me take care of you”

You shuddered at his words, your body tense with anticipation for what was to come.

He looked so perfect, angelic even.

Watching Rex sleep was never a luxury you imagined yourself getting the opportunity to indulge in, but with it right in front of you, you weren't going to let it pass you by.

You had slept for a little while, wrapped up in Rex's limbs, and held closely to his body. You had been completely at peace, every struggle and awful thought that usually plagued you was pushed to the back of your mind and there was only him, his presence enveloping you; his warmth, his scent, the feel of his skin against yours, his breath against your cheek and his chest rising and falling gently. Now, as you moved away from him and watched the cold light of morning creep across his features, you couldn't help but marvel at the sight.

You slipped out of his arms, a soft sigh escaping him in the process. Your heart clenched at the sound, only feeling your adoration for him growing once again.

You reluctantly tore your gaze away from him and went over to your desk, opening the left draw as quietly as you could. You took out your flimsi sketchbook and a pencil and made your way over to the chair that was against the large window overlooking the city. However, that wasn't the focus of your sketching today, not when there was a sight far more beautiful laying in your bed.

You opened up your small sketchbook and looked at the last thing you had drawn. It was a scene from the park. A couple sat on a bench at the edge of the man-made pond and smiling adoringly at each other. You smiled and pushed down the guilt at the realisation that you had drawn this over four months ago.

When you looked up to Rex again, your heart skipped a beat. The sun had risen a little higher in the sky and cast a golden light across the lower half of his face and chest. You took up your pencil and began sketching the view before anything could disturb it.

The sheets were pooled at his waist, showing off his toned physique in all its glory, especially as he slept with one hand tucked under his head. His features were relaxed, more relaxed than you had ever seen. His face often had a sternness about it that was undeniably militaristic, but that was nowhere to be found as he slept peacefully.

You had the outline and were now just adding the details. The small marks on his skin, some that you had fixed up yourself, and the large blaster burn in the centre of his chest. As you were adding some of the shadows to his face, you heard a small grumble, and your head shot up to see Rex opening his eyes, stretching his arms out.

“Don’t move” You spoke gently, and he looked to you, noticing your sketchbook in your hand as you sat curled up in your chair.

He smiled, a warmth spreading across his chest as he settled back into his previous position, “Like this?”

“Mhm” You hummed in reply, taking in the way the shadows on his face changed now that he was awake. “Relax” You laughed as you saw a small crease emerge in his brow.

He chuckled a little and relaxed with a contented sigh.

“Almost done” You said quietly, as if to not disturb your own work.

You quickly added the remaining shading, adding some small details of the bed and the room, wanting to capture the moment perfectly, so that should your mind ever forget it, which you doubted, it would be forever recorded. That was what you loved about using flimi over a datapad. The physicality felt more personal and permanent.

“All finished” You smiled as you closed your sketchbook and went to place it back in your desk.

“Hey! Aren't you going to show me?” Rex asked, and you looked back to him to see the crease in brow had returned.

“It's not very good, it's just a sketch”

“Cyare, I love your sketches. Please, show me” He spoke gently, an edge of seriousness to deny your self-deprecating words.

“Okay” You conceded, opening the sketchbook back up and sitting down on the bed to show him. Rex then grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into him, making you fall back into his chest as he laid down again. A delighted laugh escaped your lips at the sudden contact, and you looked up to Rex's face to see an equally elated expression.

He took the sketchbook from your hand and looked over the drawing of himself, his smile widening with each second.

“It's amazing” He said softly, meeting your eyes again.

“That's because it's of you” You smiled and brushed your nose against his, earning a small chuckle.

“No, it's… You make me look so…” He looked over the drawing and tried to find the right word to describe what he meant, “I'm not sure. It looks exactly like me, but… There's something else to it”

“Well, all the best things are made with love” You said before you could even really process what you were saying.

Rex’s eyes went wide as they snapped back to yours, “Love?” He questioned.

You shrank backwards, wanting the bed to collapse in on itself and swallow you whole, but Rex’s arm tightened around your waist, pulling you against him. You let the word hang in the air for a moment before clearing your throat and swallowing hard.

“Uh… yeah” You said awkwardly, looking away.

Rex said your name in a soft tone, pulling your focus back to him. He rested his forehead against yours, his amber eyes burning into yours, “You love me?”

“I do” You whispered, gnawing your bottom lip at the vulnerability of the admission.

Rex met your lips in a sweet kiss, slow and deliberate, and pulled away a few seconds later. He caressed your cheek with his knuckles before he settled his palm on the back of your neck. “I love you too” He confessed, and your heart leapt to your throat.

“You do?” You whispered.

“I do. I always have. It's like I said, I've always been yours” He confirmed, repeating the words he had said last night. You brought your forehead to his again and closed your eyes, taking in the sweetness of the moment.

“And I yours”

Nothing was fixed. You weren't back to being happy and full of life like you once were, but Rex had reminded you why life was worth living. You were reminded of all the things that made it worthwhile, all of the things you loved to do, the things that brought joy and colour into your life. If you could just take it one step at a time, one day after the other, you would get through this feeling, and best of all, Rex would be there to support you when you needed him.

[daisyjonesgf]

the lakes (6) // finnick odair x f. reader

merry christmas to all who celebrate, my gift to you 🎄

summary: it's supposed to be over, you and Finnick are supposed to spend the rest of your lives helping each other heal. living as peacefully as possible, but the the third quarter quell throws a wrench in your domestic bliss.

previous chapter / next chapter

midnight rain

5k words

warnings: angst, fluff, SMUT MDNI (y'all better eat it up while it's here bc this might be one of like twice or three times so merry christmas lmao), orgasm denial, teasing, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), slightly mean finnick but also softdom, mentions and allusions to trafficking and sexual trauma, self-hate, manipulation of someone's feelings, allusions to death/violence, pnv, usage of weapons, terms of endearment, no use of y/n, unedited, cumming inside, mental health issues, self doubt, hypocritical reader, savior complex finnick

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Cold air hit your skin as the doors to the training center opened, instantly you could feel the onslaught of goosebumps on your arms. “Remember brush up on skills, knives, spears and number one objective-”

"Katniss.” You finished for him. "You go get your hands back on that trident, and hopefully my instincts will remember what it takes to throw a knife or a spear.”

"If not, work on some survival skills, but I think the instincts will kick in.” You tilted your head to the side, uncertain but humoring the idea. He kissed you softly, “See you soon."

"I'm only going to be a few hundred feet away, Finnick.” You smiled and he did too.

“Well that's a few hundred feet too far.”

"Good thing you can come find me anytime you want.” Squeezing his hand as you reluctantly took a few steps back.

“You don't want to come and admire me back in my element?" He joked, his grin bearing his shining teeth.

“In your dreams, Odair."

“Absolutely!" Finnick's eyebrows quirked up before you finally pulled yourself out of his magnetic field to focus on the more viral thing, survival.

It had been so long since you'd thrown a knife with purpose, over half a decade which had been what you felt most confident in. Of course there had been a couple times, admittedly more than a couple, when your nerves spiked up and a moment where you were simply making dinner, chopping something up, to being spooked by a noise that led to a knife wedged in a wall or cupboard. So Finnick cooked and cut, he wasn't as easily startled or on edge.

This year they had clearly made more of an investment into the training, a little pad verifying it was you when you stood on the elevated block. You took a second before lifting the tiny weapons from where they lay, the weight was instantly familiar in a way that made your chest heave. It felt like you were that same young girl again, trying to see what could help her survive, help her overcome others. Finnick has been right, how to throw a knife, how to throw it to kill, all came back like child's play.

The instant the first hologram appeared it was like your brain went on autopilot, they weren't real but your brain was screaming, survive, survive, survive. Each knife flew from your hand with lethal aim, your arms instinctively knew what to do, how to throw precisely as fast as possible. So you trusted your body when suddenly the simulation was over, you felt your head coming back to reality. It was terrifying, you'd felt like you were in a dizzy high and suddenly you were that same young girl terrified in the arena. Full of guilt and regret for the lives you'd taken.

“I thought your weapon of choice was a spear." A voice cut through your thoughts, bringing your thoughts back to the person you were now. Peeta, ever outgoing and charismatic just as he'd been depicted, with an untrusting looking Katniss not far behind.

“No, that's what was convenient at the end, but the spear was never mine, it was-"

“Conway’s." Katniss finished the name you hated saying, hated remembering for you. “You killed in the Bloodbath with knives and then the girl from District 2." She must have been rewatching everyone's games, learning their tactics.

“Ironic, weren't they the District 2 girl from last year's weapon of choice as well?" You asked, stepping off the platform.

“Yes." She was tense, stiff it radiated off of her, stagnating the air.

“When there's such limited options, it's hard to get much differentiation. You certainly helped mix the bag last year.” Not just with her little bow and arrow, you hoped she knew what you were really saying, but couldn't with the people watching from above. She probably didn't, she was like a guard dog who didn't know whether or not one could be warmed up too, but would always assume the worst.

“I'm glad that was entertaining." Her voice was bitter as if she had no idea that everyone here has gone through the exact same trauma and felt the same way.

“It certainly was for them." You glanced upwards, towards the head game maker and his cronies observing you all like lab rats. “Most of us were." The Morphlings certainly had to be the most boring show of all, to those who couldn't realize it was such a smart tactic to stay alive, even if it didn't make great daytime television.

“You should teach us how to throw sometime." Peeta inserted himself back into the conversation. "If you want, we could teach each other things. I could go over camouflage.” He offered with a smile.

“Yeah of course!" You smiled back. “When you blended into the rocks by that stream, it was truthfully unfathomable in talent to be able to do that."

“And Katniss can shoot, I'm sure you've seen, but she never misses." Katniss shot him a glare, "Just following Haymitch's orders.” Peeta shrugged before his eye was caught by Johanna finishing up with her ax training. “I should get a formal introduction." He was walking away when Katniss spoke again.

“Why'd you volunteer for that girl?" She asked, and you turned your head towards her.

“For Annie?" You felt like it was obvious, but Katniss just nodded. “I wasn't going to put her through this again, that wouldn't have been fair of me. I couldn't let any of them, I couldn't have lived with myself if I had, so I might as well die on that hill now." Your candor seemed to make her less stiff. “You know, she was the first tribute I mentored. Years after my games, I did everything I could to help her win, to prepare her, but I couldn't prepare her for what happened after. Seeing her after that it was like I failed." Annie would forever be known as the one who went "a little crazy.” Maybe that was a blessing though, maybe it saved her from a much worse fate. Katniss' eyes finally looked more soft, not off guard, but not blocked off from your words.

“Even though you know this time only one of you can come out?" Her eyes briefly flickered towards Finnick before landing back on you.

“I'm not expecting to be the one who makes it out and she wouldn't have either. It's worth it to save her, he'll be fine without me." The words were too raw, too much like being stripped naked, but you knew you needed her to trust you and being honest would probably be the most effective route. Of course she couldn't completely trust you if she'd watched your games, you didn't blame her for that, but you just needed a little of it. “It's not different from what you did for your sister, sometimes you just know when that person needs to be protected no matter what that means for you."

Katniss began walking over to where the spears were located, “Like Peeta said, if you show me how to use the spear and the knives, I can show you how to shoot the bow and what plants and berries you can trust." This was her way of some form of acceptance you realized and internally congratulated yourself.

“Sounds like a deal to me." You picked one of the heavy spears up, it was also just as you remembered. It brought back flashes of the boy who taught you how to use it, the boy you'd killed with it. You could tell what she was thinking as you held it, how you used Conway, used his emotions and then his own weapon. “You know, the funny thing is people act like he didn't know, but that’s really what made it so brilliant.” Katniss looked confused as you stepped into the platform, which confirmed it was you. "Looking back you realize how early on he had me figured out and was playing me right back, I really think that's what endeared us to each other in the first place. He was trying to beat me at my own game almost from the beginning and I didn't even realize.” You launched the spear into the first hologram before quickly grabbing the other as Katniss watched on, absorbing the seemingly impromptu rant. “I can't blame him, I don't blame him even if I'm the one who gets it all placed on my head, which I probably deserve." Another spear knocking the hologram figure apart. The final one ready to fly. “You just have to remember who the real enemy is."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"You two already have an advantage being from District 4, plenty of opportunities to practice with what you would be good at using in lessons. So stick with whatever you were good at then to impress, but don't forget to learn other skills that could be life saving in the long run.” Finnick was breaking down the plan for the two of you as the walk for the first training session with the other tributes was about to ensue. Although it went unspoken you'd also been blessed with extra practice even from back when you were dating Finnick in the district, he was so anxious that he needed to ensure you knew how to protect yourself. That you polished your skills, which he was sure you could do.

"Show off your strengths, but don't forget you're not just impressing the gamemakers, but the approval of other tributes can be vital. Alliances are important.” Ondine added.

Finnick nodded in agreement, “Another advantage from District 4, is the availability of the Career pack of tributes. All of the best trained and prepared tributes, especially if you show off enough to impress Districts 1 & 2 you're both a shoe-in. I'd encourage that as the strongest choice."

“I don't think we should do that." Conway’s voice of disagreement made you stop in your tracks. What was wrong with him? What could possibly be going on in his head that possessed him to argue with your mentor, someone who'd won before? Finnick raised an eyebrow, in a look you could only describe as patronizing. “I'm just saying that also means they're the best prepared to stab us in the back when it comes down to it. If we ally with tributes from a less prominent district it could make it easier when it comes down to it, make it less vicious.” He was delusional, it would be vicious no matter what when there were just a few people left.

You looked at Ondine who’s eyes were closed as she shook her head, Finnick's arms were crossed as he looked at the two of you, and Conway looked expectantly right at you. Then it hit you, this was a test. In order to maintain his trust in the fantasy you'd been carefully creating you'd have to take his side, prove you weren't loyal to every thing Finnick muttered. Even if it was hypocritical it angered you, it felt hellishly unfair that he would put you in a predicament like that. Who cared about the relationship between you and Finnick when he was the mentor offering advice to save both of your lives?

Conway pointed at you, urging you for a response. “I mean, what do you think? I'm just babbling aloud, I'll drop it if you think it's stupid." Maybe you were just paranoid, no, this was definitely a loyalty test. To him your love would mean support, it would mean unwavering devotion. So you painfully forced a caring, understanding look in your eyes, for your muscles to relax, and a loving smile on your face.

“Of course we should keep our options open, I mean we're not even there yet, the Careers this year might not even be the best options. You're right, Conway, we should consider every path to help us." Of course the Careers would be prepared, he was going to get you killed if he kept pulling this. Reasoning that at least your actions were well calculated not blindly emotional scrutinization. It made you slightly resent him, but the answer seemed to satisfy him as he grinned at the other two before beginning to walk again.

The slight spring in his step was obvious to anyone paying close enough attention, it upset you. When you hoped Conway wasn't watching, you shot a look towards Finnick. It was quick, but you grimaced and hoped your eyes could express your annoyance. Although the bob of his head was equally quick you could see he understood and was feeling just as enraged as you felt if not more. How could Conway claim to care about you when he could threaten a potentially life saving alliance to try and prove a point about how much you felt for him over Finnick? Although Finnick still wore a charming smile you could feel him seething and it comforted you somehow to know that he would never, that he would always pick safety, your safety and that he wouldn't stand for Conway’s games either. Even if rationally it did make sense, you were messing with him which both you and Finnick knew, but there wasn't time to think on that when it was life and death.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“You're brilliant, even if it pains me to admit that you beat me to it." Finnick shook his head, smiling wildly. Haymitch had informed you that so far Katniss would have liked you as an ally if it weren't for the package deal that included Finnick. A feat considering all the tributes that wanted to ally with her after her impressive show in the archery station. It had truly been amazing, how smoothly she used the weapon, and how accurate she was.

“Well, you're welcome." You pecked him on the lips, smiling. Sitting down on the bed and smoothing out your robe, Finnick soon followed.

“I love you so much." He mumbled as he crashed down onto the mattress.

“I love you too, Finnick." Your head lay down by his, quietly counting the freckles scattered across his face.

“Staring is rude." His eyes shone with his internal brightness that he couldn't hide from you.

“Isn't that a perk I should get being your wife and all?" He scooted closer, nose brushing against yours.

“I suppose. Don't know why you'd need to, there's no need to memorize when you're stuck with me forever now."

“Good." There was nothing you wanted more than to see his handsome face every day, from when you woke to when you slept and every moment in between.

His hot hands embraced your cold face, making you shiver and he smirked. It was so patronizing, how he knew that his skin to yours was like fire on ice so you had no choice but to melt, but you couldn't stop yourself from softening anyways. Before you could even try and conjure up words to try and call him out, his lips were on yours.

He wasn't aggressive, never, but his gentleness didn't take away from his control. Your lips chased him and suddenly you were beneath him, swept up in his plush lips. Hands searched for him before he pulled his face away. You couldn't stop yourself before you whined at the removal of his lips from yours, pouting at him.

He scoffed, looking down at you slightly condescending, “Really, angel?" You could feel your face heating up as his eyes gazed at you, his hand delicately tracing the hem of your robe. “We don't have to do this, if you don't want to, sweet girl. You have to communicate with me, I don't want to push you, if you even don't feel comfortable you need to tell me." It felt like too much in the moment when it seemed so blatantly obvious that you wanted him, craved him. But it also made you love him so much more.

For so long it had been difficult to even be touched. The Capitol had come in and dug their talons into you, your own intimacy didn't even belong to you. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. You'd tried to push it down, he'd dealt with it for so much longer, since he was so much younger. Pushing it down didn't stop the roots of trauma from taking root deep within your soul though.

You felt guilty for not being able to give yourself in so many ways to Finnick who was unbelievably patient, of course he was, he understood, he cared. When you'd finally grazed your hand against his and let him grab it, the pureness of the touch was enough to make you burst into tears. That made it more difficult too though, your tears. A tactic that had once seemed wise in winning over the Capitol as a sweet, innocent girl had come back to bite you. Echoes of how pretty you were when you cried.

When you'd finally given that part of yourself to Finnick, of your own accord, the will that has usually been taken from you. He'd made sure you wouldn't regret it, he brought back the positives of intimacy which you'd forgotten about. You were so used to calling upon the tears as you zoned out, floated away. But not with Finnick, never with him. Where you both belonged to each other and were truly connected as one.

“Are you comfortable?" You asked softly. It felt selfish that he was so worried about you with what he'd been through as well, like it was too much about you.

Finnick sighed, “Don't do that." You looked at him quizzically, “Averting the question, you shouldn't be doing it to please me, I'll be okay. I wouldn't have gotten this far if I wasn't.” His hand stroked the side of your face which chased each movement. "Are you certain you want this? I'm not going to be upset if you say no, angel.” The way he loved you so deeply to be going step by step wasn't even grating anymore it just made your heart buzz even more.

"I do want this Finnick, I know what to say if it is too much.” The thumb grazing your neck was enough to make your eyes roll back, your entire body sensitive with the waiting.

Finnick nodded, slowly. Making sure you weren't just trying to appease him, "Color?”

You sighed dramatically, "Green.” He tugged your hair lightly, "Ow!”

"So impatient, trying to take good care of my girl and she's too desperate to appreciate it.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

You pouted, “I'm sorry, Finnick. I'm just-" You gasped as his hand slipped in your rope, warm hand grazing the cold, hardness of your nipple. Legs rubbing together, his other hand, instantly sitting between them to hold them still.

“Speak up, angel. Just what?" That's what you appreciated so much, he was dominant, took care of you without the casual cruelty others often used. Of course he could be cruel in the best way, a type that still cared and knew what the line was and respected it.

“Need you, please. So, so bad." Your hands grabbed his shoulders, then the sides of his neck desperately trying to feel more of his warmth.

He hummed condescendingly, “You do?" His hand left your breast to the toe of the robe which he slowly unknotted. You nodded, brows furrowed as you tried to buck your hips. The hand prevented your legs from getting closer together, hitting your inner thigh but not in a forceful manner. “Come on sweet girl, can't you behave for me, won't you be my good girl?" His ocean eyes had you nodding along mindlessly. “Words."

