#anyway . the sky closed its eyes!!!!! no one is looking!!!!!!!! its over scar!!!!

[hoolyelina]

starless night

[k4vehrtz]

⸻ YOU'RE A CRISIS OF MY FAITH

. ✦ . starring — dom!top! t. fushiguro / m! reader

warnings — porn with some plot, sacrilege, a copious amount of religious themes, priest! reader, virgin reader ergo loss of virginity, allusion to homophobia / internalised homophobia, unprotected sex, blowjob (r receiving), deepthroating, fingering, riding, creampie, toji lowkey has a corruption kink, use of the nickname 'angel', toji refers to the reader as father once but that is entirely in a religious sense . ✦ . wc — 2.1k . ✦ . notes — we'll all pretend that didn't just happen!! anyway!! i'm so so normal about toji...and !! i don't know what exactly falls under dark content but seeing as this contains sacrilege you've been warned nevertheless. not proof read bc t**blr stressed me out

“what does —” he stops himself mid-sentence to motion upwards, “the big man upstairs think about homosexuality?”

you swallow hard, your adam’s apple bobbing. you hadn’t expected the question, naturally. especially from the likes of toji fushiguro of all people. but you answer anyway. “well,” you murmur, averting your gaze so that you’d stare out the window as the first signs of winter begin to settle in for its extended stay instead of being forced to meet toji’s pointed gaze. “we all are subject to desires that may or may not reflect god’s light, but these desires aren’t sinful unless you act or encourage others to act on them.”

he nods almost absentmindedly in response before following up with: “…even you, i imagine, as a man of god, could fall victim to such desires?”

and you pause for a beat, your jaw tightening as an image escapes the dark recesses of your mind; the neat box you’ve forced what you deemed unpleasant thoughts into.

the man in your mind didn’t look quite like anyone you knew at first. he was just a man without a name or a face — similarly to the world before god’s divine intervention, he too was without form. but then, by chance, you met toji fushiguro and his teenage son. then the man who’d haunt your thoughts began to change.

he was older, weathered by life experiences and parenting, and taller, maybe 6’2, with messy black hair that fell over his brows. his hair reminded you of the cloudless, starless night sky. then there was that scar on the corner of his right lip. you’d imagined yourself on more than one occasion leaning toward him, pressing your lips against it before he’d open his mouth and let you explore the wet cavern.

though you shake your head as if that would dismiss your thoughts, fingers curling defensively around the window’s ledge. “everyone encounters temptation in their day-to-day, but, like god’s son, we must resist.” you counter eventually. “you’re not one for idle chatter.”

“i’m not,” he agrees, his voice smooth, something akin to the feeling of silk against your skin. it gives you goosebumps and makes the hairs stand up. he puts his hands up in mock surrender, his gaze intent. you can feel him burning holes into the back of your head. “you know, i think i’m long overdue for a confession.”

“as you wish.”

“our heavenly father has declared the following in the book of james, chapter five, verse sixteen: ‘therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. the prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective’. now, in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit, amen.”

silence — and then toji sucks in a breath, his voice thick with an emotion you can’t quite grasp but has you shifting in your seat on the other side of the confessional booth anyway. you’re, on some level, disgusted by your behaviour. it’s unprofessional at best, or perhaps the beginning of your unravelling at worst. you fear it’s the latter.

“bless me, father, for i have sinned,” the words slide off his tongue with ease, “it has been two months since my last confession.” and your eyes flutter closed, or maybe you forced them closed because you feel no better than a pervert by the way you ache at every sound that comes out of his mouth.

either way, you don’t notice the way the door creaks as toji lets himself out of his side of the confessional booth and opens the door to yours until he’s kneeling in front of you, the pads of his fingers digging into your sides. the skin of his fingers is rough, worn out from the different tasks he takes on to keep himself and megumi afloat, you think. he’s become something of a handyman around town.

“to be honest, father,” he says, now directly addressing you. “i came here fer’ your guidance…you see, i’ve been havin’ thoughts lately that i don’t think align with what god wants.” and you find yourself at a loss, your eyes still closed, though your adam’s apple bobs again as you swallow your suppressed thoughts. “my guidance?” you repeat quietly, “confess your…thoughts…then, and seek forgiveness. it’s not a sin unless you act on those thoughts.”

he lets out a pleased hum at that, leaning forward so that his face is practically buried in your clothed crotch. “so,” he counters, “if my understanding is correct, would it be a sin if i told you to spread your legs f’me?”

you don’t trust yourself to speak right now — not when your thoughts are all muddled. so, you simply nod and toji clicks his tongue. “but sin or not, you’re going to anyway because you and i both know how we feel about each other, right? c’mon, use your big boy words and tell me.”

the smart thing—no, the right thing to do here would be to say no. adamantly deny the lingering touches and glances that the two of you had come to share. affection between two men could only go so far. but then again, you’ve gone so much farther in the safety of your bedroom long after the sun has set. how much longer could you shamelessly show your face to the other members of the church and listen to them confess their deepest secrets to you? you’re parading as a righteous man when you’re anything but.

if it turns out to be as bad of a sin as they say, god will strike you down.

turns out it’s not as bad of a sin as they say — or maybe it is and you’ve yet to receive divine punishment.

“god works in mysterious ways,” you say under your breath but toji hears it anyway. how could he not when you’re in such proximity to each other? you hadn’t meant to say it out loud but it doesn’t matter. and toji (ever the charmer) takes it upon himself to respond, “maybe he brought us together for a reason…or maybe i’m one of lucifer’s lackeys sent to seduce you.”

you make the conscious decision to ignore that which seems to entertain toji even more. he’s ridiculous in ways you can’t fathom. like…the way he’s got your legs spread, back pressed firmly against the wood of the confessional, your thighs trembling as he clicks his tongue, “spread yer’ legs a little wider f’me angel, s’not enough f’me to suck that pretty cock.”

he… he knows what he’s doing. whereas you were clumsy and inexperienced. but, to be fair, you had taken a vow of celibacy when you were twelve.

now, though, you’re experiencing true pleasure for the first time — and with a man, no less. you tilt your head back in what little space the confessional affords you as toji gives your balls tentative touches, maybe light squeezes, as he aligns the head of your leaking cock with his mouth. you’re embarrassed, warmth flooding your cheeks, but you can’t look away. not when this is all you’ve ever wanted.

there’s pre-cum on his lips; your pre-cum. it’s there, as clear as day, and he’s entirely unbothered. all of his attention is on your cock. your cock that’s throbbing as he sucks on it. pre-cum and saliva mixing. it’s all so new to you.

as for him…well isn’t this cute? you’re trying your hardest to stifle those needy moans of yours, he can tell. but no matter how much you bite down on your lower lip or how you press your hands against your mouth those pretty sounds you make always find a way of escaping. part of him, somewhere deep down, feels guilty for corrupting you like this. but perhaps he doesn’t feel guilty enough.

he continues to work on your cock, sucking on it whilst simultaneously fondling with your balls. you’re quivering, rutting your hips forward now and then. occasionally you go too far and it scares you at first — you didn’t mean to push your cock all the way to the back of his throat! ever the unbothered, though, he welcomes it until you’re spurting your load down his throat. and he swallows, utterly content.

then he coos at you, bringing a thumb up to your face, and tracing the outline of your jaw. “don’t worry about me, angel, you’re not going to hurt me. what you’re going to do f’me is let me reposition us so i can see your pretty boy hole, m’kay? my boy can do that f’me, right?”

my boy. the idea of being his. after so long…it only feels right. so, you allow him to readjust your position so that you’re straddling his lap and somewhere in the process you both disregard your clothes.

“you’ve been thinking about my cock? that’s why yer’ hole is winking f’me? all ready to take my cock like a big boy?” he asks and you nod your head eagerly. every word that comes out of his mouth is dirty but your reactions are the icing on the cake. you’re not the quiet, unassuming priest he met by chance all those months back. and to think that he’s the reason why.

well, he doesn’t linger on the thought. you’re impatient, squirming on his thighs in search of friction. but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t get him going and he may be many things but he would not force himself into you without properly preparing you to take him.

so as much as you whine about it, he ultimately takes his time with you. the nearest lubricant happened to be some sort of oil, but he made sure that it was safe to use before coating his fingers in a generous amount. then he oh so carefully drags his finger across your hole. it makes you shudder, but after a few minutes of this, you find yourself unprepared for the stretch of fitting a singular digit in. it hurts and the moment you so much as whimper toji’s pressing his lips against yours. the same lips that were around your cock only moments ago. his lips are gentle, soothing, even.

and he keeps it like that — his lips against yours as he slowly introduces more fingers into your ass. it takes a while but your pained whimpers soon morph into more desperate, filthy little noises as he drags his fingers in and out of your hole before curling them, tips grazing your prostate.

you want it, you decide. his cock, that is. you want his cock in your ass beyond a reasonable doubt. it’s all you need. bouncing on his fingers feels good but you just know that his cock would feel so much better.

“this is a sin, we’re both sinning,” you announce, your words strong but your delivery coming in between laboured gasps as his fingers continue to graze your prostate. “so i expect you to fuck me like you mean it.”

and he doesn’t need to be told twice. with a scoff — one that sounds more amused than annoyed — he pulls his fingers out of you. shaking his head as you whimper at the loss. but it’s soon replaced by something bigger and much thicker. it’s his cock, covered in the same oil, and you almost can’t believe it when he’s aligning it with your entrance, pushing past the tight ring of muscle.

you have to take a few breaks before you fully sink on him with a low groan. he makes you feel so full and he hasn’t even moved yet. and when you take it upon yourself to ride him you revert to the softheaded boy he makes you out to be.

your movements are clumsy — mediocre, you’re sure of it. but toji doesn’t intervene. he simply leans back, big, warm hands on your hips, while you figure out your rhythm. and after a few failed attempts you find one that works for both of you. it feels good, it feels great even. his hard cock filling you to the brim while you all but mindlessly bounce on his cock, your walls clenching around his throbbing length.

you’re going to cum soon, you’re sure of it. and when you do eventually watch through teary eyes as your cock spurts ropes of cum onto his stomach you’re not surprised whatsoever. toji, however, takes a lot longer to cum. you’ve probably cum at least two more times by the time toji takes control, his grip on your hips tightening as he angles you just the right way to hit your prostate with each thrust of his hips upwards. your toes curl, eyes half-lidded, and you just barely acknowledge the warmth of his semen in your ass.

all you can think of, and just barely manage to stutter out is: “you’ve fucked me,” and he stares up at you with a smug smile, chest heaving as he copes with his orgasm that has been a long time coming, “yeah, i’ve fucked yer’ pretty boy hole.”

[snakeeeater]

hey man, nice shot

[dante sparda x gn werewolf!reader] -> prologue

PLEASE READ:

★ This is DMC5 Dante!!

★ This is borderline crack right now but will develop a bit more bear with me fellas

★ That’s all! Enjoy this wacky woohoo garbage

So, you’re fucked.

That’s what you’re thinking when the uglyass pyrobat you’re stalking breaks through the roof of a warehouse on Seventh. The building’s got these hellish glowing red lights pulsating from the cracks forming in its dilapidated state, and suddenly your M1911s and dearly beloved 14 Randall don’t feel sufficient.

You’re thankful for the rain and overcast sky tonight, because it masks your footsteps and softens your shadow’s mark against the ground as you slowly approach the place. The hood of your sweatshirt is soaked through— you thought about putting on your windbreaker earlier to stay dry and warm, but the plastic-y sounds it made when you moved would certainly gain unwanted attention from the demon you were stalking.

You shift one of the straps of your holsters before crouching by the window. Your knees crack. You press your back to the wall for a moment. 

Okay.

Now that you’re this close you can tell that there’s definitely some sort of demonic ritual going on inside from what you hear— voices that sound like sandpaper speak in an overlapping chatter. You strain your ears. There’s the sound of magic sparking and the sound of something… squishy? It sounds like someone being sliced in a horror movie.

You shudder at the implications of that sound, but keep your mouth shut.

When hearing doesn’t yield any more ideas, you turn on your heels. The rubber soles of your combat boots grind the gravel under your feet a little too loudly and you freeze. A fearful eye of yours shoots up to see if the demons heard anything.

A second passes.

Another.

You seem to be safe… for now.

You decide against sticking your head over the windowsill and opt to put an eye to one of the holes in the walls. You squint through the hazy red filling the room.

And your blood runs ice cold.

A cross levitates in the center of the empty warehouse and a naked woman hangs upside down from it, spinning slowly. She’s been brutally ripped open and you’re sure all her blood was used in making the markings on the floor that you’re failing to interpret. Her— oh god, you want to vomit— her organs are organized in messy piles in what you assume are the cardinal directions.

In a fleeting attempt to tear your eyes away from that disgusting scene, you decide take in the demons. 

You see three bowing Hell Caina, a triad of pyrobats circling the ceiling, the shadows of three Death Scissors, three massive Proto Angelo heading Scudo Angelo units of three, and at the center of it all, three goddamn Lusachia which were doing all the raspy chanting you hear.

You turn around, pressing your back to the wall. 

The number three seems to be important to this ritual. You’d have to tell Morrison.

“Shit.” You press the heels of your palms to your eye sockets.

You almost laugh.

If you got back to Morrison from here.

Sure, you weren’t human anymore. Sure, you were legally dead, so it wouldn’t really matter if you were crushed like a grape. And sure, you survived a freak werewolf attack.