“Yes, please, I just, please I need more."

“So needy." The knot on your robe untied, falling open to reveal you to the crisp air. His hand trailing down to where you needed him most, the feeling already sending shocks through your body. You wanted desperately to buck your hips up once again but resisted. He chucked, “Is this all for me? I haven't even really touched you yet." You nodded desperately, the teasing made you want to cry in desperation. Which was fine, but thinking about it scared you, the way they'd taken away two things that were so natural, so personal would distract you.

“Finnick." You said shakily and the time instantly made his face get serious.

“Are you okay? Do we need to stop?" You shook your head vigorously.

"No, just-” Your fingers fiddled with the blanket, embarrassed, "Can you just take some deep breaths with me?”

"Of course, my love.” He grabbed the hand nervously moving around the blankets to hold it to his heart. “You're okay, in and out with me, angel." You closed your eyes, breathing with him, his heart reverberating through you. “Let me know when you want to keep going or stop." He whispered.

“Finnick, I just want to cry, not in a bad way just it's been so, so ruined for me." Weaponized, sexualized.

He nodded, “You can cry if you want, I'll wipe them away from you." The idea made you want to cry at his sweetness alone.

“Okay." Your voice was shaky, “We can keep going, please." His fingers began moving again, right over your core. Palm slightly running against you and it took all of you to not rub with him. Fingers delicately circling your sensitive nub and you moaned out. The first tears falling which he diligently wiped away with his time and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Is that good?" You nodded blissfully and he swatted at your bareness causing a yelp.

“Yes, thank you Finnick, so good."

“Good girl, such a fast learner." You whimpered, toes curling. “What do you need?"

“In me, please."

“What, my fingers?" He held one hand up, moving them in front of your face. The man was mocking you, he knew what you meant and he kept rubbing your clit, making it nearly impossible to keep verbalizing.

“No!" You stammered out desperately. He smirked and removed his fingers from your bundle of nerves, causing you to hit his arm in frustration before he was grinding his clothed member on you and your hands wrapped around his shoulder tightly. You nodded intently, “Yes please. Want you to be inside of me, want to be one Finnick, yours." It hit you that this was the consummation of your marriage which made your heart swell as well as your need.

“Can't deny you anything, sweet girl." He was such a liar, but right now he followed through. Your hands began pulling down the pants he wore, desperate to free him so he could be buried in your walls. He groaned as your hand grazed his tip, precum dotting it. You licked your lips and he smirked cockily, “Another time, angel."

"How do you want me?” You asked, you'd take him anyway he wanted just to be clenched around him.

"Just the way you are is perfect, wanna see you, beautiful.” He lined himself up with your soaked entrance, "Are you sure, you're ready? Don't need more preparation.” You shook your head vigorously, pushing yourself forward to feel the tip and he grunted.

“Don't need it, so wet, I can take you, promise."

"Only if you're sure.” You nodded again, pouting.

"Please!” You whined and with that he didn't hold back, pushing his full length in and you nearly screamed. Clenching your walls around him, fingernails digging into him.

“That feel good?"

“So, so, so good." You began sliding your hand down, but he caught it tutting in disapproval.

"I've got you, angel, just lay there like a good girl. Let me take care of you too, you're making me feel so good.” His expert fingers went straight back to your clit as he began pounding in and out of you.

“Oh God, Finnick!" Your eyebrows pulled together and eyes snapped shut as he filled you. It was like you were a perfect fit for each other.

“So perfect angel, just looking at you made me think I wasn't even gonna make it into you." Finnick groaned, he knew exactly what you liked, what pace to go. You'd been so used to faking it or them not caring at all, but with him he could get you there so fast, so hard, and could do it over and over so perfectly. His fingers rubbing into your bundle of nerves that had you biting into your bottom lip to stop you from waking the whole floor. Both actions made you want to scream in ecstacy. “Are you close already, angel? Do I really make you feel like that, so fast?” You nodded, dumbly making mindless noises as his hips thrusted in and out. “Me too. I don't know how you do it to me. Where do you want me, stomach, mouth, inside?" His groaning was making his own speech shaky.

“Inside please, need to feel it, Finnick."

“You sure?" He asked, biting down on his bottom lip as your moans from his skilled fingers working their magic as he kept moving inside of you made him even closer.

“Yes, yes, yes, need to be one, just you and me. Need it inside." He pinched the bundle of nerves lightly as he hit the spot inside of you that had you kicking your feet on sheets. “I'm gonna, oh I'm gonna-"

“I know, just wait a little bit longer, angel, I'm almost there. So close, be my good, good girl." You whined, nodding.

“Wanna be so good for you."

He nodded, the words bringing him even closer to the edge as he roughly thrusted into you. “You are, so good, just gotta hold back a little longer." You were sobbing, lost in the high as he wiped away the tears streaming down.

“Feels so good, Finnick, I can't please let me, need to."

“Wait." He said sternly, at this point he felt like he was denying himself too just to watch you squirm and listen to his every word. Grabbing your face softly so your eyes were trained on him, hand still rubbing fast circles on your clit. “Been such a good girl, don't ruin it." His hips started stuttering inside of you.

You shook your head, “I won't, I'm sorry. Wanna be good." He let go of your face with his free hand and pinched your nipple. “Finnick, please, I can't. Please don't be mean, I need you.”

"Making me feel so good, my love. Clenching around me, trying to hold back, you're such a good listener." He pinched your clit again, he was being mean, he couldn't deny it but the way you cried out and started trying to push away from him was bringing him straight to the edge. “Color?"

“Green." You choked out, “Please, Finnick, I can't." Your hands pushed against his chest.

"Then you know what to say, angel." He raised an eyebrow, “So you can." It would feel so much better, be so much harder for both of you the longer he kept this up. His lips attached to your breast and you tugged his hair, he moaned onto you and the vibrations had you desperately trying to fend off the orgasm approaching.

“Please, I need to. I know you are too." He thrust into that special spot in you again and your hands hit the sheets in frustration as your eyes fluttered.

“Be patient, don't be a brat." He pulled away from your breast to look at you. He pressed down on your clit and thrust into you again, “Oh god, gonna let go inside of you now, angel. Be all over your walls, gonna feel so good. Been such a good girl, you ready to let go of me."

“Yes, please!"

“You can let go, sweet girl." His lips pressed to yours to quiet both of you moans as you finally both let yourself go. You could've sworn the way his split inside you made your shaking even harder. It was so good, so worth it.

You were nearly breathless when you pulled away, “That was new."

“Are you okay?" He asked, eyes full of concern.

“Yeah, of course. I just, you're always incredible, I'm great.” You laughed breathlessly.

"Oh, good.” He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

“Thank you."

“You don't have to thank me, angel."

“Yes I do, they've taken so much of both of us and you just bring so much of it back to just being so real, so it doesn't feel like they own it anymore."

“That's just being a decent human, I just want to take care of you. Through all the ups and downs." He was so kind, it made you ecstatic that for as long as either of you were alive you'd always be one with each other, bonded through everything you loved. “Come on, we have another long day tomorrow, let's get cleaned up."

“What if we just didn't go, just laid here together, until it passed."

“I'd love to." His eyes were earnest and like pools you could drown in, “Nothing I want more than being with you forever. But they'd drag us out and we have things to do, my love.” He helped lift you up from where you lay comfortably. Your nose scrunched up." What?”

You pulled apart your thighs, "So sticky.”

He laughed before he could stop himself, "Well I'm not the one who asked for it.” That smug, loveable ass.

"Shut up, you loved it.” Softly shoving his arms as you went to stand.

He raised his arms in defense, "Guilty as charged."

He was so perfect, the way he was so effortlessly funny, so compassionate for all your needs even if you didn't verbalize them, how patient he was yet so stern and guiding. Much too good for what you could give him, you'd go to hell and back to do half as much as he did for you. Of course he always assured you of all you did to help him, but it felt so miniscule compared to what he did for you. The things you would sacrifice to help him, to be by his side were unmatched.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you so much for reading!! I haven't written smut in so long and this really isn't a smut heavy series but I felt like exploring how what snow did to the victors who were deemed to be desirable would effect their intimacy and sometimes a little spice is needed to deal with all the angst I write. if you enjoyed it feedback is always appreciated, likes, comments, reblogs, anything and my ask box is already open if you have any questions or ideas! thank you all so much for reading 💋

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[wickedsmille]

broken and still breaking

uhhhh, this is a little fic technically titled Angsty McAngst Pants Angst in my notes because Jason goes to his Re-Welcoming/It's A(n Alive) Boy! gala then gets triggered into a PTSD episode of dying which Tim helps him through. It was SUPPOSED to be gen but then they started flirting and bantering so. Welp.

Buyer beware cause I haven't beta'ed this, aforementioned PTSD episode, mild depictions of blood and injuries and what nots.

Alright then *thigh slap*

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If it weren’t for the overwhelming feeling of being settled in his own skin, Jason would’ve told Bruce to fuck a cactus for offering to make Jason Peter Todd a real boy again. On principle alone he nearly said no. Besides, creating aliases is fun. James Austen, John Red and, to be nothing if not a mature adult with refined tastes, Dick Dickins. So many others, too. He could get the utilities at a new safehouse hooked up under Stephen Wolfe’s name then turn right around and renew Emmerson Bronte’s license at the downtown DMV.  

See? Being legally dead has allowed him room to express himself creatively in a way that has nothing to do with experimental ammunitions and testing the limits of the human body. One might even say it’s a healthy passtime. Sort of. Relatively speaking, okay. He’s not a perfect person, wouldn’t even dream of entertaining the thought. Not when he’s had so much practice turning the inside of someone’s skull into a modern day Picasso. 

But he’s been trying. Is trying. 

So, rather than testing the integrity of Bruce’s dental implants, Jason bit his cheek so hard it bled, swallowed back every bitter, snide remark dancing along his tongue and nodded tightly. He can’t think about the way Bruce deflated after. How his eyes went soft and the weight of the cape and cowl fully slipped off to reveal an infinitely exhausted but relieved Bruce Wayne, Failed Father Extraordinaire. If Jason does, he might ask himself what it was all for anyway and if any of it really ever mattered. Those kinds of thoughts lead to nothing but self-imposed isolation and self-destruction. 

He’s definitely regretting his decision as his gaze scans over the crowded ballroom of the Grand Hotel in downtown Gotham. A sea of opulence swims below the upper landing he has stalled out on. Men and women stand around in circles, chatting one another with plastic smiles etched into their faces. The sound of faked laughter grates, making his jaw clench and his teeth grind together. Wouldn’t it be just his luck that the food tables are all the across the room.

“Ha, ha, ha. Oh my, this little thing?” a woman simpers loudly at the bottom of the stairs. “Why, it was my mother’s.” She fingers the delicate gold chain around her neck. On the end is a diamond large enough it could feed a family of four in the Alley for a couple years.

A man across from her, entrenched in his own conversation partners, tips his head back and holds his belly as he chortles. “Mr. Campbell, you’re in luck! I have a penthouse in uptown and a condo on the westside and they’re alright but, if you’re looking for a sound investment, I suggest getting a cabin or three in the Northwest. Best decision I ever made!” he says blithely like there aren’t families and children sleeping in their cars because every apartment building is leased up and the list for voucher programs are thousands long.

Jesus fuck, he did not miss this.

Being a Wayne again means he gets the horrific honor of taking a half-step into the limelight. At first, Bruce wanted to do a full spread. Interviews and press conferences, staged sightings by the paparazzi and several welcoming events. Jason promptly shut him down by threatening to find every copy of his adoption papers and burning them. He’d rather chew off his own arm and beat Bruce with the appendage than do any of that. The compromise? A single gala as a re-introduction then Jason could fade into the background once more. 

So long as you don’t cause a scene, Bruce had said sardonically, knowingly. Bastard.

With the implied threat to his privacy, Jason has smartly decided to be on his best behavior. Even though the simple, black suit he’s wearing feels too tight and too hot. Though his hair is stiff from all the product in it. Despite the shiny leather shoes pinching his toes. No matter the way he feels like everyone is staring at him even if they’re not. 

Sure, quite a few of the guests are surreptitiously staring, thinking they’re oh so clever with the way they side-eye him before quickly looking away. They’re subtle, or so they think. It’s not like everyone is facing him, gazes boring into him. He almost thinks that would be better. At least he’d have a good reason to sneer and dip out scot free. Would it really be a scene if he were to loudly trip coming down the stairs? He’ll feign embarrassment at drawing attention to himself if it means he can back out. 

An elbow bumps into his side, making him jolt. Jason’s head whips around, intending to give whoever has invaded his personal space a thorough tongue lashing until he sees Tim. Calm, cool, collected Tim holding two champagne flutes, one held towards Jason. He’s smiling softly with his head tipped to the side in an unspoken question. The gold and white of his corset vest contrast well with the black of the rest of his suit and make the blue-gray of his eyes pop without washing him out. Tim would look right at home if he were down on the floor swimming with the other sharks. Goddamn him for fitting in so well.

“I’ll back you if you want to leave,” Tim tells him. “Due to your violent bout of diarrhea and uncontrollable gas.”

Snatching the offered glass out of Tim’s hand, Jason drains the entire thing in one go. “I hate you,” he murmurs miserably, only partly meaning it. Then he snags Tim’s own glass and downs that as well. 

A thoughtful frown makes its way onto Tim’s face. “I’d be careful. Getting tipsy won’t actually make this any easier to navigate.”

“Stop talking like you know me.”

Tim shrugs amiably. “I might not know you as well as I’d like to but I know them.” 

He inclines his head towards the dodos guffawing over their latest insider trading power plays and gossiping on whose husband is sleeping with which of the help. Or lamenting on how finicky children can be, not realizing their kids aren’t really the problem because they’re capacity for introspection matches the frigidity of their hearts somewhere below absolute zero. Jason tries very hard to not bite and snarl at Tim since he’s one of the blue bloods. Born and bred for the hoity-toity bullshit with a silver spoon shoved so far down his throat he must’ve been gagging on it. 

Tim isn’t like that and never has been, he reminds himself. In fact, for all the ways Jason had to show Tim how to effectively coupon stack and explain why he microwaves his sponges, Tim is as far removed from the vultures and roaches and leeches they’re surrounded with as he could be given his upbringing. For one, Tim isn’t a total douchebag. Unthinking at times and eccentric, but not outright malicious. He can be surprisingly sweet like when he requests Alfred make one of Jason’s favorite foods when he knows Jason will be coming over for dinner or upgrading Jason’s helmet when his own tech know-how fails him without Jason ever needing to ask. 

The guy is a squishy ball of good intentions wrapped in a deceptively tiny package which has never, not once, held him back from putting dusty, crusty board members and hardened, violent crooks in their place. Once he’d had a chance to actually get to know Tim, Jason found himself feeling grateful. Bruce didn’t concede to just anyone stepping into Jason’s pixie boots. At least he went for the best. 

“If you knew me any better you’d have a key to my apartment and a drawer in my dresser,” Jason drawls, steering the conversation away from the swarm of jewels and silks he wants to pretend doesn’t exist.

“I already have a key to your apartment,” Tim points out. 

Rolling his eyes, Jason stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, but you come over so I can make you buy pizza and kick your ass in Mortal Kombat. Not fucking you into the mattress and making you breakfast in bed after.”

“You never asked, did you?” Tim asks him slyly.

Just about every coherent thought in Jason’s mind fucks off into some deep, dark hole. Leaving him a flustered mess with vague recollections of waking up sticky and wanting. So his witty, top of the line comeback is, “Nope.”

“Eloquent as always,” Tim laughs, patting Jason lightly on the shoulder like he didn’t just break Jason’s brain. “We should get down there before they start chattering about how egregiously anti-social we are.”

All the clamboring what if’s and could be’s get ruthlessly, shamelessly smothered and die a quick and violent end so he can get himself back on task. “I don’t want to,” Jason says petulantly to drive the conversation back to safer, calmer waters.

Now it’s Tim’s turn to roll his eyes. Huffing, he points at Damian to the far left where he’s leaned against a pillar with his arms crossed tightly. “Suck it up. If he can do it, so can you. Now come on.” 

Tim holds out his elbow which Jason bats away with a scowl. He can make his own way down the stairs, thanks. Telling Tim as much, Jason nearly trips over himself when Tim challenges him to put his money where his mouth is. There’s a reason Tim is his favorite because it’s just the thing he needs to unstick his feet and get him moving despite the way his skin prickles the closer they get to the main floor. Although Tim had been joking when he volunteered to escort Jason down, he finds himself wishing he’d taken Tim up on it if only for the grounding comfort of a familiar touch as the smooth soles of his shoes land on the polished floors. 

Graciously, Tim does see him through the crowd to the food tables Jason had been eyeing up. As a kid, they were an oasis. It’s hard for others to talk to you when you’re stuffing your face as fast as you can while chewing as slowly as possible to delay and discourage conversation. Plus, it’s good. A little bland because the chefs have to cater to the tastes of so many, watering down their usual Michelin star flair to a point that probably pains them. But still good in spite of it being pretentious.

Once satisfied Jason can be his own keeper no longer in need of a handler, Tim drifts off. He switches over from the insufferable geek Jason has come to like to the smoothed, glacial veneer of a corporate socialite. The totality of the shift leaves Jason reeling. One thing he’s never understood, no matter how much he puzzled through it and tried to emulate it, is how Bruce and Tim can switch between the two extremes so flawlessly. It’s like trading out coats for them. A flick and a swish then, poof, like magic they’re entirely new people. What that says about their psyches and the inherent fault in their neural wiring is something he shies away from.

Jason tucks in with gusto when an older woman in an inappropriately low cut halter dress and coiffed hair sets her sights on him and starts striding over. With nimble fingers, he loads up the plate his grabs and shoves whatever in his mouth, hoping the age-old trick still works despite being over a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier. 

Score because it totally does. She wrinkles her nose at his puffed out cheeks and actually sniffs haughtily when he chews purposefully with his mouth open. He even smiles, masticated mush on full display, and waves cheekily. The woman redirects her steps to take her closer to where Dick is holding court about twenty yards out. She joins the gaggle of women and men magnetically drawn in by Dick’s natural charm. He doesn't quite fit like Tim and Bruce do but he has his natural personality to make up the difference.

Unlike Jason. Which he has no problem with. He’ll take himself, authentically cynical and caustic and brutally honest, over being a fake fuck any day. 

The bacon wrapped, maple seared figs don’t settle well as more people attempt to approach him. Even for him, there’s only so much he can eat. Rapidly, he’s reaching his limit. The twisting viper pit turning his stomach inside out isn’t helping his appetite either. So far he’s been successful in warding people off but his stomach flips, signaling his need to find a new method to avoid unwanted advances and carelessly hurtful words. 

Setting his plate aside, Jason casts his gaze out across the crowd once more. Being tall does have its advantages. Like being able to pinpoint where exactly the rest of the family is and relatively what they’re up to. Dick is wholly unaccessible with the amount of attention he’s getting. He can keep the center stage, Jason is trying to move behind the curtains. Bruce is similarly front and center with his own gathered horde so that’s a no go even if he thought he could handle it without fisting Bruce’s collar and dunking him into the champagne fountain in the corner. 

Damian is somewhere. It’s a toss up whether Jason just can’t see the shrimp or he’s faded into the shadows to either eerily stare out at the crowd from a corner or making his way towards a Bat bothole to go on an ill-advised patrol. As helpful as it would be to have Cass, she’s no better handling these things than Jason so Stephanie has been guiding her. Her attempts at bumbling but Stephanie is nothing if not determined and relentless. It’s why Jason likes her even though he hates those qualities, a reflection of his own, weaponized against him. Duke, the lucky duck, got to skip.

Then, there’s Tim. He’s making amiable small talk with a couple to Jason’s left. They’re too far for Jason to make out the words but close enough Jason feels comfortable weaving between bodies to reach him. So what if it makes him needy or weak. Everyone has to take a knee from time to time and he doesn’t need anything more than a temporary crutch to get him through the next hour or two before he can leave without causing a fuss. Tim is crutch-shaped. It makes sense. 

Saddling up to Tim’s side, Jason inserts himself into the conversation. The man speaking stutters, words petering out as he looks up, up, up at Jason. Jason flashes what he hopes passes as a polite smile. He’s not sure it works when the guy recoils minutely. The woman, his wife Jason assumes if the three-figure rock on her finger is anything to go by, gives him a flat grimace he assumes is supposed to be a smile.

“Jason, it’s good to see you. Enjoying the party so far?” Tim asks him, voice level and almost serene.

“It’s a blast,” Jason deadpans, bumping his hip into Tim’s as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“It is a fabulous venue,” the woman says. “We were delighted to get the invitation and haven’t been disappointed yet.”

Yet. Goddamn. He forgot just how snippy these people could be. 

“I’ll be sure to pass your praise along to our event planner,” Tim replies so Jason doesn’t immediately make an ass of himself. “By the way, Jason, this is John Anders and Mary Ann Anders. They’re the founders and CEOs of Anders Packaging. Wayne Enterprises is lucky to call them partners.”

“Jason Wayne,” Jason introduces himself. He holds out his hand which John hesitates to take but social norms win out. Jason makes sure to squeeze on the side of too tight and doesn’t stop till John winces. He goes easier on Mary Ann though, maybe he shouldn’t have because she digs her nails into the skin of his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

When Tim’s hip bumps into him, Jason reads it as the warning it is so he backs off. Tim takes back the reins of the conversation to steer them away from Jason himself. The transition back to dull, unassuming chatter is easy when Tim is the one leading. The tension from John drains away as he falls under Tim’s spell. Jason does feel some small amount of respect for Mary Ann as he notes she isn’t as enamored with Tim’s performance as her husband is. She gives Jason a shrewd look as if to say I see you both, I’m watching you and, yeah, he kind of likes her and hates that he does. But she probably hates him right back since she has to like him. Or pretend to.

Jason rises to Mary Ann’s challenge when she narrows her eyes at him. It becomes a game where they both adopt an air of cordial confidence whenever Tim and John are looking. Then they cast it aside for suspicion and mutual distaste when the other two aren’t. It’s kind of fun. If Mary Ann doesn’t think so, sucks to suck. Jason has had an entire lifetime of pissing people off by doing nothing but existing to hone his craft of being a nuisance without lifting a finger.

Tim looks at him askance, drawing Jason away from his silent feud with Mary Ann and back to the conversation. 

“I thought it would be fun,” John laments ruefully.

“You’re adventurous,” Mary Ann says as she pats his arm. 

“I suppose so,” John replies, giving her a small, genuine smile. “I certainly have a better appreciation for remodelers! Doing the kitchen in our summer house? Never again! I was trying to knock out the cabinets with a hammer for ages until Mary Ann grabbed me a crowbar.”

Jason’s blood runs cold. He abandons the game with Mary Ann in favor of racking his mind for a graceful, or graceless if necessary, way to leave. 

The mention of a crowbar sinks its hooks into his mind, making it run syrupy slow. Too slow to slink away before John keeps going. 

“Now that did the trick! It still took me an hour but, whoo, let me tell you. That is a workout,” John laughs. The arm he has around Mary Ann’s waist unwinds and he takes a step back to give himself some more room. Then he’s miming swinging his arm back and forth. High above his shoulder then down and across, grunting from the effort and smiling from the humor of it all. “You have to throw your shoulder into it. Really get into it. It was fun!”

John laughs again but it’s not John. Not to Jason. It’s too high, too loud. The sound echoes in his head and amplifies with every reverberation. He would cover his ears if he knew it would do any good but it’s all in his head. Now would be a good time to leave, decorum be damned. But his feet feel rooted to the spot and every muscle is coiled so tight he’s shaking with it and immobile. Jason's hands start trembling as John keeps going. On and on and on about his skill with a crowbar. Proud of himself for it. 

In horror, Jason watches as John’s smile keeps curving and twisting into a rictus grin so wide it should be splitting his face but it isn’t. The white straight line of his teeth shift and dull to a pale yellow while all the color of his skin drains away to an unnatural white. The charcoal gray of his suit bursts into color Purple and green and red. So much red. John’s hand isn’t empty anymore either. Now he’s swinging a real crowbar with the end of the metal dented from where he used it to shatter Jason’s femur and tailbone. 

Jason watches as John as the Joker pummels Jason as Robin right there on the ballroom floor. A deep dark red spreads out across the ground. Jason as Robin screams and pleads. Snot and blood and a broken jaw making it difficult to form words but he knows what he said. He was calling out for Bruce. But Bruce never came and the pool of blood has spread far enough he’s standing in it and Jason can’t do this anymore - 

He’s off like a shot. All the restless, animalistic panic inside him zips through his veins. His chest heaves with the effort to suck in as much air as possible but it’s never enough. There’s nothing but the jagged, wet sound of him breathing and the pounding beat of his pulse in his temples. Maybe someone is yelling his name, too, but it’s muffled like someone is holding his head underwater. The elite, esteemed guests gawk at him as he flies by and he doesn’t understand why they aren’t in a tizzy about the dirty warehouse they’re in. 

When he reaches the door, it isn’t locked with a winding length of chain. His hands scramble to clutch the knob of the door but it opens easily under his hands. Over the din of the crowd behind him, Jason can hear the tick, tick, ticking of the bomb. But the door leads to another warehouse so he sprints to the next door, hopping over the puddle of blood on the concrete. The next door opens without issue but it leads into a small, black hole. Yawning and bottomless and hungry.

“Get out!” someone commands from close behind him.

On instinct, he lashes out but whoever it is isn’t having it. Their arm smacks into his wrist, redirecting his punch. Then there’s hands on his chest, shoving him back and into the void. He expects to be falling endlessly but his ass crashes into the ground, arms buckling from the way he catches himself to keep from toppling over completely. He hasn’t even completely settled on the floor before the darkness is chased away by a bright cascade of light from above. Shadows lurk in the corners, wriggling and writhing like a mass of worms and maggots. 

“Jason, Jason,” someone says urgently. They try again gently, “Jay.”

“I need you to breathe with me,” they say, tone brooking no argument. It’s all a serious, low tone Jason can hear clearly over the he ha, ha, HA in his head. “You need to follow me. Fuck. Okay, okay. Can I touch you?”

He wants to understand who it is crouching next to him but the black spots dancing across his vision, the blurry edges of it, keep him from piecing it together. A hand encircles his wrist and he tries to twist away from it. They’re strong though. Stronger than he thought they’d be. His hand is planted firmly on a plane of smooth, warm fabric. The fingers around his wrist pop lose and disappear completely so he moves his head up until the pads of his fingers brush against skin. 

Then he latches on and squeezes with his teeth bared and all the higher thinking of a cornered wolf spurring him on. 

“J-Jay,” they choke out. “Alright then. Feel that?” 

They draw in a comically large breath around the pressure Jason is putting on their windpipe. The pulse beneath his fingers is thumping hard and quick but controlled. Up and down their throat presses against his hand. Unconsciously, he finds himself mimicking the movement. His focus narrows down to the rhythmic movement of their throat and the stuttering attempts his chest is making to imitate it. 

“Jay,” they say faintly. 

Jason becomes aware of two things immediately. He’s in a spacious store room. It smells like a hodgepodge of herbs and spices co-mingling into something overpoweringly herbaceous. The smell is enough to tickle his nose. Several overhead lights are shining down on the packed shelves of nonperishables and Jason and Tim. Because Tim is there with him, on his knees in front of Jason with his pants rucked up and jacket rumpled. With Jason’s hand around his throat and the pale skin of his face a worrying shade of red.

Like he’s been burned, Jason’s arm snaps back. The dimples from Jason’s fingers fade, leaving red indents sure to turn a nasty purple later. Tim gasps loudly and pitches forward onto his hands. He coughs and sputters, rubs at the tender skin of his throat. Checking for any cartilage damage, Jason realizes.

He did that.

The thought has Jason leaning to the side and emptying the contents of his stomach. It’s disgusting. Everything he ate earlier comes up for an encore but its decidedly less appetizing this time around. The bitter taste on his tongue makes him gag even after he’s done. All he can smell is bile as shame wells up, threatening to muscle everything else out because he was choking Tim. Fuck the food. They can get more food. If he seriously hurt Tim, they can’t get a new Tim. 

“Why didn’t you stop me,” Jason rasps, clearing his throat and spitting it out onto the rest of the mess. Not like it's salvageable anyway. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

Tim looks up at him sharply. He pushes himself back onto his haunches. Defiance draws his shoulders up and back. Out of them all, Tim has never let him get away with shit. The kid spat in his face even after Jason beat him to a pulp. Never once has Tim backed down from Jason’s misdirected anger or shown fear the times they’ve needed to play fight for the villains intent on pitting them against one another. Dick lets his guilt bleed through too much and lets him be lenient with Jason. In contrast, Bruce is as immovable as Tim but where Tim is kind and even sweet at times, Bruce is a complete and utter asshole.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Tim snarks. 

Jason really hates how little Tim values himself sometimes. Especially given Jason’s own high regard of Tim. 

“Never do that again,” Jason orders, whole body quaking with the aftershocks of his episode. PTSD, one doctor had told him. A normal side-effect of The Life, Jason had privately corrected him.  

“LIke to see you try and stop me,” Tim says, cheeky and sharp with a half cocked grin to match. 

This fucking guy.

“Can I hug you now?” Tim asks with a hint of hostility hiding in his tone. 

Jason can appreciate Tim’s innate ability to understand him and all the ways Jason would outright reject him if he were nicer about it. The contrast to Dick’s antsy need to use touch as a comfort is stark and wonderful. Grumbling, Jason nods his head at the nasty puddle of ick next to him. 

Tim rolls his eyes so hard Jason’s surprised they don’t pop right out of his skull. “Oh, yeah, like I don’t deal with worse on a nightly basis.”

“Touche,” Jason mutters. 

He scoots closer to Tim and away from the gross. His palms stay flat on the ground but Tim shuffles to fit himself against Jason, molding them together as he winds his arms around Jason’s neck. One hand buries itself in Jason’s hair. The nails scratching at his scalp break apart the gel in his hair. It kind of hurts but it keeps him present and helps chase away the jittery feeling in his limbs. The other hand splays across the broad expanse of his shoulders. This close, he has no choice but to follow the rise and fall of Tim’s chest so the quickened pace of his breathing slows to normal. 

Jason’s gut says to push Tim away and maybe even kick him in the jaw for daring to touch him. The impulse dies a quick death as warmth spreads out from his center. It’s soft and sweet and gentle. He presses his face hard into the curve of Tim’s neck and breaths in Tim’s overpriced cologne. Although he’s bigger than Tim, he feels protected like nothing can touch him in this bubble of fragility they’ve created. Finally, finally his mind goes blessedly silent and he settles back into his own skin, not the phantom corpse of a boy who lost more than he ever gained and was cut down before he ever really had a chance. 

Shifting, Jason moves so he can wrap his arms around Tim’s torso and cling tightly to the back of his suit jacket. The ribs of the corset vest flex under his hold. Aside from a quiet grunt, Tim doesn’t say anything. To be a shit, Jason makes them flex again. A warning rumble reverberates from Tim’s chest straight down into Jason’s bones, shaking out the cobwebs of memory and making him puff out a breath through his nose in a parody of a laugh. 

“How do you breathe in this thing?” Jason mumbles into the damp skin of Tim’s neck.

“Force of will and spite,” Tim tells him succinctly. 

“Anything for fashion.”

“More like anything to make Mr. Williams as horrendously uncomfortable as possible after he let slip a couple choice words to me at the last gala.”

“Your commitment to pettiness is unrivaled.”

“Have you met yourself?” Tim accuses him incredulously. 

“I don’t have a commitment to pettiness. I am pettiness.”

The sound of Tim’s easy laughter washes over Jason. He can’t help but to join in even if his own is weak and half hearted at best. Things feel less heavy than they did, less inevitable and better. So much better. Tim still hasn’t let him go and he has no intentions of releasing Tim either. 

With the silence comes the realization of what happened and how it must have looked to everyone else. Jason curls into himself, arms tightening around Tim. In an uncharacteristically small voice, he gives life to his uncertainty and shame. “Everyone saw, didn’t they?” he asks. 

Tim shrugs as much as he can in the vice of Jason’s arms. “You were more subtle than you think you were. Nothing a quick cover of explosive diarrhea won’t fix,” Tim tells him lightly. The callback and absurdity of the idea forces a bark of laughter from Jason. More subdued and serious, Tim adds, “Besides, it doesn’t matter. To hell with them. What matters is that you’re okay and everything else we can fix.”

“Trying to say I can’t be fixed?”

Making an irritated noise, Tim bops his head into Jason’s in chastisement. “I’m saying you don’t need to be fixed. You are who you are and we wouldn’t have it any other way. If it means you need more support, we’re happy to give it but you don’t need to be fixed, Jason.”

“Cool it on the soliloquy, Timberly,” Jason teases so he doesn’t start tearing up. “Ain’t nobody wants to hear your bleeding heart.”

“Charming as always,” Tim sighs, resigned, but he still hasn’t let Jason go.

So Jason smothers the poisonous voice in the back of his head whispering about Tim backing away to leave him cold and bereft, mocking him then relaxes entirely in the safe space Tim carved out for Jason between his arms.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary Day 15-16 & 25-26

Prompt: “You look awful.” | “I’m fine.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Depictions of illness; vomiting; allusions to symptoms of stomach virus

A/N: Daryl’s human so humans with stomach bugs experience icky symptoms. There are allusions to those but nothing gross.

You were bouncing on the balls of your feet, your lip securely tucked between your teeth in anticipation. Carol chuckled behind you and patted a hand between your shoulder blades. 

“I think you’re actually vibrating, Y/N.” She laughed a little louder when you beamed at her before it softened into something a bit gentler. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone other than Judith so excited to see Daryl come back. Well, and me but that’s a given.”

“It’s been two weeks. I’ve been going out of my mind!” You made a crazy gesture with your hands and then clasped them together again and continued bouncing. 

“How does he do around all this…energy?” You went still and blinked at her, a great many questions swirling in your gaze. “No, no. It’s not a bad thing! You’re good for him. Great for him. I just wanted to make sure he’s not being a total grump and raining on your parade.”

Pursing your lips, you tilted your head. “No, not really. I mean, at first it was like he didn’t know what to do when I would do a cartwheel through the living room. He just stared a lot. But he smiled!” Daryl always smiled for you. In the beginning, it was only in private. All of it was. He was wary of you. 

You had lived in Alexandria since the beginning. Knowing now what you didn’t know then, he was justified in holding back, keeping secrets. When you had proven to be just the average person trying to survive, it was like a switch had flipped. He’d show up at your house unexpectedly. Sometimes you’d find him just sitting on the porch steps, having a cigarette. Other times, he’d actually knock and ask you to go for a walk. He even taught you how to defend yourself with and without weapons. He wouldn’t teach you to hunt though. Always said you’d scare off the game. 

Things evolved from there. It started small. Daryl wasn’t the type of man who enjoyed public displays of affection. Well, he wasn’t before you came along. He would still blush and duck his head if you kissed him in public. You were always the one to grab his hand but he never pulled away. Hugs were okay but he’d yelp (in a very manly way of course) when you’d grab or swat at his ass. 

It had been nearly two years and you couldn’t imagine life without the grumpy, quiet bowman. 

“I’m glad he found you.” Carol wrapped her arm around your shoulders, kissing the top of your head when you laid it against her. You were about to say something else when the shout came to open the gates. 

You jumped up and down, jostling the woman beside you but even as she laughed, you paid her no mind. Your eyes followed the man on the motorcycle. He rode through faster than he should have, something you always scolded him for but he’d only scoff at you. 

“You’re back!” You leapt on him, wrapping your legs around his waist, just as his boot touched the ground after dismounting the bike. “I missed you!”

“Ain’t been tha’ long.” He spoke into your shoulder. His arms held you steady but if he had let go, he would have found you securely latched to his front. 

“It’s been two weeks! That’s the equivalent of forever!” You pulled back and pouted at him, your lip jutting out further when he lowered you. “You hurt? Bring back all your parts?”

“Nah, M’good.” He answered tiredly. Your eyes narrowed when you realized how exhausted he actually looked; something off by the way he was even just standing still. 

“I think we should get you to bed and not for the fun stuff. Not yet anyway.” You stepped around him and retrieved his bag and crossbow, smacking his hand when he reached to take them from you. “I got it. Come on.” He was grumbling something about stubborn woman as he walked just beside you. 

You watched him from the corner of your eye, making certain to be discrete. Daryl would never openly show vulnerability, especially outside your home. He rarely let it be seen inside your home. At the very moment though, you weren’t sure if he realized he was doing it. His hand was clutching his stomach over his vest, fingers digging into the leather until his knuckles were white. His face was neutral but the pallor to his skin wasn’t something he could hide. 

You balanced his bag on your shoulder and opened the door for him, smiling cheerfully when he scowled at your special treatment. “Go on upstairs. You want a shower?”

“S’tha’ yer way’a tellin’ me I stink?”

“Yes, sir.” You noticed his hand had left his abdomen, but was flexing at his side. “You want something to eat? There’s some leftover venison stew that I could—”

The archer blanched, any color that was left present drained from his face while his throat visibly worked to swallow convulsively. Oh shit. Before you could even put down your burden, he dashed from your sight and into the downstairs bathroom, the sounds of his retching painful to hear. 

You placed his bag on the floor and the crossbow against the wall, walking quietly to the bathroom door. When you peeked around the doorframe, Daryl was on his knees, arms draped around the toilet seat with his forehead resting on his hands. He was no longer heaving but still spitting into the water below. 

You knew what his reaction would probably be but you couldn’t act like you didn’t care. “You okay?” The archer didn’t look up. He stretched out a leg and kicked the door shut. You had the good sense to not be in the way of the wooden barrier. 

You were expecting wounds and bruises, not stomach ailments. The medical supplies you had set up in the en-suite bathroom would remain there. You hadn’t seen much of him before he was sick and he could still have injuries that needed care. Now, you needed to add some fresh towels, clothes, and a basin of water with a cloth to put by the bed. You had some Tylenol from the infirmary, just in case he needed it for pain, not anticipating he’d probably need it for fever. 

There were a few cans of chicken noodle soup that you could drain the broth from later, but for now, until the nausea passed, you went downstairs for a few bottles of water. You doubted there was any ginger ale in the pantry but if you were able to see Carol or she came for a visit, you could ask. There was no way you were leaving him for it. 

Everything was set up, including the shower. You were hoping you could coax him in just to get him clean and comfortable. With a gentle knock on the door, you placed your forehead against it, wincing at the sounds coming from inside. Seemed like the toilet and sink were receiving his attention. 

Definitely a stomach virus, but you’d have to ask about what he’d eaten the past few days to rule out food poisoning and other gastric ailments. 

“Daryl? Are you okay?”

“Go ‘way.” The reply was gravelly and weak. 

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” You replied softly, promptly walking away from the door. He was going to be ultra embarrassed after that, so you had to handle things carefully. The last thing you or he needed was for him to try and run because he was ashamed of things he had no control over. 

You set about cleaning up the kitchen, though it barely needed it. You kept everything spotless most of the time. Daryl was always out doing physical jobs while you helped with inventory or delivered meals to the elderly residents. He didn’t need to worry about the state of your home when he was able to be there. 

It was about half an hour before you heard the toilet flush and the tap turn on. It ran for longer than usual. You assumed he was washing his hands and rinsing his mouth. His toothbrush was upstairs but you made a mental note to ask for two more to keep downstairs. 

You were leaning on the kitchen island when he finally emerged. He was drenched with sweat, his face flushed from embarrassment or fever. Maybe both. His belt was still undone but his pants were zipped and buttoned. Poor guy looked like a wreck. 

“Hey.” You called softly, earning his attention. “You look awful. Are you okay?”

He nodded, the movement jerky. “Thank christ fer indoor plumbin’.” He rasped, joining you on the other side of the island. He leaned forward and placed his forehead on the cool surface of the countertop with a sigh. 

“Did you eat anything weird while you were out?” You circled the structure to stand by him and rub his back in slow, soothing circles. 