But after dying, being buried, transforming during the new moon cycle, and crawling out of the ground, you still weren’t able to bust out the monster hiding underneath your skin at will.

You massaged the scarring bite wounds that had been left behind on your left shoulder. They was no longer tender, but they still looked angry as hell.

“Maybe a life-or-death situation will bring it out.” You whisper so softly you can’t hear it yourself. It worked for most fictional characters, anyway. You’re left with virtually no choice.

You position yourself at the window. 

Feeling like a stereotypical “bad boy” in a straight-to-DVD teen movie sneaking into his girlfriend’s room at night, you enter the warehouse slowly through the window. You’re not quite sure how the quiet rustling goes ignored. Plot armor, maybe.

You crouch in the shadows a stack of crates cast upon the floor and aim down the front sight of your gun, like Morrison taught you. You remember some wise words from… well, every movie you’ve ever seen featuring a person learning how to use a gun: aim where they’re headed, not where they are.

You take in a shaky breath and

BANG!

You’ve fired a shot at a pyrobat. By a miracle, you hit it and it spirals downward gracelessly, whacking itself on a Scudo Angelo’s head and twitching to death. 

The entire hellish garrison turns to face you. If this were a Marvel movie, you’d make a quippy one-liner and kick ass.

In your current situation, however, a Hell Caina shrieks at you and slices a gaping hole in your body with its scythe. You blinked, and it was tearing into your flesh like a rabid dog to a raw turkey on Thanksgiving.

Through the pity-training Morrison put you through, the two of you found out that you can tank hits because of your werewolfish condition.

But it didn’t mean you liked to do it.

“Ow.” Is your response to the Hell Caina. It’s not even a shout, it’s more of a lame, throwaway comment. Some may even smell the stench of predetermined defeat radiating off of your body.

Since you’re close enough to shoot without missing, you point your pistol at its face and use your free hand to press against your wound. When you pull the trigger, it squeals loudly and melts away.

“Too bad I’m not like the other hunters.” You mumble. The tank role in video games was pretty boring. All they did was take damage so their cooler DPS-skilled teammates could do the actual killing. And then you died if you had nobody else with you.

It fits with your general luck.

You shoot a few bullets into the air and miss every shot. You shoot a Proto Angelo. The bullet ricochets off its shield, and you almost start sobbing.

You’re stupid for doing this. You’re no hunter. You’re too old to pick it up efficiently, according to everyone else you’ve talked to about jobs. You’re probably going to die somehow— maybe these demons will overpower your uncanny healing or just send you to Hell.

“This was supposed to be easy.” You laugh because if you’re not laughing, you’d be crying.

Your guns click with the telltale sign that they’re empty now.

“Great.” You growl. You hadn’t counted on wasting so many bullets in such a short amount of time— call it wishful thinking, call it ignorance, call it a total mistake.

A pyrobat spews fire in your direction, which you somersault to the side to avoid. At least you still had that ability.

You sigh as it obviously charges up another shot of fire to spit at you. “I wish I did Krav Maga when I was a kid. Then I’d rip and tear you guys apart.”

The pyrobat is unamused by your reference to Doom, the pyrobat spits fire again. You roll out of the way again. “Or maybe I should’ve been more like a stereotypical American and started learning how to shoot young.”

You’re talking too much for someone about to die. Your head is too light for someone who wants to run away.

The revving sounds of a motorcycle round up by the entrance of the warehouse.

“And that’s probably the police.” you sigh. This was turning out to be a whole mess. Now, you’d have horrible things happen to you and civilians would also be involved.

The doors to the warehouse bust open with a loud BANG. A man with hair the color of undyed silk walks in like he owns the place and every building in a five mile radius. In his hands he carries twin pistols that look like a similar model to yours. And on his back, he carries a sword like a badass.

You immediately envy this man’s swagger. He’s clearly another one of those “I’ve been doing this since I was ten” hunters, here to clean up a mess you couldn’t even get out of unscathed.

The man clicks his tongue at the sight of the mutilated woman. “That’s unfortunate. I guess that means… it’s time to groove!” 

And the man grooves.

With a dramatic twirl of his twin pistols the man transforms into a force of nature so powerful, you swear all over that he could secretly be a demon king down in Hell. His mission? To come up here to crush the dreams and this power-boosting ritual of demon king wannabes.

Or something. Your mind gets a little carried away.

But he really is a whirlwind of carnage, seeming as though he is fused to his sword and ripping through demons like there was no tomorrow.

Correction: there is no tomorrow. Now for these pathetic pieces of Hell scum. He even laughs at one point after vanquishing all of the Death Scissors you’ve been narrowly avoiding. He drives his sword into the helmet of a Proto Angelo and it shatters with the force. He shoots a barrage of bullets into the Lusachia and it they fall dead before any even had the chance to teleport to safety.

And when he tap danced on the body of his final victim while humming a jovial tune, your jaw actually dropped.

He shoots you a look after the spectacle. “You one of them?”

The guy wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

“Uh…” you look down at your body. Nothing about you screams demon. “No. I’m human.”

The man shakes his head, like he knows you’re lying but doesn’t care enough to let you know that he knows. “Call the cops on this place after you leave, alright sweetheart? Wouldn’t want that poor lady to become another face on a milk carton.”

“Yeah.” You nod. He called me sweetheart. You think dumbly.

It’s— made evident by your immediate thoughts— been ages since you’ve been flirted with, let alone talked to someone who wasn’t Morrison.

The man turns and begins walking away. Before his silhouette disappears into the night, he raises a hand. “Ciao.”

You spot the guy with hair as white as snow again at a crosswalk while walking home a couple nights later.

It goes like this:

You were rightfully restless after your warehouse fail. Your pay from Morrison was still in full, so you had enough to splurge a little on the finer things in life, like restocking the dwindling supply of Budweisers you liked to keep handy in your fridge.

You make your way down to the closest 7-11, which happens to be a five minute walk away from your shitty new apartment. 

This area was the type you’d avoid in your old life— sketchy hoodlums loitering in alleyways, the telltale twitches of drug addicts walking by, and the accusing shouts of petty thugs getting into murderous fisticuffs. 

You are by no means a pearl-clutching socialite with a plush and stuffed trust fund, but living here as someone who didn’t have the best means of defending themselves… well, it wasn’t a good idea. The people here weren’t significantly more dangerous, but they were a hell of a lot more jumpy than other people you’d pass on the street.

However, after being bit by one of those mangy dogs of the night, you weren’t so scared of meeting the next Ted Bundy while hunting demons.

(Okay. Attempting to hunt demons.)

As Jason Dean in the cult classic movie Heathers once stated, 7-11 is consistent across all American locations and you’re inclined to agree.

Every chain location you’ve been to has looked like a front for a meth lab. Every time you push a 7-11 door open, it feels like the introductory gas station scene in the Resident Evil 2 Remake is being superimposed over your reality.

You avoid a shirtless guy who won’t stop coughing onto the chip rack and make your way to the refrigerated drinks section for your Budweiser. You grab a box of fifteen cans for about twenty dollars and make your way to the front. You flash your impeccably-crafted fake driver’s license from Morrison to the underpaid cashier who doesn’t bat an eye at its legitimacy as you slide thirty dollars over the counter. 

You almost tell her: “Keep the change, kid,” but you’re more broke than she is, so you grab the coins she’s pulled from the register.

You step outside the store and walk away from the encampment of cigarette smokers loitering by the entrance so you can place the box on the floor. You wiggle a beer can free, planning on popping it open when you get closer to home and chugging it.

You reach your first crosswalk shortly after this. 

This is where you meet the guy with hair like Danny Phantom again. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him notice you, do a little double take, look ahead again, and then get closer.

“This is probably gonna sound real cheesy,” is his opening line, complete with a suave pause. “But you look familiar.”

“Hi,” You reply, feeling your face start to flush a little at the sight of a good-looking dude. Jesus Christ. You were in need of some normal human interactions. “We were in that warehouse on Seventh a couple of days ago.”

“Ah,” the man nodded. “The one where that poor woman was kinda… turned into spaghetti.”

You nod. “That’s the one.”

“Fancy seeing your face again.” He has a flippant lilt to his voice, which makes you want to bury your face into a pillow and start giggling. Thank god it was dark out and he couldn’t see how you were awkwardly biting your bottom lip and thank god both your hands were occupied.

“So, uh… here.” You say in a genius reply, holding out the sweating can of beer meant for yourself.

The guy looks at it in your hand. “Hunh? What for?”

“Well, you, uh, helped me out with that warehouse situation so I figured…” you shrug, the inside of the can sloshing slightly with the motion. “Y’know, it’s certainly the least I could repay you with.”

“Well, thanks,” He reaches for the can and your fingers brush. He shoots you a crooked smile. “I’d love to stick around but I really gotta bounce. I’ll see you around?”

“See you.” You try to echo his coolness with your words, but it feels artificial.

This marks the moment where white hair guy crosses the street away from where you’re going so you march onward, not bothering to look back at him and thinking quite hard about it.

But when you get home, crack open a beer, and begin to watch T.V through your neighbor’s window across the street, you realize you hadn’t asked his name.

[next]

masterlist

[desertduality]

Potential for Scar angst this episode was insane so I wrote this in one sitting. Alternate scene for when Grian finds Scar hiding out in his egg house :)

Here it is on Ao3

———

No one talks about it, but the tasks they’re given tend to mess with their head. There’s— There’s a pull, there, to comply. Scar still remembers the way his tongue had tangled on that first day, the way his throat had closed when he’d even thought about calling someone by their real name. He still remembers the sharp, punishing pain behind his eyes when he’d slipped up and said Mumbo’s.

There’s a sort of urgency, once the task has embedded itself into their minds. Scar feels it, that frenzied energy that sends him knocking down torches until he can finally hit the succeed button without doubt. The secrets pull at them, tug at them. Scar is trying not to compare it to an Evoker’s command, but it’s hard when the feeling is so similar. When trying to fight it now hurts the same as it did back then.

He’s been running for a long time when he finally collapses in Grian’s egg house, panting and sweating. The stupid helmet is still on his head, and every time he raises his hands to take it off there’s that same pain shooting through his head. Joel had told him to take it off, everyone had told him to take it off, so no matter how much he wants to he can’t. He can’t do anything that they want him to do.

None of them will want to ally, after this. He’s burned a lot of bridges, and while he’s not against a little arson now and again, he usually likes to have a choice. He values having a choice very much, ever since he and Cub had broken free all those years ago. He wishes Cub was here, now. It’s a cruel thing to hope for.

There’s a loose feather on the ground beside him, and he picks it up with trembling hands, twirling it between his fingers. It probably fell out when Grian was cleaning his wings. Preening, he’d called it, back in the desert. Scar hadn’t heard of it before. His own wings were the wispy gray of the vex, and even at that a pretty poor specimen. No preening required, and with a bit of magic to keep them hidden, it didn’t matter anyway.

The feather is still in his hand when Grian appears in the doorway, and Scar can only hold his breath.

———————————

Grian… did not do well underground. A creature of the sky scuttling around in caves was bound to come with its issues, and so by the time he gets out, he’s near starvation and has just over seven hearts left to his name. His wings feel grimy with dirt and dust, his legs weak and unable to sprint. His only consolation is that he’d had the good fortune to resurface relatively close to his base, and it’s with an unholy mixture of desperation and relief that he drags himself up the stairs to the egg.

He’s already stuffed about a dozen sweet berries into his mouth before he finally registers that Scar is there. He’s sitting in the corner behind the bed, quiet as anything, and alarm bells start sounding in Grian’s head. Scar usually has a presence that can’t be ignored. He seems almost diminished, now. It makes unease twist in his stomach.

“What are you doing in my house?” Grian asks, baffled.

He rounds the bed, and unease twists into full blown worry when he sees the way Scar is shaking, pupils small and breathing shallow, like he’s been running. He looks— hunted. Scared. Grian suddenly doubts he’s here to steal anything or cause trouble. He’s here hiding.

“Scar?” Grian says tentatively, crouching to eye level. “How are you doing, buddy?”

Scar looks even more panicked, if possible, his mouth opening and closing several times as if unsure what he should say — or what he’s allowed to say. Finally, Scar winces, a frustrated furrow between his eyebrows.

“…Neutral,” Scar says, a tired smile tugging at his mouth, not quite looking at him. “I mean— Good. No. Bad.”

Grian raises an eyebrow. “Getting some mixed signals here, Scar.”

Scar sighs, and fidgets with something in his lap. “I’m— All of my allies are mad at me. The whole server is after me,” he says.

“Why?” Grian asks, because usually it takes a little bit longer for Scar to do something bad enough to warrant that type of server-wide behavior. Scar tilts his head forward as he sighs, and Grian realizes something else. “Why do you have a helmet on?”

Scar huffs a laugh that sounds more like a sob, and makes like he’s going to stand up, arms and legs moving in jerky, frantic movements. The feather he’d apparently been holding drifts to the floor, and Grian reaches out to grab Scar’s wrist without thinking.

“Everyone’s so concerned about the helmet,” Scar says, voice strangled and high. “It was an accident.”

“Why don’t you take it off?” Grian asks, genuinely confused, and Scar makes a noise like he’s been hit, dropping down to sit on the edge of the bed, head in his shaking hands.

It’s his task, Grian thinks, dropping Scar’s wrist, brow furrowed. Something to do with his task.