The bowman rolled his head back and forth against the countertop. “Nah. Jus’ the regular expired canned shit we could find.” It made you sad to think that this was the norm now. Relying on food that was far past the date of recommended consumption. 

“When did you eat last?” You rubbed the back of his neck, his muscles stiff and knotted. 

“Yesterday afternoon. Wanted ta get back. Didn’ go lookin’ fer anythin’ today.”

Still could be food poisoning. You’d have to ask if anyone else was sick. “Let’s get you upstairs. Think you can shower?” Daryl straightened with a grimace before nodding. You met his gaze with a gentle smile, bringing up a hand to sweep the damp hair away from his eyes. “Come on then.” A hand on the small of his back gently urged him forward, his shuffling steps and unsteady gait giving him the appearance of a living walker. 

You trailed behind him up the stairs, braced and ready in case he lost his balance, but the ascent was successful without any tumbling. The archer was shedding clothing before even reaching the bathroom, down to his jeans and socks by the time he was standing in front of the shower. 

“Do you need me to stay?” It was a reluctant question. Daryl hated it when you hovered but he was sick and exhausted so it was an offer you had to give him. 

“Nah. M’fine.” He was unzipping his jeans when you pulled the bathroom door closed behind you. 

The shower began running moments later, so you busied yourself with grabbing your own pajamas, turning down the bed, and pulling a chair over to his side. As an afterthought, you placed the room’s small wastebasket there as well. The shower was still running when you heard the unmistakable sounds of another round of vomiting, your heart clenching at the painful noises. 

“Daryl?” You called loudly enough for him to hear through the door and over the spray of water. 

“M’…m’okay.” A low, strained answer from the other side. 

With nothing else to do, you sat down on the end of the mattress to wait for him. The toilet flushed but the shower continued for several more minutes. There was a brief silence followed by a shuffle of clothing, and the sounds of him brushing his teeth. 

When the door finally opened, he looked clean in his sweats and t-shirt but no less miserable. His hair was still damp, beads of water dripping from the ends. Even as undesirable as the situation was, it was hard not to take note of how normal he looked dressed like that. It was as if you were a couple before the end of the world, spending an evening at home in comfort and without fear. But the reality was that fear was always lingering. Always. 

“Bedtime for you, mister.” 

He couldn’t even manage to scowl at you properly, ending up with a tired frown dripping with resignation. He was slow to lower onto the bed and said nothing when you pulled the blankets over him. 

“Anything need stitched or bandaged?” You asked, brushing his hair away from his face. There was always a warmth that crept into your chest when he didn’t flinch away from your loving touches. 

“Jus’ a few bruises. Nothin’ ta worry ‘bout.” When you fixed him with a skeptical stare, he sighed. “Promise.” Daryl didn’t take that word lightly and never used it carelessly. 

“Okay, try to sleep.” You perched yourself on the chair, noticing he couldn’t be bothered to care. He turned onto his side, facing you with his legs drawn up slightly. His stomach was surely angry and cramping, muscles tired from heaving on top of feeling nauseous. There was no hesitation in your hand resting just below his knee, rubbing the area in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. 

He was asleep within moments. 

Watching him grimace and tense without waking, you let your mind build scenarios and how you would handle them. If Rick came knocking with requests of the archer, you’d kindly tell him to get bent. If Carol came over, you could get her to fetch some things for you that would help keep him comfortable while he recovered. If he continued vomiting and couldn’t keep down the water at the very least, you’d need to leave long enough to grab Denise. 

Daryl woke suddenly, lurching over the side of the bed to retch into the wastebasket you had been smart enough to grab earlier. There was nothing left but acidic bile to bring up but it sounded no less brutal. You could do nothing but keep his hair out of the way and rub his back. There was a moment of consideration. Maybe if you could alert Denise, she would have something for the nausea. 

That train of thought was interrupted by the hunter shakily pushing himself back up only to sag back against his pillow. 

“Sucks.” He mumbled, eyes closed.  “Ain’t been sick since…S’been a long time.”

You were gently rubbing his stomach which he either didn’t notice or it felt nice so he allowed it to continue. 

“It won’t last forever.” You whispered, watching as he dozed off again. 

He was still resting comfortably when the knock came on the front door downstairs. Reluctantly, you rose from the chair, taking just another second to brush Daryl’s hair away from his eyes. He mumbled something, turning his head away, but remained asleep. You wanted to be quick.You just weren’t willing to leave him alone for long. 

“Hey!” Carol greeted with that gentle smile of hers. After all she’d been through, even with her apprehension about settling there in Alexandria, she was able to keep that kindness. Especially when it came to Daryl. 

“Hey.” You said, turning to look anxiously at the stairs. 

“What’s wrong? Where’s Daryl?” When you turned back to her, the smile was gone, replaced with growing concern. 

“He’s asleep. I need a favor. He’s sick. Could you grab a few things for him? Anything he might be able to keep down.” The other woman was already nodding. “Maybe put a bug in Denise’s ear in case she has anything for nausea.”

“Is he alright? Really?” Carol was leaning closer toward the doorway. It was obvious she wanted to go to him. 

“Yeah, he’s okay for now. He hasn’t thrown up in an hour or so but when he first got back…” You trailed off, looking back at the stairs again. “Could you please do all that for me? Then maybe come upstairs and see him? I know he won’t want anyone else seeing him like this. But you and me? We don’t count.” You smiled, knowing it was true. Carol and yourself were the only people Daryl was fully comfortable relaxing around. 

“You got it. I’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll leave the door unlocked.” You watched her swiftly descend the porch steps before closing the door and nearly sprinting up the stairs. The bowman was still sound asleep when you returned to the bedroom. He still looked pale but there was no fever, no signs of dehydration just yet. 

You made yourself comfortable in the chair, drawing up one knee to rest your chin on it. You’d be his silent sentinel until he was better. 

Whether he liked it or not. 

[sai-int]

Panther | A Haunting

[PREV] | [NEXT]

MASTERLIST AO3

cw: strong language, depictions of violence, 3k words

Present - Savannah, Georgia, USA -  7.22.2024

"Are you with me, Bea?"

...

"Beatrice?"

The sweet, calm voiced pulled me back from the grasp of my mind. I blinked and refocused my line of sight to the middle aged woman. A saccharine smile adorned her face. Too sweet for me. 

"Yeah. 'M here." I replied hesitantly, trying to avoid eye contact with the woman. I brushed away a loose strand of hair and my eyes shifted away from her to scan the walls, most of them covered with self-help posters or calendars stocked to the brim with penned in appointments. A certificate on the wall behind the woman's desk. 

A doctorate in psychology seems to go a long way. This woman had stacks of awards just sitting casually on her shelf. Probably for fixing a shit-ton of war-torn veterans and soldiers alike. With me, however, she's doing a rather questionable job. 

Maybe it's me who's not willing to put the effort in. 

"Beatrice?" Her voice breaking the silence I didn't realize I fell into. 

I tore my gaze away from her shiny awards and back to her. A tight-lipped apology weaseling its way out of me. 

"It's alright. Did you want to answer the question? Or we could move on if that makes you more comfortable." She said, lightly tapping her pen against her clip-board, the sound bouncing off the walls of the small, cozy room. She was either impatient, or anxious. Likely both. 

"What was the question again?" I asked sheepishly, avoiding eye-contact. Staring at my boots against the white carpet was infinitely more appealing to me than mandatory-therapy. 

She breathed a soft sigh. 

"How much of you is still trapped back in the Russian taiga?"

My eyes flickered to her. Her frizzy auburn curls and the sickeningly green cardigan she wore, even the sight of her baby pink nails made my stomach churn with unfamiliarity. I stripped any form of normalcy from my life 11 years ago. I was hardly ever in the public as it is, aside from the occasional bar or my very empty apartment. 

I shrugged in response. "'M all here." 

She shot back without a thought. "You're lying. This won't work if you're not truthful." 

I sighed indignantly. My head lulled back, counting the tiles in the ceiling as I pondered a response. My lips pursed.

"Not much. 'Have dreams 'bout it sometimes... Don't exceed much further than bein' in the trees." 

She hummed appreciatively and wrote something down, seemingly content with the answer. I have no idea why I lied to her. She was a sweet woman but a part of me just didn't like her. Maybe I was jealous of her. Jealous of the cat hair on her ugly green cardigan, the wedding band on her ring finger, the scribbled drawing on the wall, likely from her kid. Sometimes I wish this wasn't the life I led, the little girl inside of me screaming for regularity. 

But there's no other option. The thoughts are gone in an instant. 

"Do you think you're still running? Running from what happened?" She asked, finishing her note on the clipboard.

My brain refused to answer that. The lamp on her desk cast a muted, pale orange glow across the wall—a strangely captivating shade. I focused on it, letting the silence settle, hoping she'd take it as an answer.

"Back then, when did it stop being about survival, and start being about something darker? Something primal?"

I wanted this stupid leather love seat to swallow me whole, to drag me down so deep I'd never have to claw my way up again. My thumb found its way to my mouth, teeth pressing into the raw skin beside my nail, scraping, biting. My leg bounced with an erratic, uncontrollable rhythm, and each thud of my heart crashed against my ribcage, desperate to break free, like some caged thing fighting for escape. The room felt too hot, the walls too close—too close to keep everything buried.

"You hunted them for days, Beatrice—planned every kill, watched them break under the terror you created. Tell me, did that make you feel human?"

"Or just... an animal?"

Bile burned up my throat, bitter and choking. A rot buried deep inside me seemed to fester, spreading heat through my chest, my skin prickling as though I were catching fire from the inside out. I shot up, grabbing my jacket and helmet, barely seeing them through the haze. The doorframe rattled with the force of my slam, but the anger still clung to me like smoke I couldn't shake.

My heavy boots thudded against the floor, the took me to the nearest bathroom. When my brain shut down, my body knew how to compensate. 

The cool ceramic of the sink chilled my clammy palms, my eyes clamped shut as I counted my breaths, trying to drown out the metallic taste of blood still haunting me—the taste that lingered from sinking my teeth into a man's throat. Each rhythmic drip of the leaky faucet seemed to sync with my racing pulse, each drop falling in time with the slow, hot trail of my tears. The bathroom light flickered above, harsh and unsteady, each flash making it harder to push the memories back, dragging me further into the unease clawing at my chest.

The wind whistled through the window, weaving a haunting ballad to accompany the battle raging in my mind.

After breath seventy-two, I opened my eyes. Red droplets spattered the sink like a crime scene, the metallic tang filling the air. I looked up instinctively, desperate to see something familiar, but the woman in the mirror was a stranger. Dirt and grime streaked her face, her hair matted and slick, wild eyes gleaming with a primal glint. Blood smeared her mouth, neck, and shirt—sticky, fresh, marking her like war paint.

Then I saw the dog tags glinting at her neck, a brutal reminder, an undeniable truth:

She is me.

My bike roared to life as I turned the key in the ignition, the engine's growl vibrating through me. I slipped the black helmet over my head, the rough fabric pressing against my skin. Flipping the tinted visor down, I revved the engine, feeling its power surge under me. Without a second thought, I pulled out of the parking spot and gunned it, leaving the city in my rearview.

I wove through the city streets as the sun cast a soft pink hue across the sky. Summers in Savannah were brutal, but the evening breeze offered a small reprieve. I popped open the visor, letting the wind nip at my eyes and cool my skin. For a few moments, the rush of the ride washed away everything else, leaving just the hum of the engine and the road.

The ride to Hunter Airfield was brief, the wind still fresh against my face. I rolled into the parking lot, the bike settling firmly on its kickstand with a satisfying click. After dismounting, I tucked my helmet under my arm, feeling the weight of it as I approached the entrance. I swiped my keycard, the beep granting me access to the base, a small reminder that I was back in the fold.

As I walked through the main building, the familiar sights and sounds wrapped around me like a well-worn blanket. I strode past a group of soldiers, their chatter fading into the background as I kept my head down, opting for silence over pleasantries. A few glances flickered my way, but I was used to the mix of curiosity and indifference that came with being me. The panic attack I had left me hungry, but nauseous all the same. 

Entering the bustling canteen, the hum of conversation swirled around me, but I navigated through the crowd without so much as a nod. I made a beeline for the food line, grabbing a tray and slapping down a couple of pre-packaged meals. I caught sight of Carlos and Leon at a corner table, their rambunctious laughter cutting through the noise like a beacon. I slid into the seat across from them, raising an eyebrow. 

"Y'all look like you found the secret to happiness." I reached for a fry from Carlos' plate, my lips curling into a smirk.

Carlos smirked, pushing a half-empty plate of fries my way. "Just trying to drown our sorrows in carbs. You in?"

"Only if they're laced with some kinda magic," I replied, picking a fry and munching on it, welcoming the salt. "Otherwise, 'm not sure they'll cut it."

We all fell into a comfortable silence despite the bustling canteen. Carlos and Leon were some of the only guys in the regiment that managed to weasel their way behind the walls I've put up over the years. Eventually, I stopped trying to fight it. It helps when I know they'll have my back in the field. I alternated between Carlos' fries and whatever cardboard was in my meal. 

Leon piped up. "Did you hear about the training exercise next week? They're sending a few of us out for field drills."

"Yeah, I heard they want to mix up the squads," Carlos added, glancing around the canteen. "It'll be nice to get away from the usual, though I can't say I'm looking forward to the heat."

"Stay hydrated," I said. "Wouldn't want you passin' out in the middle of it." I teased the time Carlos completely face planted during drills after deeming himself 'too buff' to be overtaken by the Georgian sun.

Carlos chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the advice, Mom. But seriously though, it should be interesting. I heard they're bringing in some new equipment for us to test."

"Let's just hope they actually explain how to use it," I replied, taking a bite of my fry. "Last time, half the squad was fumblin' 'round like idiots."

I let out a genuine laugh. It was with them that I really felt at ease, not thinking of my life or the things that set me apart from everyone else. 

Just then, the canteen door swung open, and an unfamiliar face stepped inside, scanning the room. It was one of the junior enlisted soldiers, a nervous look plastered across his features. He locked eyes with me, and I felt my stomach twist. He skittered over to our table like a frightened mouse. 

"Uh, Dawson..? The Colonel wants to see you in his office," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

My heart sank. "Great. What now?" I muttered under my breath, pushing my tray away. Carlos and Leon exchanged knowing glances, and the teasing began.

Leon leaned in, a playful grin on his face. "Looks like someone's in trouble again. I bet it's about your 'antisocial tendencies' or something." He made an air quotes gesture with his fingers. 

"Yeah, you know," Carlos added with a mock serious tone, "if you'd just smile and wave at the guys more, maybe they wouldn't think you're plotting their demise."

I rolled my eyes, standing up from the table. "Very funny. I'll be sure to practice my 'friendly wave' while 'm in there."

"Don't forget to charm his pants off," Leon called after me, laughter trailing in his wake. 

"Sure, I'll add that to my agenda right after I figure out how t'charm anyone else here," I shot back, trying to suppress a smile.

As I made my way out of the canteen, their teasing echoed behind me, but my thoughts were already racing ahead to what the Colonel might want. I'd had enough warnings to know that staying off everyone's radar came at a cost. The last thing I needed was another lecture on teamwork or a reminder that I wasn't "fitting in" as I should. After all, camaraderie is important in the Army. 

As I made my way through the winding hallways toward the Colonel's office, the air felt heavier with each step. The familiar hum of the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed in my ears, matching the rhythm of my heartbeat as it thudded against my ribs. Soldiers passed by in small groups, chatting easily with each other as they moved through the maze of corridors. I kept my head down, focusing on the gray linoleum floor beneath my boots.

A couple of them noticed me, their eyes lingering a second too long. I met their gaze, only to look away just as quickly. No matter how many times I tried, I never got used to the way people watched me—curious, maybe wary. I was known for my silence, my ability to stay out of sight until the job demanded otherwise.

"Panther," one of them nodded, almost as a challenge, as he passed. I gave a stiff nod back, but kept moving without breaking stride. His smirk trailed after me, but I resisted the urge to turn and look. These glances were routine by now. But today, with my head buzzing and my heart hammering, every look seemed to carry extra weight, as if they knew I'd been summoned.

I turned the final corner, steeling myself as I approached the Colonel's office door. I took a deep breath, gathering my nerves, and forced my expression into something close to neutral.

As I approached the Colonel's office, the familiar sense of dread settled into my bones, mingling with the sterile scent of the corridor. I squared my shoulders, taking a steadying breath. Maybe it would be a simple check-in. Maybe I wasn't about to get another lecture on "team cohesion" or a warning about how being standoffish would only isolate me further.

But the second I stepped through the door, I could tell this wasn't just any reprimand. Colonel Greene looked up from his desk, his expression unreadable as he set down a stack of papers. He gestured to the chair in front of him without a word, and I lowered myself into it, picking the raw skin of my thumbs under the table

"Dawson," he started, turning his attention to me, lacing his fingers together. "You're aware that you've built quite a reputation here, I assume?"

"Guessin' it's not a good one, Sir," I replied, keeping my tone steady.

His lips twitched, almost a smile. "Depends who you ask." He leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. "You're skilled. Precise. Frankly, you've got the makings of a strong leader. But you seem to keep everyone at arm's length, like you're only halfway apart of this regiment."

I stayed silent, not sure if he was expecting an answer. The truth was, he wasn't wrong. But it wasn't something I could—or would—explain.

He watched me for a beat longer, then nodded as if he'd made a decision. "That being said, we have something that requires exactly that kind of approach."

I blinked, thrown off. "Sir?"

"I'm sending you to D.C. to meet with some... Elites," he said, handing me a file across the desk. "It's a temporary assignment, a...unique opportunity." His tone held a note I couldn't quite place, a mix of challenge and appraisal.

I took the file, flipping it open. The names on the page caught my eye immediately: Laswell, Price, Shepherd. I raised an eyebrow. "Special teams, sir?"

"Consider it a chance to broaden your skills. It's time for you to get out of this regiment for a while. They'll brief you on arrival."

I clenched the folder in my hands, feeling the weight of it. This wasn't what I'd expected. "When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow, as early as possible. Get your things in order."

He met my gaze, a glint in his eye that left no room for protest. "Dismissed."

I stood, nodding before I turned and walked out, the file heavy in my hand and my mind racing. So much for another lecture on teamwork. Whatever this was, it felt like a test—one I couldn't afford to fail.

The hallway outside the Colonel's office felt oddly empty, the quiet wrapping around me as I walked back toward the main wing. The weight of the file in my hand was nothing compared to the questions circling in my mind. D.C. Special teams. "Broadening my skills." I'd been expecting a disciplinary talk or, at worst, a formal warning—but this was something entirely different.

I headed straight for my quarters, eyes fixed ahead, barely noticing the few soldiers I passed on my way. One of them called my name, but I only managed a half-hearted nod. My focus was locked on the day ahead: packing, preparing, and the constant unease of leaving this place for something unknown. I wasn't one for hesitation, but something about being sent away from the regiment—my regiment—put me on edge. It was like leaving the one place I'd started to feel grounded, tossed back into the unknown.

When I finally got to my room, I shut the door and tossed the file onto my bunk. I stared at it for a moment, then sat down, the metal springs creaking beneath me as I opened the folder, flipping through pages of clipped details and blacked-out lines. "Laswell, Price, Shepherd..." These names weren't exactly low-profile. I'd heard of them before, legends in their own right.

I sat back, feeling the chill of the file's implications settle in. This wasn't just another mission. They were sending me out of here to work with people who had seen—and done—more than most in the business. But if there was anyone that could handle it, it'd be me. 

[anto-pops]

The Serpent's Paramour CH 6 - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Sebastian brings you to France to collect the dragon heartstrings he needs from a Merlin be damned Poacher camp. You still don't know what he needs such a thing for, but having agreed to help him, you decide to grin and bear the situation while silently formulating a plan of your own. After all, you really do hate Poachers.

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit language, mythical animal abuse, graphic depictions of violence

Chapter 6 is now (finally) up here on Ao3

Looking like a rabbit decked out in your fur dress coat had paid off in the end, because it was fucking freezing. 

You had been visibly shivering for the last hour alongside Sebastian and Devlin, the three of you forced to trek your way up a rocky mountain path through blistering cold winds and flurries of snow that swept down the slanted landscape. When you had thought about coming to France, the last thing you had expected was for it to be so cold. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you had half expected it to be warm, sunny, and beautiful– a description that better matched what you’d read about the foreign country. 

Apparently though, the region that your motley trio had apparated to was notorious for its brutal winters, and seeing as it was the middle of November, your expectations had been bitterly squashed by reality. 

The boots that Nora had left you with were less than ideal for hiking. Your feet were positively numb and prickling with pain as you dug your toe into the jagged path, trying your best to avoid slipping on ice so you wouldn’t tumble back down the mountain and end up bloody and bruised in the process. You desperately wanted to take a break to let your feet rest, but you knew it would only be counterproductive. If you stopped, you would freeze and no doubt end up more miserable than you already were. 

Or dead.

It wasn’t like you could voice your complaints either, because not much had been said since apparating to the mountain side on account of your current use of the silent treatment. After being told what the three of you were coming to France for, you had unleashed a verbal smackdown on Sebastian that even Devlin knew better than to get in the middle of. To say you were angry was just scratching the surface of what you felt�� you were devastated. 

Dragon heartstrings? How many of those complex, stunning creatures had died in pursuit of such a thing? Obviously there was no way to obtain one– let alone ‘a lot’ of them– without the death of the dragon it belonged to. It made you sick to think that Poachers had gone unchecked long enough to actually accumulate enough… parts, to be of use to Sebastian. 

The thought of willingly setting foot in a Poacher camp made you queasy, and you briefly wondered how pissed Sebastian would be if you slipped away to free any trapped dragons like you had with Poppy all those years ago. 

Lost in thought, you overlooked a large rock jutting out of the ground and jammed the toe of your boot into it, causing you to yelp as you careened forward towards the icy path. Your arms pinwheeled at your sides as you scrambled for balance, but an abrupt tug against the back of your coat stopped you in your tracks with your face mere inches from the ground. Tentatively placing your hands beneath you, you pushed yourself up while the hand holding onto the scruff of your clothes pulled at the same time, and once you were vertical again, you turned in time to see Sebastian letting go of you. 

“Watch your step,” he said gruffly. “You’re not exactly wearing the best footwear for a hike.” 

“It’s not like I had much to choose from,” you bit back through your chattering teeth. His only response to that was a grunt, and your eyes made a full trip around their sockets as you realized the three of you would likely be trekking up the mountain in more tense silence. 

It wouldn’t be the first time you’d gone through something like this with Sebastian. 

After another fifteen minutes of silent walking, yet another stray boulder snagged at the heel of your shoe and caused you to stumble softly, but you thankfully didn’t fall this time. That didn’t stop Sebastian from taking your hand in his, though, and your head whipped down to watch as his fingers threaded through yours before tightening his hold on you. Despite the overwhelming urge to yank the appendage free from his, you didn’t. 

His skin was impossibly warm despite the frigid temperatures. That was the excuse you told yourself– that his body heat was the reason you weren’t prying your hand away from his to manage the climb on your own. The fluttery feeling in the pit of your stomach said otherwise, however.  

The rest of the journey was noticeably easier from that point on, and eventually you, Devlin, and Sebastian came to a grinding halt near the top of the mountain when you reached a flat path leading to what looked to be a tent. Your survival instincts screamed at you to turn back, a dreary sort of aura emanating from the unremarkable wax canvas. The flimsy material billowed violently thanks to the strong gusts of wind that assaulted the landscape, the front flaps of the structure smacking against the wooden posts that held it upright. It was surprisingly loud, but not loud enough to drown out the rancorous cheering that filtered through the opening. 

There were people– Poachers– inside. 

Devlin seemed to steel his nerves before starting forward, but before you could move to follow him, Sebastian’s hand tightened around yours and tugged you closer to him. You stopped yourself before you could bump into his chest, craning your neck back to look up at him questioningly. “Do you remember what I told you?” he asked.

Your lips pursed at the reminder, and you nodded. “Let you do the talking. I know, you can relax.” 

Sebastian considered your words with a small grimace, then shook his head. “No, I can’t.” 

With his free hand, he reached into the inner pocket of his woolen coat and withdrew your wand, eyeing you expectantly when your breath caught in your throat at the sight of it. Purposefully, he turned your hand over before letting go of it completely to gingerly place the thin bit of wood in your upturned palm. Then with more care than was necessary, he curled your fingers forward so they were wrapped over the handle, and the sudden thrum of magic that resonated through you warmed you to your core and brought a small smile to your face.

When you looked back at Sebastian through your snow covered lashes, you were shocked to find him grinning down at you in earnest. “Now I can relax.”

You knew he had agreed to give you your wand back, but some part of you had still doubted his promise. To give you your one means of escape implied one truth very heavily; he trusted you to stay and help him, and that thought alone felt like a weight settling on your shoulders. Were you honestly prepared to go through with this? To consort with Poachers and unlock dark relics for him, all for the sake of his cursed sister? 

It was a somber line of thinking, and you dutifully opted not to dwell on it.

For him to indirectly admit that he felt more relaxed knowing that you had something to defend yourself with affected you greatly, and the words to thank him were dancing on the tip of your tongue– a hair’s width away from being spoken. They didn’t come, though. You were too caught up in staring into his bottomless eyes, taking in the genuine care you saw reflected there while your chest steadily grew tighter. 

Sebastian stared at you a moment longer, seemingly waiting for you to say something since you continued to gape up at him like a fish, but the sound of Devlin clearing his throat pulled the two of you from your not-so-private moment. 

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the tent, “Can we get inside before my balls freeze off? Or were the two of you planning on fucking in the snow?” 

Much to your chagrin, Sebastian laughed at the joke while you were left stammering in place, and the brunet finally stepped away from you to head towards his associate. “Eloquent as always, Dev.” 

“Just calling it like I see it. Subtlety doesn’t seem to exist with you two,” he murmured, and you scoffed before begrudgingly trudging up behind the duo. 

Mercifully, the jesting ended there. Sebastian held up one of the twin flaps of the tent so Devlin could slip inside, and as you moved to follow him, you were stopped once again by Sebastian’s hand. He held up the limb to halt you in your tracks, fixing you with a serious look that left little room for argument. “Whatever happens– whatever you might see in there– don’t wander off. Stay close to us and for the love of all that’s sacred, don’t use your magic. That’ll draw the kind of attention we really aren’t looking for right now.”

As much as you wanted to sass him for being so demanding, you knew it wasn’t the time nor the place. Moreover, he had a point; an unfamiliar witch casting magic that was ancient or otherwise normal wouldn’t help further the plan along. You managed to bite your tongue and nod, and even though Sebastian didn’t look fully convinced that you would actually listen to him, his shoulders loosened a fraction and he dropped his hand. 

He let you enter the tent first, and you were immediately enveloped by warmth and deafened by boisterous yelling. Cruel jeers echoed down the enchanted hallway, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of inhuman roars and rattling chains. 

Something was very unhappy about being restrained. Your heart sank at the realization. 

Before you had time to dwell on it or ask Sebastian and Devlin if there was a fight going on, a figure appeared at the end of the corridor. A dark haired man sporting a neatly trimmed beard approached with his hands clasped behind his back, his gait slow and betraying his older age as he shuffled towards you. Your spine stiffened instantly when you caught sight of the stranger’s clothing; his dark, almost iridescent coat seemed to change colors as he passed each of the lamps that lined the hallway, and you recognized the scaled pattern in a heartbeat. 

Dragon skin. 

Narrowing your eyes warily, you watched as the Poacher hobbled towards your motley trio still standing in the tent’s entryway, then nodded at Sebastian and Devlin in acknowledgment. 

“Henri,” Sebastian said smoothly, dipping his head in greeting. “Good to see you’re still alive and well.” 

“My mother used to tell me that lying gives you wrinkles. Don’t go soiling that pretty face of yours,” Henri muttered, his voice thickly accented and his tone dismissive and laced with obvious annoyance.  

“I would never lie to you, my friend,” Sebastian cocked his head to the side, sounding as sarcastic as ever. “My pretty face will prosper to see another day.” 

The Frenchman sneered, the look amplified tenfold by all of the weathered lines on his own face. The irony of that fact didn’t escape you. What exactly was their history? You couldn’t tell if the familiarity between them was rooted in anything positive or negative. Before you could think about it for long, Henri’s wickedly sharp gaze fell on you, and his brow furrowed as he took in the sight of you. “Who is this?” 

Devlin chimed in this time, his no nonsense mask slipping effortlessly into place as he stepped forward. “She’s a new initiate. I’m training her to fill in for me as Sebastian’s bodyguard.” 

“Going somewhere, are you Devlin?” Henri asked suspiciously, his gaze hardening impossibly further. 

“Not at all, sir. I’m just ensuring that the boss has protection at all times.” 

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

Devlin blinked, “I’m sorry?” 

One of Henri’s chubby fingers came to point at Sebastian as he enunciated every syllable of his next sentence. “Not only does your demon of a boss not need protecting, but she,” he turned his finger towards you, “doesn’t look like she could protect herself from a Mooncalf.”

In your peripheral vision, you saw Sebastian step forward so he was closer to both you and Henri, and a chill ran down your spine when you caught sight of the glower he shot down at the Poacher. “Looks can be deceiving,” he murmured darkly, likely referring to your innate abilities that he had specifically told you not to showcase while here. 

Had he lost his mind? What the hell was going on? 

Henri looked entirely unamused, his tawny eyes falling back on you as he shook his head minutely, and all the while you said nothing. Sebastian’s warning from earlier rang loud and clear in your mind, and despite your overwhelming desire to defend your honor from the deplorable man before you, you held your tongue and met his unwavering gaze. He seemed to straighten up in response to your boldness before clicking his tongue and speaking. “Désolé, mademoiselle, but you’ll need to remain in the arena while we attend to business.” 

“Sending a lady into the arena is shameful,” Sebastian interjected immediately, his voice ripe with contempt. “I thought you were more gentlemanly than to force a woman to watch your barbaric fights.” 

“You thought wrong, then.” Henri waved away Sebastian’s ire with little more than a flick of his wrist, and the brunet stiffened in response. “I regret to inform you that I don’t make a habit of bringing unknown people into my more personal dealings, and I certainly don’t intend to start now. Rest assured that your underling will be safe in the arena while we wrap up business. Will that be a problem?” 

The look on Sebastian’s face told you– and likely everyone– that yes, in fact, it would be a problem. He clearly wasn’t fond of the idea of you going off on your own, especially after he had specifically instructed you to stay close to him. But if he continued to push back against Henri’s demands, it would raise a plethora of questions that your trio simply couldn’t afford at present. You wouldn’t particularly enjoy being surrounded by throes of drunk, rowdy Poachers cheering violently for the demise of a dragon, but there was no other option. 

Besides, if an opportunity arose to thwart yet another dragon fighting ring, you didn’t doubt that the chance would only come about if you were alone. 

“No problem at all,” you helpfully chimed up from beside Sebastian. His gaze fixed itself on you in a heartbeat, the intensity of his stare burning holes into the side of your head that you dutifully ignored. A pleasant smile graced your features as you blinked slowly at Henri, doing your best to come across as meek and non-threatening to better your chances of being let loose into the arena. “I understand your reservations completely. Is there somewhere in particular you’d like for me to wait?” 

A crass, unnerving bark of laughter slipped from Henri’s thin lips, drawing both Sebastian’s and Devlin’s attention back to the man. “Quite the subordinate you are, chérie. One would think a ‘bodyguard’ in training would want to stick close to the subject of their protection.” He cocked his head to the side to take in your unassuming stance with blatant curiosity, but he otherwise didn’t seem to read too much into your willingness to depart from the group. “But I digress… thank you for your swift understanding. Down the corridor is the entrance to the arena. You may sit there so your boss might find you quicker once we finish our dealings.” 

“Thank you,” you forced the nicety from your throat, every syllable burning your vocal chords. It physically pained you to bend to the demands of a Poacher– much less to voluntarily agree to set foot in a dragon fighting ring– but your wants and needs were smothered beneath what was necessary. If leaving was the only thing that would allow Sebastian’s plans to progress, then so be it. 

And if separating from him and Devlin would allow you to throw a wrench in Henri’s deplorable schemes uninterrupted, all the better. 

Sebastian looked like he wanted to say something– to fight Henri further and stop you from leaving his side– but you turned on your heel quickly and obediently strode down the hallway towards the fighting ring, not once looking over your shoulder to gauge his reaction. You were certain you’d get an earful from him later, but there was little he could do about it now. If he wanted his dragon heartstrings from his partner in crime, then he was going to have to play along nicely. 

The second you crossed the threshold of the hallway into the ring, you were met with a thunderous round of applause that startled you more than you were willing to admit. Throngs of Poachers stood from their seats in the stands, hollering and stomping their feet as they directed their cheers into the pit below, and you followed their gaze down to find the source of their apparent joy. 

It was a dragon– a dead one– though what kind it was, you didn’t know. It lay in an unmoving heap atop the sand bed within the ring, its eyes long since closed at the hands of the other dragon thrashing and pulling at its chains on the opposite side of the pit. The victor was stunning in color; brilliant green scales, vibrant orange eyes, and a full set of long, yellowed teeth that were on full display as it roared at the handlers that approached it. You watched on in horror as tiny sparks flew from the wands of the Poachers that worked to corral the beast, zapping it over and over again in their attempts to back the creature into the massive cage behind it. The dragon fought back as much as it was able, slashing its claws in a wide arc to pointlessly try dispelling the shocks that assaulted its body, but it still inched its way back into the confines of the gargantuan crate. 

You pursed your lips in blatant distaste, averting your eyes from the horrific scene before you as you scanned the full expanse of the chamber. There had to be hundreds of people here– every one of them as wicked as the next– and you knew that no matter what you decided to do, you had to be careful. Decked out in Nora’s loaned clothing, you stuck out like a sore thumb. Nothing about you looked like a Poacher, and if you did anything to bring attention to yourself, there was a good chance that you wouldn’t make it back to Sebastian’s side later on. 

As calmly as you could manage, you lowered yourself onto the bench beside you. Your fingers dug into the wood of the seat while you glanced around, taking note of every exit and all of the supposed ‘security’ personnel lingering about. The ones wearing all black and planted far from the gruesome scene were the ones you deemed most prudent to keep an eye on, seeing as they were likely standing around waiting for trouble. 

You had no clue what you even planned to do, though. Yes, you wanted to put a stop to the fights. Yes, you wanted to burn the entire tent to the ground– even with Sebastian and Devlin still milling about inside. But you were just one woman. How could you go through with anything without getting caught?

As the dragon in the ring finally hit the back of its cage with an angry roar, the handlers casting at it worked together to drag the sliding gate shut with their wands. The way it boomed when it clicked shut shook the foundation of the tent violently, and your grip on the bench tightened a fraction as the jeers within the ring began to settle. 

“Who were you betting on?” came a voice to your right. 

Unlikely as it may seem, the last thing you had expected was for anyone to talk to you. Turning towards the voice brought you face to face with a younger Poacher, his shaggy blond hair tucked under a wide brimmed hat that cast a daunting shadow over his dark eyes. He wore the same uniform that Poachers in the past had donned when trying to kill you in the Highlands, but aside from that, the kid seemed harmless. He couldn’t be any older than twenty, and you wondered briefly what had brought someone as young as him into the poaching scene. 

You shifted in your seat nervously before remembering that you were meant to be Sebastian’s bodyguard. Then, you leaned forward eagerly, doing your best to seem enthralled by the abhorrent display before you. The handlers down below were working together to levitate the deceased dragon’s corpse out of the pit, a trail of blood dripping into the sand behind the body. Suppressing the shudder that rolled over you, you lightly chirped, “I’m actually not familiar with the two in the ring. This is my first time attending a fight out here.” 

The young Poacher hummed in understanding, taking it upon himself to point into the ring at the cage that had long since closed. “The winner of the last fight is Chua. He’s been the Blackhawke’s crowned champion for months now. I heard they raised him as a hatchling to fight, which is part of the reason he remains undefeated.” 

You had no clue who the ‘Blackhawke’s’ were, but you refrained from asking any unnecessary questions. The less confused you seemed to be, the better. “And the dead one?” 

“Kere,” the Poacher answered simply. “He was a recent catch. As far as I’m aware, the handlers didn’t have much hope for him. Still made for good entertainment, though.” 

You begged to differ. The fact that Poachers would willingly offer up an untrained dragon in the ring purely to satiate the desires of their kin made you sick to your stomach. It pained you to do so, but you forced a laugh from your lips. “Chua must be quite the prize then. It’s a shame I missed the bulk of the fight.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” the Poacher said, casting a suggestive look your way. “My name’s Kieran. I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new to the group?” 

“Not exactly,” came your vague reply, accompanied by a flirtatious look that had done you wonders in the past. The more you could distract this man, the better. “I’m Sebastian Sallow’s new bodyguard. Henri seems to be a little skittish around unfamiliar faces, so I’m waiting out here while they finish up their meeting.” 

At the mention of Sebastian, Kieran visibly blanched, his lips pursing into a straight line. “Sallow, eh? I’ve never met the guy, but I’ve heard stories… is it true he killed Henri’s informant for asking him about Azkaban?” 

Sweet Merlin… that was news to you. It sounded far fetched and unlikely when you thought about the version of Sebastian you had interacted with over the last week. But taking into account the two years you hadn’t been around him… it was hard to say whether or not the story was factual or not. 

Having hesitated for long enough, you shrugged nonchalantly and looked back to the ring, hoping against all odds that you looked more unbothered than you were. “I can’t say. I’ve only been working for him for a short while. Devlin’s only told me good things, though.” 

The blond beside you belted out a loud laugh that drew the attention of a few people in the stands near you. Extra eyes on you only meant that your skin crawled more than was healthy, but you did your best to seem unbothered by the sudden action. “Good things?” Kieran said with disbelief coloring his tone. “I’ll have to take your word for it, then. You would know better than me. All I can really say confidently is good luck.” 

Well… that was reassuring. 

Sticking to the matter at hand, you straightened your spine and rolled your shoulders under the curious gazes of the numerous Poachers around you, doing your damndest to seem unaffected by their prying stares. Suddenly you wished you had opted for a less ostentatious coat to wear. Nora was apparently nothing if not flamboyant. “I’m curious,” you mused under your breath, nodding towards the now empty ring. “Where do the dragons stay when they aren’t fighting? This ring is a lot bigger than the one where I’m from.” 

Kieran cocked his head to the side, following your gaze to the corner where Chua had been corralled. “I’m actually not sure. I think there’s a bottom level to the whole place, though. One of my friends told me he has to occasionally go underground to feed the bloody fiends.” 

“I don’t envy him,” you muttered, earning another chuckle from Kieran. 

At this point the ring was mostly silent, save for the sound of chains rattling behind the cage doors as the handlers worked to presumably move Chua deeper into his enclosure. It was too soon to cut your visit short, and there was no way to break away so suddenly without clueing Kieran in on your plans. To disappear quickly after asking about the dragons would paint a target on your back. Unfortunately, you would have to bide your time a little longer…

You only prayed that Sebastian would be held up long enough for you to accomplish what you planned. It was balmy, and likely to end in the worst of ways, but you vowed to yourself that you would at the very least try. 

If all else failed, you had an entire repository’s worth of dark magic at your disposal. 

Kieran leaned back against the seats behind him, supporting his weight with one arm while the other took to languidly twirling his wand between his fingers. If you didn’t know any better, you would have guessed he was showing off for you. “So, does being Sebastian Sallow’s body guard involve any rules or restrictions?” 

“I’m… not sure what you mean by that,” you muttered dimly, trailing your eyes back to the pit as the sound of the struggling dragon got fainter. 

“I’m asking if you’re allowed to fraternize with colleagues. That’s technically what we are, right? I just wanted to make sure I was reading things correctly.”