“Never mind,” Grian says, and sits next to him, wings stretching behind them. “It’s fine, Scar, just— Why don’t you just sit down a minute.”

Scar jerks to his feet, stumbling with the force of the movement until he catches himself on the wall, panting. Grian makes a noise in surprise, eyes wide in confusion as he looks at the tense line of Scar’s shoulders.

“I think I feel like standing,” Scar says, hoarse with forced humor.

“…Okay,” Grian says slowly, mind spinning. “You can stand, that’s fine, too.”

Scar sits back down, breathing like he’s run a marathon, annoyance flickering in his eyes like torchlight. Grian just stares.

“Nice bed,” Scar says, like nothing strange has happened. “Very soft.”

“Thanks,” Grian says flatly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Scar just shakes his head and closes his eyes, still breathing much too fast, hands fisted in the blanket they’re sitting on.

“Alright,” Grian says, letting himself relax a little bit, and he lays a hand on Scar’s arm. “Just breathe, Scar. It’s fine.”

A beat passes.

Scar stops breathing.

Grian looks over, questioning, and is met with eyes more panicked than Grian has ever seen before. Scar’s face is pale and his eyes are wide and terrified, a hand now raised up to his throat and starting to claw at the skin there. He is utterly silent, mouth opening and closing as he struggles, and Grian feels his own chest tighten, his own breathing quicken. He reaches for Scar with both hands, grabbing at him desperately as he tries to figure out what’s going on.

“Scar, breathe!” Grian shouts, but Scar only shakes his head violently and grabs right back at him, like he’s searching for support.

His task, what’s his task? Grian dives wildly into his memory for any clues, trying to make sense of the strange behavior from the past few minutes.

All at once, it hits him.

He’d asked Scar to sit, and he had stood. He had told Scar to stand, and he had sat. He had asked Scar to breathe, and he had stopped. It’s almost too obvious, looking back.

“Scar!” Grian shouts, panic forcing his voice louder. He ducks his head to meet Scar’s wet eyes with his own. “Scar, don’t breathe.”

Scar gasps and coughs, collapsing forward into Grian’s shoulder as he takes in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving and stuttering. A low whine of pain builds in Scar’s throat, and Grian just sits there and holds him, one hand on the back of his neck and one on his back. It’s hard to tell which one of them is shaking, but he suspects it’s probably both.

“I’m sorry,” Grian says, quieter now. “I’m sorry, Scar. I didn’t know.”

“…That’s kind of the point,” Scar says roughly, and coughs again. “Secret.”

Grian just sighs, and for a few minutes they sit there and breathe in the waning light.

“They keep telling me to take the helmet off,” Scar says, sounding distant and drained.

Grian feels a stab of sympathy and unwarranted anger. The others didn’t know, either. “Don’t,” Grian says. “Don’t take it off.”

A moment passes, and Scar reaches up with trembling hands to remove the helmet from his head. It makes a dull clanking sound when he drops it to the floor. Grian runs a comforting hand through his sweaty hair, and a bit of weight seems to leave Scar’s shoulders.

Fighting the pull of the tasks is difficult. If Scar had been able to focus enough, maybe he could have fought the impulse to stop breathing. Actively suffocating tended to make concentrating hard, though. He hadn’t had a chance. Not really.

“I’m going to fail this one,” Scar says, resigned.

“Maybe,” Grian allows, and thinks hard about how to word the next thing he wants to say.

“I don’t have any friends,” Grian says eventually, slowly. “I’m in the market.”

There. Nothing that could be construed as a command.

“Oh?” Scar says, muffled into Grian’s shoulder. “Me too.”

Grian hums, wings enclosing around them just a bit more. “How about that,” he says softly.

“How about that,” Scar repeats, tired but lighter.

Outside, the same stars as always hang over them, and they fall asleep without another word.

[tanjirosjuliet]

Prettiest Flower

A/n : ahh it's been so long since I uploaded right? It felt so weird opening up my notebook and begin to write. Anyways here's a lil fic I wrote a few days ago. Just a reminder I'm going to post every Wednesday and Sunday now!!!

Warnings - none !

Genre - fluff

Pairing - Tanjiro x reader

Words - 680

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I found myself walking next to my sweetheart, Tanjiro. We had an extremely strenuous mission from which we were returning. Now that the stress of the mission had lifted, it left behind a sense of accomplishment and a longing for the comforts of home. On the way, suddenly, amidst the fading light, was a beautiful flower field stretched out before our eyes, mostly filled with dandelions. I gasped and tugged at Tanjiro's sleeve, "Look! Oh my gosh, a flower field! I've never seen one before it's so pretty!" I said in enthusiasm as Tanjiro marveled at my excited demeanor. Entranced by the flower field's beauty, me and Tanjiro exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between you to explore this unexpected treasure. Different scents from all directions hit Tanjiro's nose. I giggled as I looked at him making faces while trying to adjust. Tanjiro's calloused hands ran over the soft gorgeous flowers around the field, this was something he missed alot, he used to visit a humongous flower field not too far from his house alot in the summers as a kid but this was the first time in a while where he actually visited one again. A wave of sadness and nostalgia washed over him as he his lips turned downwards. I held his hands and caressed them, "Are you okay, m'love?" I asked him sympathetically as we walked through the field, thinking it might make Tanjiro feel better. "Yeah" Tanjiro let out a weak sigh, clearly missing his family. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over the landscape. I watched in awe as the birds soared overhead, their graceful silhouettes dancing against the vibrant canvas above. In the distance, the lights of the village began to flicker to life, a comforting reminder of the civilization amidst the wilderness. Lost in the beauty of the moment, me and Tanjiro found ourselves laughing and playing like children, the weight of our responsibilities momentarily forgotten. Our laughter echoed through the field as we played tag. His laughter and joy was infectious, I don't remember the last time I saw him like this, so carefree and full of energy even after a mission. Laughing and giggling, we collapsed on the grass below us, "Caught you!" Tanjiro said panting and giggling. His hair brushed against my cheek as he scooted closer to me. As we sat in the field, my eyes were focused on the ethereal view ahead. Soft breeze whistled through my ears as I closed my eyes. These were the fleeting moments of pure joy demon slayers wanted amidst the chaos of our lives. Tanjiro, knelt down amidst the dandelions, his nimble fingers plucking the delicate stems with care. With a playful glint in his eyes, I saw him crafting a dandelion clown, his hands working with practiced precision. I watched in admiration, marveling at his creativity and skill. The sun dipped lower below the horizon, painting the sky into pinks, purples and deep blue stretching miles behind us. Tanjiro presented me with his creation—a whimsical dandelion clown, its petals arranged oh so precisely as if he was trying to mirror the way I make him feel. The way he was presenting the flower crown was like a toddler sweetly presenting a flower to his crush. I couldn't help but laugh at the sight, a warm feeling spread through my chest at the thoughtfulness of his gesture, "Aww, love, you really didn't had to do this much" I said, grinning eye to eye as Tanjiro tenderly put the crown on my head with hearts in his eyes, "No, you deserve it" Tanjiro smiled, softly pinching my cheeks. I cupped his and face kissed his forehead scar lovingly and asked, "There are so many pretty flowers here, which one is your favorite?". He thought for a moment, he caressed my hair as he finally spoke, "There are very pretty flowers here, but if I were to choose the prettiest one... I'll always choose you."