He most certainly wasn’t, but evidently your friendly glances had worked a little too well. “I– well, it’s a bit complicated…”

“Complicated how?” Kieran took it upon himself to shuffle closer to you, his forearm brushing against your lower back as he planted his arm directly behind where you sat. “Either having some fun is allowed or it isn’t. Don’t tell me Sebastian banned sex. You’re far too pretty for something like that… or is he keeping you all to himself?” 

Okay, gross. Evidently Kieran wasn’t as harmless as he seemed; he was a complete and utter hound. “Sorry, I wouldn’t want to test any limits. Especially not now… this is technically my trial period,” you lied smoothly, flashing the blond an apologetic smile. 

Mercifully, Kieran shrugged and leaned away from you, his arm behind you lifting so he could skin his fingers along your lower back. “Suit yourself. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” 

With a wink, he rose from his seat and took off towards a distant group of his supposed friends. You had never been more grateful for a group of Poachers to be lingering in your life, but you also weren’t about to squander a second of your newfound freedom. You continued to look on into the pit, drinking in the now empty sight before you with rapt interest, trying your hardest to appear invested in the pending fight. After you had been alone for a few minutes and the chatter in the ring began to rise again, you finally stood from your seat and made your way towards the hallway you had originally come from. 

The long corridor stretched along the entire perimeter of the ring, giving you ample cover in the shadows as you prowled the exterior of the stands with your eyes narrowed and your heart pounding. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew Sebastian was scolding you for being so brash. This would likely damage his reputation– leave him scrambling to come up with lies and justifications as to why things had gone south upon his arrival. But be that as it may, you didn’t care in the slightest. If burning down the enchanted cesspool was out of the question, you would settle for freeing a dragon or two. 

Whether or not it killed you didn’t matter. 

Before long, you reached an uninhabited section of the stands. There were two Poachers decked out in black standing guard before a staircase that led down into what you assumed to be the holding cells for the dragons, and as subtly as you were able, you withdrew your wand and cast a disillusionment spell on yourself. It was the first voluntary magic you had performed in over a week, and the rush of adrenaline that shot through you in response to the action was more electric than a bolt of lightning. It felt good to have your wand back. If it were physically possible, you would endeavor to bond it to your palm permanently. 

Cloaked in a blanket of invisibility, you sleuthed forward as silent as a wraith, waiting with bated breath for the guards to hear you and only deigning to exhale softly when you rounded the corner to the staircase without them noticing. Your footsteps were measured and controlled– taking exceptional care to distribute your weight over the rickety planks with the utmost caution. Moving away the bottom of the steps proved to be a trial in and of itself, seeing as a slew of handlers were darting back and forth in front of you as they shouted orders at one another. 

“Get Veila ready to leave her pen! Chua is about to break out of his cage– we can’t wait any longer,” shouted a masked Poacher from down the hall. A resounding boom echoed off the walls of the corridor, prompting the surrounding handlers to jump into action. Nearly half a dozen men in masks turned on their heels to dart down the opposite end of the hallway, directions about how to calm Veila pouring from their lips and into your waiting ears. 

“Just toss a goat leg at her and she’ll be fine until the gates open,” one man said. 

“What about Chua?” asked another. 

“Leave that to the others. That monster is as bloodthirsty as they come– better they get bit in half than us.”

Okay, you thought to yourself, ducking behind a stack of crates as the disillusionment charm began to wear off. Chua is difficult, and Veila is easy-going. How to go about this…

If you released Veila first, there was a chance that she would be easily subdued and returned to her cage. You needed time to get away with all of this undetected. You needed a distraction. If Chua was as volatile as the Poachers implied, he would be your best course of action to start a metaphorical riot. It would have to be him you let loose first. With any luck, it would prove easier than it sounded…

The sound of a bell tolling at the bottom of the steps drew you from your thoughts, and you shrank deeper into the shadows as the shouts of the handlers grew louder. 

“Five minutes! Five minutes to show time– get Veila sorted now!” 

More Poachers ran to the left in search of Veila’s pen, and you figured now was your best opportunity to do what you’d vowed to accomplish. As the last handler vanished down the left corridor, you recast the disillusionment charm over yourself and hurriedly scuttled down the hallway to your right. Immediately you were met with the sound of metal banging against metal, and a bone-chilling growl reached your ears as you neared the end of the passage. There were only three handlers posted outside of Chua’s pen, and you quickly deduced that the one closest to you would be the easiest to take out. 

“Grimy devil…” muttered the Poacher at the end. “Did you hear that he bit Thomas in two last week? Thought the bloke was away visiting family, but no. He got turned into dragon lunch.” 

“Thomas was as thick as they came,” replied the other Poacher. He crossed his arms over his chest and tsk’d disapprovingly, shaking his head at the green-scaled creature eyeing them vehemently through the bars of the cage. “Only an idiot would get comfortable around something as deadly as that. ‘S why you never see me down here on my breaks.” 

“You’d rather freeze your cock off outside than eat down here?” 

“You’re damn right I would! At least I’d still have my cock,” the second Poacher murmured, shaking his head mournfully. “I dread the day something worse than Chua shows up. When that day comes, I’m asking to go back to stocking. Ain’t no way in high hell I’m sticking around to deal with an angrier dragon.” 

Pursing your lips in distaste, you stuck close to the edge of the wall, moving as silently as humanly possible to get behind the third Poacher who dutifully scanned a clipboard near a storage closet in the corner. The other two men had their backs to him, which meant your chance of succeeding was as high as it possibly could be. You rose to your full height quickly, then wrapped an arm around the silent Poacher before pressing the tip of your wand to his temple. 

You didn’t need an incantation for the sleeping spell because you had used it so frequently in your years on the run. It came naturally to you, and the quick burst of purple light from your wand went unnoticed by the other two Poachers near the cage. The man in your arms slumped forward, a deep slumber instantly settling over him and rendering him dead weight in your spindly arms. It took more effort than was probably normal to catch him before he hit the ground, but you managed to gingerly set him down against the dirty floor before turning back to the remaining two targets. 

While they had remained none the wiser to your antics, however, Chua had not. 

The dragon was as still as a statue as he stared right at you through the bars of his cage, watching you intensely despite the disillusionment charm that still shimmered over your body. Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart stalled in your chest. You didn’t know whether to move or not, seeing as the otherworldly creature had caught you red handed. 

But he wasn’t showing any signs that he was going to give you away. If anything, there was an alarming amount of awareness in the dragon’s eyes as he watched you. 

You felt insane and utterly mad for doing it, but you pointed at the two Poachers in front of the cage. I want them, is what you wordlessly tried to convey. Chua’s luminescent, orange eyes flicked down to the two Poachers before him– still talking about nonsensical things despite the two ton beast gazing down at them– and a shiver coursed over you as Chua lowered his head so it was level with the handlers. 

You suddenly had the distinct impression that you needed to move. Now. 

Doing exactly that, you settled behind a table against the wall and watched in awe as Chua opened his mouth. A low gurgling sound emanated from the dragon, and an unmistakable glow from the back of his throat was what finally drew the attention of the two Poachers, their reaction speed pointless when pitted against dragon’s fire. 

“Shit–”

It was as hot as it was loud. The roar of fire surrounded you, singing the fur on the neckline of your coat and causing you to break a sweat almost instantly. The screams of the Poachers were completely drowned out by the rush of fire, and once it ended, you were pleasantly surprised to discover that the chatter in the stands had continued throughout the impromptu human barbecue. 

Either things like that really were normal, or the noise in the stands was loud enough that no one had heard. Regardless, you had your opening, courtesy of Chua himself. 

The disillusionment charm that cloaked you blinked out of existence at the same time you stood from your hiding spot, but Chua’s wise eyes had been on you long before that. He knew you were there from the beginning… so did he also know that you were there to help? 

Cautiously, you stepped over the sizzling corpses of the Poachers, your eyes never wavering from Chua’s as you inched your way closer to the massive deadbolt that kept him locked down in the cage. There was a matching lock on the opposite side of the cage, but venturing inside the pen to open it was the absolute last thing on your mind. You had gotten lucky with the dragon torching your targets, but you weren’t suicidal. 

Your boots clicked mutedly against the floor before coming to a halt before the gate. Chua stared at you almost expectantly, flaring his nostrils as he took in your scent. There was a low growl, then an abrupt chuffing sound as the creature seemingly accepted your presence and moved back in his cage. If dragons could properly convey expressions, you would say that the one Chua appeared to bare was expectant. Perhaps he knew you weren’t like the other humans that had surrounded him his whole life. Or maybe it was just your wishful thinking. 

It didn’t matter now, though. What did matter was getting the gate open, and the only way to cause the distraction you needed was to get the latch on the far side of the cage unlocked. 

“This is going to sound crazy,” you whispered to the dragon, slowly reaching for your pocketed wand, “but I need you to cause a ruckus when I free you. I want to get the other one out too– Veila. Think you can do that for me?” 

Call it a delusion, but the singular, slow blink the dragon directed at you came across as a ‘yes’. 

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” you continued in a hushed tone, then nodded your head down at the burnt bodies by your feet. “I’m not like them, and they deserved what they got. Just try to get out of here as quick as you can, okay?” 

Another slow, focused blink was directed your way, and then those thin-slitted pupils expanded ever so slightly when they caught sight of your wand aiming into the cage. 

“Don’t move, okay? I’ll open it from here. Then you fly. Get as far from here as you can.” 

Chua curled his talons into the sandy base of his cage, turning away from you completely to look through the iron bars of the gate leading into the ring. You took that as your cue, brazenly shoving your arm the rest of the way through the cage to aim your wand right for the lock. 

“Alohomora.” 

The sound of the latch undoing seemed to be the loudest thing you had heard thus far. Heart racing, you backed away from the cage swiftly and quickly cast yet another disillusionment charm over yourself, moving away from Chua’s pen entirely as the dragon pressed at the unlocked gate with his nose. The door creaked open slowly at first– the scarred creature testing the leniency of the gate for a minute– before boldly shoving it open with his shoulder. It ricocheted off the wall with a deafening boom, and the chatter in the crowd ceased for all of five seconds before the screaming started. 

Perfect. 

The dragon’s bellowing roar shook the walls of the tent, sending everyone above into a frenzy as a cacophony of footsteps thundered overhead. You couldn’t tell whether the hordes of people were running for the exits or down to the pit to help get Chua under control. Either way, it mattered little, so long as everyone’s focus was glued to the poor beast you had just unleashed on them. 

The sound of shouting echoing down the hallway near Veila’s pen reached your ears, and you skillfully stepped sideways before fluidly ducking under a table to remain undetected as more handlers took off for Chua’s cage. You could hear them yelling at one another– their overlapping demands of ‘what the hell happened’ and ‘how on Godric’s green Earth did he get out’ bouncing throughout the hallway and bringing a small smile to your face. It was utter pandemonium, and that fact reminded you blissfully of your younger years spent annihilating Ashwinder and Poacher camps alike from the inside out. 

You hadn’t lost your touch after all. 

The last handler turned the corner towards Chua’s pen, and you stole the opportunity to bolt out from your hiding place and head for Veila’s cage. The female dragon was nestled within, her head turned towards the identical gate that kept her locked out of the pit as she listened to the sound of Chua roaring. She was significantly smaller than her male counterpart, but upon hearing you come to a grinding halt outside the cage, the look in her fiery red eyes told you that she was as intelligent as the champion dragon raining terror upon the Poachers. Your disillusionment charm vanished swiftly, leaving you exposed and face to face with the brown scaled creature. 

There was another deafening boom as something in the pit broke, a telling cracking noise making you think that Chua had snapped a wooden post of some sort near the stands. Veila heard it too and rumbled curiously, the giant muscles of her shoulders twitching as the urge to flee the danger likely took root. The ceiling above the holding cells groaned aggressively, and you realized that you had to move faster. Getting crushed beneath a dragon fighting ring was well near the bottom of your list of priorities today. 

With no more time to waste, you aimed your wand into the pen, the spell to free Veila dancing on the tip of your tongue. It never left your lips, however, because in the next second a broad, strong hand was snatching your wrist down and pulling you away from the cage. 

You were a heartbeat away from lifting your foot to dig the heel of your boot into the assailant's own shoe when you heard Devlin’s familiar, sharp voice hissing into your ear, “What the hell are you doing?” 

Well, shit. 

Spinning to look at him wide-eyed, you found him to be particularly disheveled. There was soot smudged across his flushed cheeks, and the hat he usually wore that you hated so much was missing from the top of his head. His own wand was gripped tight in his white knuckled grip, and you realized that he had to have been trying to deal with Chua before coming to find you. 

“Where’s Sebastian?” you asked immediately, suddenly fearing that he had gotten burnt to a crisp much like the other two handlers down the hall. 

Devlin’s bushy brows furrowed in disbelief as he drank in the sight of your steely resolve. “Unbelievable. You didn’t even need help– you did this! You let the dragon out?” 

  “Yes, I did,” you bit out roughly, then snatched your hand from his grip to readjust your hold on your wand. “Answer me now; is Sebastian alright?” 

Devlin watched on in horror as you leveled your wand with the pit side gate, and when he jumped to try grabbing your arm again, you mirrored the movement and maintained ample space from him so he couldn’t touch you. “Sweet fucking Merlin– yes! He’s fine! He’s shitting his pants thinking you got eaten by a dragon right now, but he’s alive. That beast is torching everything in sight– we need to leave.” 

He tried one more time to grab for you, but you danced away yet again, which pulled an agitated groan from Devlin’s thin lips. “Not yet,” you reasoned. “I have to let Veila out.”

“You need to get yourself out! This whole place is coming down around us and you want to rescue a fucking dragon?” 

“I’m unlocking the gate for a fucking dragon,” you snapped, narrowing your eyes at the lock that was now half-blocked by Veila’s shifting body. “She can take care of the rest by herself– they don’t need us to escape.” 

The chorus of screams from upstairs could be heard through the cage bars, and you caught a glimpse of Chua’s green scales slithering past Veila’s pen as he took to battering the walls with his tail– evidently more interested in reducing the ring to rubble rather than escaping right away. 

“This is insane,” Devlin raked his fingers through his greying hair, chancing a look down the hall to watch for any handlers making their way back here. “You’re going to get me killed. I told him he should have left you at the base– fuck–” 

Ignoring Devlin’s spectacular breakdown, you held your breath expectantly as Veila moved sideways again, the lock on the far gate revealing itself to you once more. Without hesitation, you dove for the pen and shoved your arm through the bars before hurriedly casting, “Alohomora.” 

Devlin cursed under his breath, watching with blatant discomfort as Veila cocked her head to the side curiously. She looked to the unlocked gate for a few seconds, then back at you with a level of awareness in her red eyes that made your skin crawl. You nodded curtly at the dragon, then softly murmured, “Go on. Fly.” 

And fly she did. 

Veila’s strong body shouldered the gate open, her muscles rippling with power as she emerged within the pit and let out a strangely contented huff. Then she spread her wings, bent her legs, and shot up from the sand bed with a sudden whoosh that sent sand spraying back in your face. The sound of canvas ripping overhead filled the entirety of the fighting ring, and the abrupt wave of cold air that swept through the enchanted tent told you everything you needed to know. 

She had gotten out, and Chua was free to follow. 

You couldn’t help it– you giggled maniacally. Devlin looked to be on the brink of knocking you unconscious and leaving you for dead as you tossed your head back, your laugh ripe with giddy excitement. You did it. You actually did it. 

The momentary celebration was cut short when Devlin threw his arms around you to drag you away from the empty pen. The heels of your boots snagged on the jagged ground as you were tugged unceremoniously out of the lower level and up the rickety staircase, barely making it up the steps before the handlers that had flocked to Chua’s pen were running back to Veila’s. The Ashwinder at your side had heard them coming and acted quickly, preserving the sanctity of your impromptu decision by hauling you back to the stands. 

“I could kill you right now, but I have a feeling Sebastian will want that honor,” Devlin growled darkly, looking around the now demolished fighting ring with his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. Chua was on the opposite side of the pit blasting fire from his mouth at the last, untouched section of the stands. As soon as he was done reducing the seats to cinders, he was looking up to eye the opening left in the ceiling of the tent. His massive, emerald wings stretched out around him, sending sand and ash alike flying in every direction as he gathered the momentum needed to take flight. 

Devlin wasn’t itching to stick around to watch, though. He roughly grabbed your wrist to haul you up the demolished stands to head for the hallway the three of you had entered through earlier. It was unscathed by the fire that licked at the entirety of the fighting ring, but the wind blowing in from the top of the tent had knocked any and all decor off the walls. You shuddered against the icy, biting breeze, allowing for Devlin to steer you out of the tent and back out onto the snowy mountainside you had nearly fallen from just an hour earlier. There were so many Poachers congregating on the snow, every one of them staring up at the sky as both Chua and Veila let loose twin roars of delight, their wings beating smoothly as they crested over the peak of the mountain and disappeared into the night. 

When your eyes flicked back down to the cluster of people standing slack-jawed on the mountain, your gaze zeroed in on one person in particular. 

A very, very angry brunet glowered at you through his lashes. With his arms crossed over his chest and his lips pressed into a firm, unyielding line, he looked like the textbook definition of wrath come to life. There was a large trunk situated in the snow at his feet, but you were hardly of a mind to wonder what he had managed to haul out of the burning tent. Right now, there were only two things you were acutely aware of. 

The first was that Sebastian was alive. There hadn’t been a doubt in your mind that he would escape unharmed, but seeing him unmarred and whole before you was a gratifying sight all the same. The second and most pressing thing that dawned on you then was that you were in so, so much fucking trouble.

[shirefantasies]

Roots Running Deep- Balin x F!Witch!Reader

This is a request by @that-teen2003! I didn’t post it with the ask just to save some spoilers for y’all 😉 I realized a little late that I flip flopped one detail a bit but I hope you still like it 🙋🏻‍♀️ thank you so much for this request, it ended up being one of my favorite things I’ve made here ever 🥺

Warnings: suggestive jokes, canon typical violence, some angst

“Why do you keep venturing out into the woods, eh, brother? If I didn’t know any better I’d say it was some sort of tryst,” Dwalin caught his brother on his way out, punctuating his teasing with a wink.

“What exactly are you insinuating, then?” Balin crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow.

“Come on, you can’t be collecting herbs every other day, for stars’ sake! But if you’re meeting out in the woods, she must be quite ugly! What is it, no teeth? Beard a different color than the rest of her hair? Or is it that she isn’t dwarrow at all?”

Involuntary Balin winced, bringing first the widening of eyes and then the quirking of triumphant lip to his younger sibling’s face. “By my beard, you must be joking! How tall is she? Must like the way she picks you up and-”

“For goodness’s sakes, would you stop that?” It was rare for the elder son of Fundin to snap, but when his love was threatened in any way it was as easy an expenditure as taking a breath. “We’ve done nothing of the sort. I’ll not have you taking shots at the honor of one so fair. This is no Blue Mountain barmaid we’re talking about.”

Chuckling deeply, Dwalin shook his mohawked head. "Well, how did you meet, anyway? Someone from Dale, no doubt?"

"If she was from Dale, I would meet her more often in Dale," Balin reasoned, lifting his favorite mahogany-toned coat from their shared home's hook and pulling it on by the sleeve, "if you must know, she has a cottage in the woods. I met her through Oin. She helped him secure a fine stock of herbs, and I accompanied him on his return there."

Uncharacteristically softening, Dwalin's voice came so quiet Balin practically had to cross the room again just to hear him. "Is she your One?"

If he could see himself, Balin was sure he'd have looked a fool the way the twinkle leapt into his eye and the smile arched across his face. But he cared little. "Aye," was all he had to say before disappearing out the door.

~

You awaited him at the brookside just as you promised, dressed in a gorgeous gown of green, the perfect shade to bring out what of your skin could be seem, and with flowers crowning your head. Long sleeves flowing, you waved a hand at the dark-haired dwarf with a grin bright as the sun. How could it be that a gift of the earth like this, all but a daughter of Yavanna, be his? Poetry, truly, as Balin remembered the depictions of the tall, dark woman in green standing aside his people’s fiery-haired creator as his wife. Would you, then, stand beside him someday? Could you?

Flowers sprung at your bare feet as you crossed into the grass, extending your arms to him. You breathed his name like a promise, a hand raising to caress his cheek in greeting. Leaning into the warmth of your touch, Balin lets your name fall from his lips, his hands falling to your waist to pull you against him.

"Doing some gardening, my love?" You smile down at him.

"Not today," he shakes his head, "just wanted to see you."

"Oh? I better find something more entertaining than my trees," you joked.

"What are you doing with your trees?"

"A bit of grafting. Trying to see how many fruits I can get on one tree."

"How many are you up to now?"

You grin. "Care for a climb?"

~

Balin's hair is soft beneath your fingers as they card through the sunkissed dark brown. He rests lightly against your right shoulder carefully as he can while maintaining balance on the branch you pulled yourselves onto. His eyelids flutter shut in contentment, but your heightened senses feel some unrest in him.

“You feel tense. What is wrong?”

At your words, you really feel the muscles of his back twinge against your chest. He inhales, exhales palpably.

“The king,” he replies quietly, “Thror’s love of gold, we fear, has corrupted his mind. His son and grandson have taken up many kingdom affairs already. It weighs heavy upon us all. I admire you. So unlike us in that regard. No need for the material possessions that drive us dwarves crazy. Just living here amongst your plants.”

“They are all I need,” you reply, giving pause as your hand traces down his cheek, “well, almost…”

With that, you gently rotate him, turning to connect your lips with his and feel him smile against you.

~

“You’ve been at that for hours, brother.”

"Because," Balin replies, tone patient and slow as he places another of the series of miniscule gems he cut, "it must be perfect. Wouldn't you want yours to be?"

"'Course. Just can hardly believe all this before you introduce her. She coming to live under the mountain?"

"That I do not know. It might not be good for her.” Balin sighs ruefully, voice going quiet. “Might not be good for anybody.”

~

Smoke. Fire. The sounds of screams as people pour from the mountain and the city at its foot alike. The dwarves have feared for the king, unaware of greater looming threats upon their horizon for who knows how long. And now the world has made good upon its punishment, raining shadow, flame, theft upon Erebor and undoing centuries of culture and livelihood. There is no use fighting, not with a fire drake, a beast with scales as shields and boundless conflagration at a single breath.

They need to run. Leave all that is held and loved behind if they wish to live, have any hope of preserving what once was. Memory, art, family, the beloved strength and endurance known to all dwarves. Reduced now to running or dying.

The prince himself had grabbed Balin, taken him by the arm and pulled him away from the flame just in time, yet they could still feel the searing heat in the air; still they perspire beneath it as they barrel into the king's hall. Thror hardly will part with a single piece of his massive fortune, so he must be dragged to safety beneath the arms of his kin as the great calamity Smaug makes straight for the royal hall.

Heart hammering, Balin drowns out all thought as his legs pump again and again, focus only on cover, safety. As the woods come into view, or as he should say what is left of them, the adrenaline haze begins its fade and the mental clouds part to reveal you. Were you safe? Were your trees, your wards, your... Shakily Balin reaches a hand into his pocket, entire body deflating with the exhale of relief he gives. The bead is there, safe and sound. But would you understand?

Mahal has surely blessed him, for as he wanders the woods, knowing the others will be after them soon, he finds a scrap of parchment, a pen with enough for the briefest message to leave at the foot of your tree, your glorious creation of many fruits.

The others all but yank him out of the woods and call him mad. The parchment, tear-stained and opened with your name, reads in Balin’s ever-steady hand:

We are so different, you and I, but fate is fate. Be it Mahal’s will or perhaps even Yavanna’s, I will be back for you. My heart breaks that I can’t braid it in myself, but if you’ll still wed me please wear this gift I made for you. I can only imagine how beautiful it shall look in your hair or wherever you choose to keep it.

I love you. I will never stop.

Balin

And with that he is forced to run into the chaos again, to witness his kinsman and the men he called neighbors flung like petty dolls by a great thrashing beast, bodies rent in two as though they are mere straw. Straw, however, does not bleed.

Mahal help them all.

~

The cracking of branches alerts you to the potential intruders, diverting your attention from the little patch of fire lilies you’ve been watering.

Fire lilies. Like little sunbursts they are, and yet still after all these years, several decades in fact, something about their intensity brought a recess of your mind back to the day of the drake’s attack. Smaug took everything from the people of Erebor, but from you as well.

Loneliness, after all, is the greatest curse of your long years, your many lives of men and women passing as seasons, all you know withering away like flowers in winter.

The love you had cultivated all those years ago, nourishing with every book Balin read you and every stroke of the bushy hair he somehow kept impossibly soft, every word of botany the dwarf learned for you and every healing herb you demonstrated and gifted to his people, is still in full bloom, though the sight of the lilies thorns your chest with questions that never quiet. Is Balin still alive? Had he even survived the attack, your head will evilly inquire, given his frequent proximity to the throne room, the great hall of kings that you know the dragon has taken to?

Guilt also. As the massacre took place, you had gone to the far edge of your woods, focusing every drop of magic in you upon sealing them, protecting them. Making them a safe place first anyone seeking refuge there. And yet you had seen no one, not a single survivor braving your grounds. So the loneliness drags on. What a waste of your power, you let yourself think sometimes, save for the wards that still remain to this day.

Train of your dress dragging at your feet, you keep walking past the lilies, sigh as you reenter the domain of your great steadfast trees.

You must confess that the tree you carved your sign, even if it was your child of seven fruits, in was of less significance to you before the day of blood and fire. Flame and screams and steel and all the things you understood least. That night is when you found it, after all: laying at its roots had been a hastily torn scrap scrawled with words that rent your heart and poured hours of tears from your eyes. And the bead, oh, the bead, possibly the last work of Balin’s hand. You could not bear anyone but your beloved braiding it onto you, thus it hangs from the thin chain about your neck, swinging above your heart. Yes, your tree of seven fruits had simply been an experiment then, and now and forever it is a memory.

Shaking the ache from your chest, you steady your feet and raise your hands, approaching the area from which the alerting sound had come. A young dwarf in brown bursts from the brush, screaming about a witch and aiming a slingshot at you. Shaking, he does not fire, his light brown eyes meeting the sadness in yours, the weight of memories and his words alike.

Your head snaps up as more heads pop forth, first a doting older one you can tell is the boy’s brother, then a more handsome golden-haired figure and one that has your mouth agape.

“Balin?”

You rush to him, feel his hands grope for yours and kneel down, crumpling into his chest. It is him, for no illusion can be so strong and cruel a ruse as to bear his scent, to hold you and run his thumb over the back of your hand in the same manner. His hair is white now, pure as snow, but the earnest, hopeful wisdom in his dark eyes has not aged a single year. The way he whispers your name like it answers his every prayer, even when his voice quavers, remains and it shatters your chest and builds it right back up.

“It must break your heart to see me like this.”

A single warm tear escapes your right eye as you shake your head, words failing you in favor of a smile half crumpled by your tears. In response you take his hands again, this time holding them for just a moment before you raise them to his bead upon your chain.

Finally your voice returns, shaky as it may be. “I never took it off. Not a single day. Your letter…”

This time it is Balin’s turn to part his lips in surprise. “You cannot mean that.”

“I can and I do. Balin, my life is nothing if it is spent alone. My heart was fractured that day, tucked unknowingly in your coat, but I knew not if I had buried it. Never again am I taking that chance. Let me have the honor of being bound to you. Please.”

Balin’s eyes dart thoughtfully between your joined hands, his stroking over yours once more, your eyes, the gaze that pours so much love into him it’s enough to make a grown dwarf cry, and finally your bead, the tiny emerald chips he’d set by hand so many years ago still glistening with all the love and care he’d placed into them. You hadn’t simply worn it, you’d cared for it.

Again he speaks your name, the finest music you’ve ever heard, and you cannot wait to hear him say it again and again. “You know that what I said is true. Still is. If you will have this old fool of course he’ll have you. May I?”

Nodding, you turn around, letting his aged but still quite nimble fingers undo your chain as you settle yourself onto the grass. The other dwarves swarm you, the younger and more indignant-looking ones quite literally buzzing around you. A taller one with tattoos across his shaven head holds them back with a stern look and the raise of a knuckle-dustered hand.

“Have you never listened to a word he said? A tale he told? My brother has been waiting far too long for this moment. Let him have it.”

At that, you broke completely, bursting into a near-delirious smile and interrupting your beloved’s work upon your hair with your lips upon his, half surprised by his passion and half blind to all but the taste of love upon your lips once more, white roses blooming in a circle around your seated forms.

Signs of love most pure.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn | Reply/Ask/Message to join 🥰

[cotton-fae24]

Chapter 7, part 1/5

It’s a Eda chapter everybody! One thing I try to do with each chapter focus on one character outside of Luz. Chapter 5 was King, Chapter 6 was Amity, and now it’s Edas turn. Though Eda has been in a lot of chapter, I feel like I haven’t really shown a lot of her struggles, especially learning how to be a mentor figure and even a parental figure to Luz. Which is a shame, since in the og show that is a huge part of her development. Think of this chapter as a long overdue character exploration of Eda in this au.

Dr. Caduceia is the old family doctor of the Codthrones. He has taken care of the sisters since they were children and the sisters have continued to be very friendly with him. So when Edayln asked Dr. C if he could come over and give Luz a checkup, Dr. C was more than happy to oblige.

Eda takes Dr. C to Luz. When she isn’t hanging out with Willow, or helping Lilith with human stuff, Luz is usually drawing for hours on end. One of the illustrations Eda sees is pretty unsettling, it depicts a terrifying creature, with long horns and very sharp teeth.

Though Eda and Luz get along pretty well, Eda really doesn’t know much about Luz. Heck, Eda doesn’t actually know Luz’s name is Luz. Since Luz can’t communicate verbally or through writing, Luz can’t really communicate her own name to Eda. So for the past couple of weeks, everyone has been calling Luz “girl,” or as Eda sometimes calls her, “Seabird.”

Eda calls over Luz and introduces Luz to Dr. C. Eda explains that Dr. C will be making sure Luz is healthy, and inspecting Luz’s neck wound to see if there are any problems. Though Dr. C seems pretty friendly, Luz is a little wary of him.

Though Luz knows what a doctor is, Luz never really interacted much with them. Camila knew a lot of natural remedies and was able to care for her and Hunter whenever they were sick. Luz and Hunter only ever saw doctors during really dire situations, and they never had things like daily check ups. It also doesn’t help that mermaids have made much more advancement in terms of medical care compared to the human world, so when Dr. C checks her heart with a stethoscope or inspect her ears with an otoscope, Luz has no idea what is happening. She honestly finds it very uncomfortable, especially when he inspects her neck wound.

The anxiety reaches its highpoint when the doctor starts preparing Luz her vaccine shots, a concept that Luz has never see in her life, and she tries to get the heck out of there. Though Eda is not having that.

After the checkup, the wound inspection, and getting all her vaccines, Dr. C explains to Eda and a very grumpy Luz (though she’s slightly somewhat appeased with the lollipop) the results of Luz’s checkup.

Edit: Finally adding links to Previous comic strips and the pinned post has all chapter links

Beginning:

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[xxnghtclls]

Permission

Chapter 19

(Chapter 18; Chapter 20)

True Form Sukuna x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depiction Of Violence

Please see Chapter 1 for tags!

Play Of Adrenaline

His smirk drops, a confused look crawls onto his face. Sukuna blinks, before he shifts in the water, your hands leaving his face. You watch the water dripping down his torso, as he raises himself. Turning around and without a word, he walks back to the rim of the hot spring. His wet skin glistening in the moonlight, as he moves.

You don’t understand his reaction. Why did he look like you knew something he didn’t? He is a curse, the curse. They attach themselves to you. They stay with you. Thats what curses do, right?

Sukuna climbs out of the water, slips into the robe of his kimono and vanishes into the darkness. You shake your head in confusion, as you watch him go, but decide to follow him. Stepping out into the cold, you forgot, that you absolutely have nothing to dry off with. You put on your kimono, the fabric immediately becoming dripping wet. With sagging teeth, you take the burning wood and make your way back to the fireplace.

Somehow, you feel better. For now. Seeing him as the curse he is, it helps you not to wrack your brain anymore, asking yourself why he’s holding you in the position you’re in. You can’t fight or break a curse anyway, especially not as one as powerful as him. You’re tired from being sad and angry. You start to accept.

Maybe cursing me… only means he cares?

Like you did. Hating him only being the natural reaction for being hurt, showing that you care. These thoughts somehow ease your mind, as you walk through the freezing snow. You know, he won’t let you go and deep down, you don’t want to go either. Despite everything that happened, you can’t deny your feelings for him. You won’t forget the pain he put you in, it still hurts, but you won’t forget he made you feel at all. That’s why you sought him out in the first place. You wanted to feel again, after being alone for such a long time. Good and bad. And you did feel.

So much.

Leaving him would just make you feel empty again, probably even worse, because you would miss him.

So much.

Your whole body starts to shiver and you start to run and soon you can spot the fireplace. Seeing Sukuna sitting on the log, watching the flames, he doesn’t seem to be cold at all.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” you breathe with every step, as you run the last few meters back to him.

Feeling his eyes follow you, as you repeat your mantra while hopping past his figure. You slump down on your usual spot and continue shivering, crawling as close to the fire as you can in the process. Never have you ever regretted wetting your hair in a bath, not until today.

“Don’t you ever feel cold?” you breathe through your teeth, while almost putting your hands directly into the flames.

“No.” he grumbles.

“Huh!” you huff, as if you just learned something new and astounding. You kind of knew that already.

The adrenaline of the cold air pushes up your mood. Maybe talking might help to distract you from freezing to death.

“So. The curse thing. It makes you look how you look, right? But, since you have two of everything, why do you only have one pair of legs?” you try to sound as nice as possible, this question being the first thing you can think of.

“Do you want me to look like a spider?” he responds, cocking his eyebrow. You pause, thinking about it.

“No.” you conclude.

“There’s your answer.” he says, as he keeps staring into the flames.

You nod, thinking about what you could ask him next. There’s still one body part of him, that you haven’t seen yet.

He’s gonna be pissed.

“When you have two of everything… does it mean, that you have two assho-“

“Don’t!” he glares at you.

Too far. Heh!

You rock your body back and forth, fighting the cold around you, teeth still sagging. As you open your mouth to ask him the next question, something heavy lands on the ground right next to you.

Fur. From the stag.

“Take it. Your mouth is hard to endure like this.” Sukuna grumbles. His comment tickles your nerve, but you decide to just take it and not question him any further.

You wrap the fur around you. It takes a while until you feel getting warmer underneath, but it does its job. Turning yourself 180 degrees, facing your back to the fire, you hope it does dry your hair, too.

Still rocking back and forth, left and right, you peek to Sukuna. He’s resting his head on his hand, like usual, watching you with a frown, like you are some exotic bird doing a mating dance.

“Judging me won’t make me stop moving. I’m still freezing.” you say, as you continue fighting the cold in your bones.

“Who says I want you to stop?” he can’t suppress his smirk. You huff at his answer.

Minutes pass and slowly you start to feel warm again. At least you don’t fear to become an icicle over night anymore right now. Feeling yourself becoming tired, you peek over to your right, back to Sukuna. He looks as awake as ever. Slowly, you turn back around to the fireplace. Carefully you lay down on your right side, your feet being near where Sukuna is sitting. Your eyelids fight staying open. Hearing Sukuna move, you turn your head, to watch him sliding off the log, sitting down on the ground, leaning his back against the hard wood.

“Your poor back.” you softly mumble with a smile. He huffs, locking his eyes with yours.

Both of you stay a while like that, only staring into each others eyes. Fire flickering on both of your features. Light dancing in both of your beautiful orbs.

How many times have you acted like this?

How many times was nothing present in the world around you, except the both of you?

How many times did your eyes act like… lovers?

Lovers, you think to yourself, as your eyelids slowly give in and you doze off.

The feeling of a tiny wet drop hitting your nose wakes you up. It’s morning.

It‘s snowing!

Not heavy. Pretty. Weightless little white dots flying through the air. The sight is beautiful for you.

Turning your gaze to Sukuna, he still sits on his spot, lost in thought, watching the fire, his bottom right hand resting really close to your cold little feet.

“You don’t sleep, do you?” you ask him in a warm, but tired voice.

“Don’t need to.” he grumbles.

“I remember you napping when I cut your hair.” you say in a cheekish voice. He blinks at you, cocking his eyebrow.

“You started purring when I scratched your head.” you add, being lost in memories, “like a cat.”

Before Sukuna can react to what you just said, you get up on your feet. Without looking at him, you hop into the snow. You look up into the sky and open your mouth, trying to catch the weightless flakes. Stepping forth and back, left to right, you enjoy your little dance. Moving your body feels good and it frees your mind a bit more. Taking a step to your left, your foot slides a little, making you lose balance for a moment, almost falling down. Luckily, you’re able to catch yourself and as a reward, you hear Sukuna huff loudly behind your back.

“Mortals.” he grumbles.

You sigh in annoyance, as you turn to him. He eyes you up and down with his bottom left eye, suppressing a smirk, acting like he’s still watching the flames.

You turn back around, crouch down and shovel some snow together with your hands.

I have to be fast and precise. One chance only.

First, you stand up again and start to walk ahead. Then, with all the strength you have in you, you turn around and throw it at him.

Whoosh!

The snowball hits the side of his face with a wet impact. Never have you ever thought, you were able to do that, but here you are. So proud!

The snow splatters in his hair, on his cheek and neck. A deep growl rumbles through his chest, before he shoots up and walks up to you, looking as intimidating as ever.

“Oh you wanna play?” he glares at you, flashing his teeth.

Yeah!

You walk backwards, as you let out a shy chuckle, still impressed by your shot. Sukuna undresses the upper part of his kimono while he walks up to you, flexing his muscles and you know, he’s serious. With inner panic, you manage to shovel some snow in your hands again while stumbling backwards. This time, you aim for his chest, but it evaporates on his skin like cold water on a hot surface. His huge figure is coming closer, as he lets out a sadistic chuckle.

Well fuck.

In the blink of an eye, you start to run into his direction. He bends down, tries to grab your kimono with his bottom right hand, but you manage to dodge it. With a panic laughter escaping your lungs and all the speed you can gather in your feet, you run to the trees. He’s faster. You’re hearing his heavy footsteps run up behind you. Before you can reach the thicket, he grabs you by your scarf and yanks you into the snow behind him. Despite falling on your back, the impact doesn’t hurt as much. You open your eyes, panting, seeing Sukuna walking circles around you, looking down to you.

“What now?” he hisses, as he bends down, standing at your head. Seeing his face upside down, you twitch your lip in excitement, hands grabbing as much snow as they can.

“Tch tch tch” he clicks his tongue with a smirk, as the eyes of his mask catch you preparing the snow. You huff, throw it at his face anyway. This time he dodges them easily, raising his stance. Taking the chance, you turn on your stomach, push yourself up and run with all your might into him, attempting to tackle him. To no surprise, the slippery snow underneath your feet lowers your speed tremendously and the impact on his torso is almost as insignificant for him as if you would have run into a tree. Before you can do anything else, he’s fast to yank you back into the snow with a loud laugh.

“Gotta try harder than that” he chuckles.

Not being sure, what kind of game you two are playing, you decide to play dead this time. Trying to relax as much as possible, you shut your eyelids and wait.

A pause.

“Oy!” he shouts. You don’t react. Hearing him huff, you feel him gently kick your feet with his. Nothing.

“Oyy!” he repeats, as you hear him walk back up to your head. His feet come to a halt next to your ears.

“Oy!” he whispers “y/n!”

What?

Your eyes shoot open, his smirk shining upside down into your shocked face.

He remembers!

Your breath hitches, but you take the adrenaline he just gave you to push yourself up in order to run again. He stays behind, while you run a few meters to create some space between you. You come to a halt, panting, turning back to him. With soft eyes and a shit eating grin, Sukuna nudges his chin at you, raising his upper pair of arms, motioning you to come at him with both of his hands.