MASTERLIST

@tanjirosjuliet ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴅᴏɴᴛ sᴛᴇᴀʟ/ᴄᴏᴘʏ/ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ !

[kenshisfics]

breathe our last

words: 1,038 pairings: roronoa zoro & monkey d luffy tags: loss; hurt/comfort; broken promises; introspection warning(s): major character death

"Zoro?"

He doesn't hear his name at first, doesn't realize the quiet voice is his captain's until Luffy raises a hand, and his thumb gently finds the scar carved into Zoro's cheek.

He draws in a shaky breath. Holds it. "Zoro?" he tries again.

But it isn't right; he doesn't sound like himself. Luffy isn't quiet like this. His voice is never so faint, and when he says it, his name is never a whisper, and the syllables don't leave with soft, rounded edges like something delicate. Fragile.

The thumb gently follows the scar to his eye, fingertips finding his earrings, his jaw.

Luffy's hand waits there. Waits for Zoro to speak.

But something has his jaw wired shut. A persistent chill like ice underneath his skin, resisting the warmth of Luffy's hand where it traces the lines of his face.

But he's waiting—waiting for him—and so he cracks it open anyway. Finds the words resting like ashes on his tongue.

"Yes, Captain?"

Luffy smiles. "Zoro."

His name, again. But even as it comes from his captain's lips, having a bit more strength to it, it still sounds wrong. It should be a shout, a laugh, a command.

Not this.

But Luffy says it with a smile, and that's enough. It should be enough. To have his captain call his name, not to gain his attention, now, but just to say it, to shape it and to have it. Because where Zoro's attention is concerned, Luffy's never really been without. Not since that day.

With the hand not supporting Luffy's head, Zoro runs a thumb under his eye, along that thin, crescent scar. If he didn't know to look for it—hadn't ingrained this face and its many expressions into memory so that he knows them better than the backs of his own hands—he might mistake the small scar for a laugh line, and wouldn't that suit him?

As the rough skin of his hand moves to brush away the hair sticking to his captain's forehead, damp and feverish, Luffy laughs, but the sound isn't bright, isn't loud. It isn't Luffy.

"Do you remember?" Luffy asks, once he catches his breath, finds air enough to carry his words. "Our promise?"

Zoro stills at the question, at the rough, reedy quality of his captain's voice. "Which one?" he asks. He'd made a lot of promises. Not all he'd kept.

Luffy laughs again, a quiet, pained huff, his eyes crinkling. The thin scar follows in a gentle arc. "The first."

Alone, in a dusty courtyard.

Ahead, a tall, brick fence and the blue sky shuttered behind it. At his back, the unrelenting sun. Between them—drawn, stretched—the long shadow of a crucifix extending out from under his feet, as though reaching to climb up and out.

And clambering over the wall, a boy, his face wreathed by an even brighter sun, a rising dawn trimmed with red ribbon.

You're pretty strong, aren't you?

"Yes," he says.

I'm only doing this to accomplish my dream.

"I remember."

He could never forget.

Its straw torn, loose, and tangled, that same sun rests on Luffy's chest; a battered soul shadowing a human heart. Slowly, gently, Luffy threads his fingers through the trembling strands. Reaches for lines of catch stitch—Nami scolding his recklessness even as she pieces their captain's treasure back together, carefully, with fond, red string—and finds only mangled thread.

The ribbon's gone, too. Lost.

He watches as Luffy's lips part, then close. Like a light dimming, his smile falls.

Years ago, when everything had seemed to be splintering apart—keel and crew both—and their heavy gazes had followed their captain's bowed back, Zoro had spelled things out for Luffy in no uncertain terms: It's the captain's duty to be strong for his crew, to allow fear and uncertainty to run off him like water.

But here, it's just the two of them. There's no one else to be strong for.

Luffy struggles to speak. He closes his eyes, shutters a misty sheen behind dark lashes. Opens them, and—

"I tried."

Luffy's voice cracks, and when he hears it, something in him does too. Shatters like a white sword against an unforgiving, black blade.

"I tried really hard," Luffy says, even as each word leaves him increasingly spent. "My half—"

I know.

"My half of our promise—"

Save your breath.

"I tried to keep it, Zoro." A break. Then, a quiet, pained sound. "I really did."

It isn't right.

Luffy's hand draws Zoro's face downwards, brings their gazes together, and the expression he sees isn't like any he's committed to memory, carved into his waking thoughts with hardened hands that—despite their calluses and scars—lingered long on every detail.

Broken.

Luffy shouldn't look this way.

Zoro swallows ash, catches the hand that falls from his face. Places it by his captain's heart, his soul. But what difference is there?

"I broke a promise, too."

Sorry for worrying you…

A promise he'd sworn on his life, on his sword. But what difference is there?

I'll never be defeated again!

"So don't apologize."

A dusty courtyard. A blistering sun. Standing across from the man he'd sworn his life to.

An oath, and after it, a warning.

"After all we've been through," Zoro says, "that's the last thing I would ever ask of you."

The stranger withdraws, chased away by a familiar smile.

It still isn't quite right. Face creased with pain, not laughter. His head bare. His namesake hardly recognizable. But it's Luffy. Those eyes, and that smile.

Undeniably Luffy.

That quiet voice again—his captain's—draws him closer. "The others…" he says, and the fading words reach only as far as the two of them, and no further.

"Yeah. I'll look after them." The weight will be heavy without their captain. But they'll have need of Zoro's back. For them—for crew—he can find it in him to shoulder anything.

A moment passes, and with it the cool slide of air along his cheek.

He watches as Luffy's eyes glide shut. Observes—etches—the way his features smooth out one last time, softening around a gentle, curving mouth.

"Zoro," Luffy breathes.

Thank you.

"Captain."

Goodbye.

[cross-posted on ao3.]

[decaffeinatedtreewitch]

K O B A

Pairing: Koba (POTA) x OFC (Original Female Character)

Warnings: monster fucker, ape fucker, she is a badass, he is a badass. Explicit. +18. MDNI.

My native language is not English, so I want to apologize in advance for the mistakes that I have most certainly made.

Anyway,

When you see this -> 🖤 get ready.

- Mother... Fucker... Let me go.

Because of the way his body lies on top of hers, pressing and caging the girl against the mud on the ground, she can barely be heard.