His attitude and the way his muscles flex when he moves, turns you on.

This play of adrenaline, turns you on.

The way he said your name, turns you on.

You press your thighs together, not very subtle, making him notice. His bottom pair of eyes shoot down to your cunt, making his grin only widen.

“Throw some snow, curse grandpa!” you shout with a smirk on your face and you can literally see a synapse die inside his brain as soon as he hears how you called him. A vein protrudes on his temple, his eyes grow empty, but he doesn’t let his smirk drop. The look on his face makes you laugh out loud. Not paying attention to him while laughing, you don’t notice that he starts walking into your direction. He picks up some snow while walking, forming one ball in every pair of hands. The snowballs becoming bigger than the ones you could form with your small hands. As you finally notice him, he‘s already aiming the first snowball at you. With a shrill laugh you start running again, seeing him picking up his pace in the corner of your eyes too.

FuckFuckFuck

The first snowball hits you at your right shoulder. The impact hard. Kinda hurts, almost makes you trip. You squeal at the impact but you don’t stop running. Soon you hear his footsteps behind you once again. Fast. Heavy.

“HOLY FUCK!” you screetch, as you feel him catching up to you, shoving the other snowball into your scarf. The freezing cold hitting your neck, crawling down your back. The force he was approaching you with, making you both start to slip on the snow. Losing balance, both of you yank each other to the ground. Sukuna grunts as he hits the snow for the first time today, cursing under his breath. You fall on your stomach right next to him. The snow still sitting on your neck giving you enough adrenaline, to quickly push yourself up and crawl onto his torso, straddling him. Picking up as much snow as you can in both of your hands, you smear it into his neck and face, as you feel him grab your hips with his bottom pair of hands and reaching for your wrists with his upper pair. You’re quick to dodge his upper left hand, since he had to close his left pair of eyes due to the snow, giving you the opportunity to push a second load straight into his neck.

“Fucking bitch” he grunts, as he finally gets a hold of your right wrist. His grumpy reaction making you giggle, wiggling your arms up in the air in his hold. The grumpy look on his face changes back into a smirk. Suddenly he rolls you over, pinning you down under him. You wriggle under him, before his grip on your hips tightens.

“Agh” you moan, both out of pleasure and discomfort.

He starts to lower himself on you, putting his weight on you, bodies as close as never before. It excites you, your breath increasing. Unconsciously you spread your legs for him, make room for him. Your legs shoving the snow into little piles next to them, as you do so. His gaze on you aroused, as his smirking lip twitch at your actions. He shifts, his thighs starts to spread yours even further apart, almost pushing them on your stomach, almost folding you in half, opening you even more for him. His huge figure now caging you perfectly under him. Sukuna presses his bulge at your cunt, making you squeak. You feel so hot in this moment, as you have never been in this position with him. So close, so connected. The thought of him potentially fucking you like this sends a deep red colour to your cheeks and so much wetness between your thighs.

“Y/n…” he purrs at you, piercing right through your heart. “Enough playing.” he growls, as his right hand leaves your wrist and finds your cheeks, squeezing them, so that your lips pop forward.

Sukuna’s gaze falls onto your plush lips, before he leans in and opens his mouth. He flashes his teeth, as he imitates to slowly bite your lips right in front of them. A soft clack of his teeth crawls into your ear, as he closes his bite without your lips between them. With blown pupils, you watch his actions, unconsciously pushing your pelvis into him once again. Sukuna chuckles in amusement, before he lets go and takes a hand full of snow, to rub it into your face.

“Ok…” you spit some snow out of your mouth “you won.”

“Of course I won.” he smirks, raising his upper body.

The rumbling of your tummy disrupts the conversation. Sukuna frowns at the sound, eyeing you up and down.

“What? I’m hungry.” you complain, still laying under him, spread out like a starfish.

He snorts at the sight of you, before he stands up and walks back to the fireplace. With a throbbing cunt, you slowly stand up again. You already feel sore from all the running and falling and you know it’s only going to become worse. However, you can‘t deny that this little game you played, also made you feel alive.

[hellaverseapocalypse]

And The Whirlwind is in the Tree

Striker's Story - A Helluva AU

Pairing: Striker and OC Amelda(adoptive father/daughter relationship) Warnings: angst, whump, hurt-comfort, injury, blood, harsh language, death, gore, killing in self-defense, graphic depictions of violence. Summary: Striker is once again tested by fate, and with it, comes a terrible loss. Who is ready for Striker's Joel scene? This bit was a blast to write and I hope you enjoy it. Also, TW for character death.

Read on ao3 - 1.5k words

Striker has no idea how long he's been in Wrath, time seemed to be a blur.

All he could think about was to get Amelda back.

The information Blitz gave him was vast.

The cult is surprisingly bigger than he thought; he grinds his teeth, wishing Blitz didn't keep the whole spy thing a secret. 

After two hours of travel, he finally made camp and rested with Bombproof, his eyes watching the flames.

How the hell did this happen?

How did Amelda worm her way into his heart?

Is it because she's a hybrid like him?

Even though Imps and Hellhounds are at the bottom of the caste system, hybrids were even lower.

Hell, they aren't even considered living things or even servants like imps. 

They were just dirt. 

He couldn't even imagine what they would do to a Goetia half-ling. 

Was it something else? Some other instinct?

He hasn't felt that since...

Striker shook his head.

No, not getting into that.

It's best to let sleeping ghosts lie. 

He sighed as he turned over to get some sleep. 

He did not have good dreams. 

666

It was another day to travel when he saw another camp. He stopped several feet away, walking nearby to listen.

“You think this one will work?” he heard someone say.

“Pfft who cares.” a nasally voice said, “Those idiots think that doing this stupid shit will save them. News flash, it wont!”

Striker then hears the man snort.

“Besides, I think Gareth is gonna keep this one.” he said, “You know he likes them young.”

That.Was.It.

With a roar, Striker attacked them, striking one imp with blessed knuckles, making him scream in pain. The other was about to reach for his gun, but Striker stopped him with a precisely thrown knife to the throat. The Imp gurgled on his own blood while the other howled in pain. 

Striker snarled as he grabbed the howling Imp and made him sit up. The part where he slugged him looked awful, it was as though his skin was melting.

“Where is Gareth?” Striker yelled, “Where did he take the kid?”

“Fuck you!”

The imp howled as Striker drove his other knife into his knee. He grabbed the imps hair and pulled it, making them face each other. 

“Look here, partner.” Striker said, “I got nothing but patience right now, and I know every way to make you scream.”

He pulls his knife from his prisoner's knee, making him keen in pain. He holds it to his face, grinning maniacally at the other Imps' terrified look. 

“So, where should we start, fingers or toes?”

666

The guy lasted 3 minutes of torture, but he spilled everything to Striker.

The location, how many were on guard duty and information about Gareth himself. 

He cringed when he said that Gareth likes young girls, but he never went near the farm community because he knows they will find him quickly. 

Amelda was also his type.

He urged Bombproof to go faster. There was no way in Hell that he was going to let that fuck touch her.

He stopped when he smelled burning smoke and looked up.

It was the cult encampment and it was covered in green flames. He could see other demons screaming and running around, trying to put out the fire. 

He then remembers teaching Amelda that sometimes a good distraction is needed to get the upper hand and fire is usually a sure one. 

Did she do this?

He snorts.

Attagirl. 

He dismounts from Bombproof and sneaks in quietly, trying to figure out where the owlet is. He passed by a few sinners and imps that were running trying to douse the flames. It's a good thing they were running away, it keeps him from being detected. 

He was thinking of going to a direction when he head a terrified screech, 

A familiar screech. 

He took off running in that direction, desperate to get there in time. 

“Sweet Satan, please let me get there in time!” he thought desperately.

He finally ran into the scene. 

Amelda was holding out a bloody knife while some other imp was holding a shotgun at her.

The hell he will!

Striker roared and tackled the Imp, fists flying before he could react. His mind whited out as he kept punching and punching; by the time he recovered his senses, the other Imp's face looked like ground meat. 

He looked up at Amelda who stared at him with wide eyes.

“Half-pint, listen, I-”

He then gets an armful of the terrified child, who started to sob into his neck. He holds her closely, nuzzling her feathers with a purr. 

He pulls back and gets a good look at her. 

She was covered in gore and splatter, like she was hacking at something.

“Sweetheart, what happened?”

“G-Gareth took me to a room and h-he...”

She bursts into sobs and holds him tighter.

“I hid and I-I grabbed his knife and I stabbed him.” she said, starting to hyperventilate, “I just wanted him to go away!”

Striker let out a deep breath and held Amelda close. Gareth is lucky he's dead cause he would have ripped his heart out with his teeth.

He was brought back to the present when he heard voices nearby. He picked up Amelda and quickly went to where he had left Bombproof. He got to his horse just when he heard someone yell.

“Intruders!”

Striker cursed under his breath as he hopped onto Bombproof and set off at top speed. The other demons started shooting at him and he noticed they were using blessed weapons.

“Gareth, you traitorous motherfucker.” he thought as he shot back. Amelda whimpered under him, terrified at the whizzing bullets. 

He then heard Bombproof whinny in pain, realizing they shot his horse. Hot rage burned in him as she kept shooting at the perpetrators. 

“Boy.” he said, clutching his reins, “I know it hurts, but you gotta go faster.”

The hell horse must have understood because he ran even faster, far away from their pursuers. 

666

It's been an hour since they outran their pursuers, Bombproof was walking slowly.

It was a few more feet when the horse finally collapsed.

Striker looked over his mount, noticing he was shot two more times.

There was nothing he could do. 

He sees Amelda sobbing as she petted the horse's head sadly. Striker swallowed his own tears as he hugged his horse's neck.

“You did good boy, you did so good.” he whispered, grateful that his beloved mount held out so long, that he got them both safe. 

They held onto Bombproof till his last breath.

666

They gave Bombproof a quick burial, just putting stones on top of him.

Striker took Amelda’s hand in his as they walked away, not wanting to see the buzzards tear him apart.

Amelda swayed a little, looking unsteady. He took her in his arms and carried her, hearing her soft cooing as she fell asleep. 

It was then he realized it. 

Amelda was his.

His kid.

His daughter.

His child.

Something he didn't think he would ever have again. 

He sighed as he saw the checkpoint for the portal to Lust. 

Yeah, she was his and he's never going to let anything happen to her again.

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Notes: First, I'm sorry, the horse had to go.

When i wrote this, which was last year, i knew i had to kill off Bombproof, which hurt like hell and made my co-writer Candy cry. Buts it's in every video game we have played, the horse dies. We really wanted to have a super SUPER emotional moment with Striker and losing his beloved horse will do that.

Again, I'm sorry.

Next chapter update will be on January 18.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

[mothmanssweetsucculentass]

Bloody Painter Headcanons

Did y’all miss these? Idc if this seems like a weird direction to go from my past two HC lists, I’ve always loved Helen as a character and I just went and read up on all the compiled lore DeluCat made of him years ago, and I got some HCs fresh in my mind!

I used THIS YouTube video from DeluCat herself as my main source, assume anything I don’t list/discuss here is filled in by anything here. I’m actually really impressed that she did so much research on different serial killers, psych ward operations, and violent crimes to make Helen as realistic as possible.

Expect canon typical horror/mature topics being discussed from this point forward, nothing is censored beyond this point!!!!

Roughly about 25, give or take a few years

STRICTLY he/him, will react violently if anyone calls him different pronouns, especially feminine ones

Despite this, he’s definitely not cis (it’s actually canon that he’s agender! Friendly reminder that pronouns =/= gender)

Like bro you were literally raised to have a gender crisis. Everyone point and laugh at the egg

Jeff used she/her for him once as a joke and he still has deep scars from what Helen decided to do to him

Like I shit you not, Helen took a sizable chunk of skin out of Jeff’s back, and only stopped because Eyeless Jack physically had to hold him back until Jeff left his line of sight

You wouldn’t even expect such violent outbursts from this guy considering how normally calm he is

Barely talks at all tbh

Like, he’ll interact politely with most of the residents of the mansion and isn’t turned off by conversation, but don’t expect him to hold a full conversation if he deems you boring or unimportant

Which tbh he probably will, he’s not super big on friendships considering how his last one went

Mostly prefers to keep to himself and is often in the more run down/abandoned wings of the manor

Has a naturally more feminine looking face (long eyelashes, smaller nose, etc) and does nothing to try and fix/hide it

Has converted one of the dilapidated rooms into an “art” studio

And by art. Heh. Let’s just say. Corpses

No actually he really just has an entire room dedicated to some of the most fucked up art a person is capable of making

Sculptures made out of bones and flesh, jars filled with coagulated blood submerging his taxidermy projects, eyeball jewelry, teeth jewelry, paint made from pummeled organs and flesh, brandings and etchings on stretched human skin, plushies made of human hair, he’s got it all

He also makes more “normal” art, which in reality is just more traditional mediums that still depict his usual obsessions with violence

Has gotten used to the scent of rot and decay like pretty much every resident has, but is one of the few who enjoys it

Is very selfish, self centered, and has an ego larger than Texas

Him and Ben have a somewhat transactional relationship; Helen films all the depraved torture and crafting he enacts and shares it with Ben, and Ben prints out news articles of Helen’s crimes for Helen to make art with, or just look at to admire his handiwork

ZERO empathy. His morals heavily align with the BEN AI, and even somewhat Slenderman’s

Hates animals. Not cause he’s scared of them or anything, but because he finds their existence useless

…unless he’s using it for fucked up taxidermy

LOVES torture the same way Eyelss Jack loves vivisections

One of his favorite things to do is rip a person’s fingernails out one by one, and then severing the hand and using the bleeding nail beds as the world’s most fucked up large paintbrush

Besides art, he loves to read. Kind of a given considering he’s basically the quiet kid

Loves depraved horror novels and serial killer memoirs/autobiographies

Can speak fluent Chinese, and often shit talks other pastas to their faces without them even knowing

Kagekao learned Chinese just so the two could gossip

Similar to EJ, has a more “buff” physique and has been seen breaking bones effortlessly. When you’ve been murdering steadily for over a decade at this point you kinda just learn where the weak/break points are in the human body

Can improvise anything into a weapon

Actually he really loves killing people with unconventional murder weapons. Scenes are often found with things like metal straws lodged in a victim’s sternum, or the top of a bowling pin shoved down a victim’s throat so far their jaw broke and the victim subsequently choked on their own blood from their shattered teeth

He’s gotten so good at this that the other pastas will literally make a game out of it and challenge him to use an outlandish item as a weapon the next time he kills

“Okay okay how about a bong” “are you being serious right now” “just answer the question art boy” “twice, actually. Though technically I think one of them was a really weird ceramic frog instead. That, or a pcp pipe.” “Awesome”

Hates removing his mask around anyone he’s not acquainted with

Gets reeeaaalll fuckin quiet too

Has gotten so good at being stealthy he doesn’t even alert or startle people like Eyeless Jack does

Surprisingly enough he actually gets enough sleep compared to most of the other residents of the manor

He’s also able to get comfortable and sleep practically anywhere, in the weirdest positions too. Is often found passed out in his studio sitting up, or laying on the floor covered in metal torture tools and bones

Despite his lack of empathy, his blood boils and he seethes if anyone dares to mess with Sally

The first day he stumbled across the manor and introduced himself by what the media called him, Sally gave him a drawing of himself, and he vowed on the spot to look out for the little snot

Is already a naturally patient person, and is incredibly patient and gentle when explaining how to do specific art things to Sally

Jokingly “agrees” with Sally about not liking doctors whenever she’s around eyeless Jack (though in his case he hates psych doctors vastly more than physical ailment doctors)

Back to the patience thing: will stalk a victim for months to toy with them. He has an eternity to do this to people with his newfound abilities granted to him by slenderman, why rush?

Helen 🤝 BEN/Ben = malewhore mansplain manipulate

Will say anything to get what he wants

Thinks in a very transactional and technical way. If you don’t do or offer something to benefit him first, he doesn’t even see you as a person

Is friends/close with: Sally, Eyeless Jack, BEN/Ben, Jason, Ann, and KageKao

Has a tolerable relationship with/is very neutral about: Masky, Hoody, Jane, Liu, Puppeteer, LJ, and Slenderman

Doesn’t get along with/HATES: clockwork, Nina, and Jeff

Him and Jason often collaborate together on pieces involving still living people

Him and Ann have a mutual distaste for doctors/hospital settings, and can often be found stitching up their wounds (or sometimes in Helen’s case a piece involving human flesh) together

Ace, heavily questioning if he’s aro too

He finds Ann aesthetically pleasing to look at, but his thoughts don’t go any further than that. Often uses her as figure practice (with her consent)

Is mainly fascinated by the fact she’s a walking sentient corpse

Tried cannibalism once, wasn’t a fan

Tried going to both Eyeless Jack and Ann once during a dysphoria-spurred panic attack and begged for bottom surgery

“But why tho” “I’m ace. I don’t need it. Don’t women who never want to get pregnant get rid of their uteruses anyways?” “Well, yes, but-“ “so help me god get this thing off my body”

Obviously one of the few times he actually doesn’t appear calm and put together to people. Tries his damn hardest to hide these panic attacks unless around Eyeless Jack or Ann. Would be mortified if Ben, Sally, or any of the loud judgmental pastas saw him in this state

Gives a lot of his full corpse art pieces a physical sex swap

You’re dead but hey free top surgery and you get to be fucked up art

Honestly doesn’t give a shit about symbolism, makes art of whatever he wants/feels like and makes it pretty clear there’s no hidden meaning

[waldos-writing]

Just A Dog Pulling at the End of a Long, Long Leash

Rating: Mature Word Count: currently 9,7k (ongoing) Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, nightmares, Post-Canon Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Drugging

Summary:

Mickey Barnes. That's it, it's just Mickey Barnes now. Just him. Singular.

After the end of the Marshalls and the expendable program, Mickey's trying to figure out his place in all of...this. On Niflheim. In life. Thing is, he's just got this weird feeling that maybe...well, no. That'd be crazy. But maybe it's not just him. Maybe there was a miracle.

Or maybe he just doesn't know how to deal with the guilt of losing 18. Maybe if he just gets to live? If that's enough?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 6 (excerpt)

Mickey put his hand out and brushed the crystal wall beside him as he followed the tunnel deeper into the cave. It ran like water under his gloves. He wondered about taking those off, letting the cold bite his fingertips, if the wall would feel like glass. If it would burn. If pushed the button light on his chest to see if the walls would go dark and he’d see himself swimming in there? Or somebody else.

But it wasn’t that dark far long.

Damn, but it really was pretty inside.

Mickey walked into the center of the big geode room again. The place had been big, yeah, but he didn’t realize just how huge it really was. Didn’t let himself take the time to just…be. With himself. He breathed deep as soon as he stepped through, out of the tunnel, and the star-fractures glittered as though they were waving to him. He tilted his head up, scanning the ceiling that was brighter than the bottom, thinner in places, until he found the punched out scar where he’d been lowered through before.

“So weird,” he said slowly, thinking back on it. What a wild surprise idea. Timo’s fault. And Mickey smiled to himself when he put all the blame on his friend. Trust Timo to talk them into this because of course he could. “Jerk.”

Without everybody else, without even the creepers like Loto and Akka burbling around, his voice echoed. It wasn’t overwhelming or anything; it was pretty quiet, in fact. The echo was so far away it didn’t even sound like him. Like human speech, really. He looked down at the mossy patterns on the ground and maybe that was muting it a bit. Mickey made sure to step around each little growth, taking his time to pick the safest, cleanest rocks, until he was standing directly in the center again, under the opening. He put his hand in his pocket and squeezed the little glass vial Arkady had given him, his heart just pounding.

“Happy birthday,” Mickey said quietly, his voice croaky and weak. He screwed his mouth to the side, everything starting to climb up, too much, behind his teeth. That wasn’t truth drugs making him narrate, that was the shitty day piling up. He was alive. This place felt alive. This cathedral, this dome, this big fucking bubble in the ground or whatever, got to celebrate him. And nobody, nobody celebrated 18. Cause he didn’t….

Continue here on Ao3!