She twists her arms, under the grip of one of his, wanting to push away the knife that he plunges into her cheek.

His knees spread her legs.

- Did you say something? - A wicked smile appears on his face. - I haven't heard anything, have you?

The other man is already masturbating on one side of her face. He doesn't even bother to answer.

How I wish I had room to lift my knee and bust his fucking cock.

Suddenly, he moves the knife away from her cheek and leaves it above her head to reach between her bodies and starts to unbutton his pants.

Now or never.

She bites down hard on the guy's penis to her left, pulls it out and rips it off.

Both men scream, one in pain and the other in horror.

- Son of a bitch!

The eunuch man lies unconscious on the ground so the girl guesses that the one who just insulted her is the bastard she has between her legs. She is about to snatch the knife from his hands but, in one swift movement, he stabs it above her collarbone.

And she... She doesn't feel anything.

No pain, no anger, no sadness. Nothing.

She only realizes that everything that happens before her eyes happens in slow motion.

The orange color of the sky dazzles her eyes as a shadow crosses her vision and takes with it the weight that was pressing her chest. A whimper escapes from her lips, bringing her back to the present.

- Oh, fuck. - The girl leans on one elbow and touches the wound carefully.

This is when she remembers it: Where's he?

She turns her gaze to the left and sees his head. A few meters to its right, she sees his body lying next to the eunuch man. And next to him…

She closes her mouth to force herself not to make a sound.

An adult male ape with dozens of scars marking his body observes her in silence.

Her heartbeat, contrary to what she would have imagined, slows down as he takes a few steps forward. She looks at his fangs first, white and large, then examines his arms, long and strong, and, finally, she slides her gaze to his eyes, one of them of such a beautiful green that overwhelms her, and she observes that he diverts his gaze to the amputated limb before returning it to her.

When the ape is a step away, he looms over her with a leap, putting his arms around her figure and forces her to lie back down in the mud.

She feels scared, but...

- Thank you. - She whispers to him.

And, as his head moves closer to hers, she closes her eyes.

A wet caress covers her bloody cheek.

When she thinks he's finished, another caress takes the same route and she can't help but open her eyes to notice that it's his tongue and not his hand that is cleaning her cut.

His eyes lock with hers as he leans lower and licks the blood from her collarbone. She sighs and his green pupil dilates instantly but, before he finishes collecting all the blood, hurried footsteps echo through the forest.

She recognizes the sound of human combat boots and knows he does too.

- Go away.

He remains unfazed.

She insists:

- Listen, you have to go.

His arms wraps around her and lifts her up.

K

He runs through the forest holding her over with one arm his shoulder.

- Wait... Wait! - Her voice sounds urgent - You have to leave me, you are not safe with me.

His claws pull and position her in front of him. Fastly, she manages to hold on tight to his torso before he starts climbing a tree.

Once he reaches a branch wide and sturdy enough to stand on, he presses her back against the tree trunk and stays there, holding her legs on either side of his hips with his claws.

- Why?

- Why what? - Her voice is a whisper. She doubts he's heard her.

He reaches for her neck, slides his fangs across her skin and inhales.

- Why am I not safe with you?

He tilts her head back and fixes his gaze on her hazel eyes. The girl looks back at him for a few seconds before saying:

- They are looking for me.

His expression doesn't change nor does the way he holds her, he just waits for her to continue speaking and she sighs.

- I've killed a soldier. You gotta leave me, I don't want you to be by my side when they find me.

His claw rises toward her waist, forcing her to rest one of her feet on the branch below them. Then, he does the same with her other leg and, when both of her feet are holding her, he presses her against the trunk gently with both hands, as if he was afraid that she would fall if he let her go, and she feels a liquid run down her stomach.

Her hand brushes against his claw as she touches the skin of her navel. It's blood. And its origin is... an elongated wound on his forearm.

- You are injured. - He hears her whisper.

She exchanges a couple of glances between his eyes and his forearm but, since he doesn't seem interested in anything other than her eyes, the girl speaks again.

- You wouldn't be hurt if you hadn't saved my life. - That idea makes her angry. - Why...?

She looks behind her suddenly.

An ape a tree away watches her silently. An ape that, she's sure, wasn't there a second ago.

And that's when another, more coherent explanation for what's happening crosses her mind.

I may have misunderstood his intention. He may not have actually saved my life.

O

- Koba.

The ape who still has her hands on her narrow waist and who still stares at her pale face lets out a growl and finally separates himself from her taking a step back.

She wobbles on her feet before being able to stand upright on her own.

...Yep, it seems to be that he wasn't exaggerating as much as she thought when he insisted on pressing her against the trunk.

- What?

The newcomer hastens to stop looking at her and directs... Koba some hand movements that she recognizes as sign language, but doesn't know how to interpret them.

Koba turns his face towards her again, although this time his gaze has stopped being so penetrating and has become something more inquisitive.

She doesn't want to be naïve and believe that he has no interest in harming her just because his face has stopped being threatening, but...

She may be able to convince them.

- Please, you gotta leave. - She says.

And not a second after begging them, the sound of a gunshot sounds through the trees and a thud follows.

The ape whose name has not been named has fallen to the ground and she runs towards Koba arms outstretched to try to protect him from the hail of bullets that have exploded.

She feels his arms wrap around her tightly before she passes out.

B

The noise of her gut forces her to wake up and, as if that weren't horrifying enough, a horrible headache racks her brain and forbids her to keep her eyes open.

She doesn't know where she is or how she got here.

She doesn't know how either, but she still breathes.

A tear slides down her cheek and she just doesn't have the strength to do anything about it.

However, a wet caress traces the path drawn by her tear and she thinks she knows where it comes from.

- Open.

Something presses on her lips and she opens them.

A liquid falls on her tongue and it slides down her throat. It's water. It's delicious. And she swallows and swallows until soon the water stops falling and something solid makes its way past her lips. It's something... sweet that makes her headache go away slowly. After that, it doesn't take more than a couple of minutes for her to fall back asleep.

A

She dislikes the feeling of fear that takes over her as she finds herself alone when she wakes up, even though a beautiful lake extends in front of her.

She follows the smell of something sweet that whets her appetite. Her head moves until she sees some fruits near her. She's never seen them before, but she's more than willing to try them. And when she does it, she recognizes that she has in fact already tasted it. Specifically, recently and unconsciously.

She can't be completely sure, but she imagines that it's because of Koba that there are several pieces of that fruit around her. And also that he's the reason she's in this place.

She devours the last piece of fruit before deciding that she's going to take a bath.

Dives and becomes absorbed in thought once she has rubbed her clothes and left them on some rocks under the bright sun of the... sunrise?

...What am I going to do with my life?

She's a human who has no place in this world, a murderer who is not welcome among her people, much less among the apes.

A smile spreads across her tearful face.

Yup, she's in a screwed up situation and yup she can't stop crying, but she doesn't care about any of that. At the end of the day, after assessing her situation and what she did, she no longer has anything or anyone to live for.

So, yeah…

She dives again under the water and her tears dilute.

It matters little whether or not having a reason to live - her mind reminds her - if you don't even have a chance of surviving.

I wish - her thoughts surprise her once again - it was Koba who washed away my tears.

When she surfaces and opens her eyes, two eyes stare back at her.

One of them white and the other a beautiful shade of green.

🖤

Her nipples harden furiously at the sight of him and she winces at her own body's reaction.

She hurries to cover herself as best as she can with her arms but, as it could not be otherwise, his gaze has already dropped to her breasts. Her skin, white as the moon, turns red under his scrutiny.

- Kob-

He growls at her before she finishes saying his name and a split second after she thinks she hears the echo of his growl behind her.

She turns around. Or so she tries. Because something prevents her when it grabs her hair and pulls her.

Her hands rise and what she touches terrifies her. A limb covered in hair. The arm of an ape.

From the corner of her eye she notices that the place where Koba had been is now empty and she squirms, trying to reach the attacker's eyes avoiding getting close to its mouth and deadly fangs.

If I use the water factor well, I may have a chance to survive.

She suddenly remains still in the arms of her aggressor and its movements hesitate for a moment. Now. She nudges it in the nose with all her strength and gets the ape to let go of her. She swims and gets to move away a few meters before throwing water at her aggressor with such force that she gets a muscle cramp on her leg and is forced to stop dead, whimpering.

Immediately, the ape immobilizes that same leg and, when she screams in pain, the water sneaks into her mouth and the girl chokes on it.

She can't breathe or see, but the claw that was holding her leg suddenly disappears and she swims backwards as best as she can, away from a cloud of water, noise and grunts that has quickly formed.

Once she reaches the shore, the girl narrows her eyes over her shoulder. She sees him. Koba hits her attacker with blow after blow and chokes him with his hands.

The cloud disperses around a figure whose eyes are already on her and whose mouth is open as a breathless beast.

Again and again the beast's chest swells and she finds that swaying movement dangerous. Dominant. Magnetic. Attractive.

- Say it again.

She tilts her head, crossing her arms over her breasts.

- What?

He comes out of the water after her, making her back away as he checks whether or not her figure has any injuries.

When he seems satisfied, he stands over her trembling, soaked and naked body despite her pathetic attempt to hide her breasts and deigns to respond.

- My name. Say it.

Her back hits a rock when she takes another step back.

- Why - have you saved me? - ...did you kill him?

- To save you.

And he takes another step, imprisoning her between the rock and him. Her arms brush against his chest and she becomes enraged.

- I'm none of your business. Stop putting yourself in dange-

A drop of blood falls and stains her pale arm. She searches for its origin, again, and sees a fresh claw mark cross his left eyebrow.

She growls at him.

- Koba, you're hurt agai-

Roughly, he picks her up as if hipnotized to do so, and she clings to him with a little gasp, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

He crushes her against the rock, but her eyes do not leave his cut:

- You have to stop. Stop saving my life. - A strand of hair blocks his view of her when she shakes her head - You don't even know me.

- You killed the human who was holding ten apes captive. You let them escape. And now they want you dead. You are not one of them.

She curses herself internally because her voice trembles as she assures him, - I don't need you. - because she knows she does.

He holds her hair between two fingers and examines it. In contrast to the white of her skin, the hazel brown of her eyes, and the red of her lips, her hair is coal black. She's the closest thing to a mermaid he's ever seen.

Koba squeezes her tighter and she, much to her embarrassment, lets out a sigh as his damn flat stomach presses against her pussy.

- Have you forgotten why we are here?

- What? - His hard torso squeezes her breasts and her heart, despite she begs it not to, races uncontrollably. She can barely breathe.

- You say I have to stop saving your life, but you pounced on some bullets aimed at me. And you don't know me either.

He sees her blink several times before answering him dryly:

- I know humans. And it didn't help because I fainted.

Koba leaves her hair behind her ear.

- And you seem to dislike seeing me hurt.

Her beautiful face blushes, furious, and his crotch hardens a little more at the sight of her.

- I feel hatred towards most of my race. In my opinion, they are the ones who should get hurt, not the apes. Even if it's about me.

Taking a step back, he separates her from the rock and crouches down to lie on top of her on the ground.

Beneath his body, she seems even more unreal.

- What's your name?

He watches her carefully for a few seconds before she puts her hands on his shoulders and pushes back.

- ...No.

A grimace appears on his face and his fangs seem to increase in size.

- No?

Neither of them is surprised when a moan emerges from her mouth in response to the sharp movement of Koba's hips against the inside of her thigh. She wants him. They are both aware. And he laughs gravely.

- I've never tasted a human body, you know? But I know you want this. - His hands open her thighs and the tips of his fingers become impregnated with her wetnees when he drags them between her folds. - Your breaths burns my skin, your skin, white as snow, is hot, soft and red, and your damn nipples stick into my torso. You are more than ready for me.

- Koba...

His eyes close.

- Now is not the right time to say my name with that voice of yours, mermaid.

She brings her hand to the wound on his eyebrow.

- Does it hurt? - She laughs at her question the instant she asks it. - True, you are much tougher than a human.

She puts her hands on either side of his face and, when she gets him to tilt his head down a little, the girl lifts her chin and licks the wound.

He freezes in her hands and that makes her unable to resist giving him another lick. Taking advantage of this new position, he licks on her collarbone and buries his face between her breasts. Koba massages, squeezes, licks and bites them, and she moans his name without thinking much about it.

His claw spanks her pussy.

- I have... warned you... mermaid.

Grabbing her, Koba turns her around and puts her on all fours and she feels something hot, hard and too big that sets her alarm bells ringing. She squirms, wanting to see what monstrosity is rubbing against her too-tight entrance, but Koba pins her to the ground with a hand on the back of her neck.

- Look at you - She gasps when he inserts a finger inside her. - You swallowed my finger. - He moves inside, testing her. - Are you so turned on by the idea of me fucking you, human?

She rolls her eyes as Koba goes on and penetrates her with three thick fingers.

Full. She feels full and yet she needs more. She wants more.

She moves her hips seeking friction, wanting to feel him deeper, and his breath caresses her cheek as he speaks.

- I would kill again to have you like this.

She sobs and extends her arm between her legs.

- Do you want that, mermaid? Do you want me to kill for you?

- No. - Although... - You don't need to kill for me to have me like this.

Koba hisses when her hand catches his cock and presses it against her entrance.

- Damn, Koba, how can you be so patient?

- I'm a hunter. You humans are the impatient ones.

And with a hard thrust he thrusts himself inside her.

She doesn't understand what he's saying to her since she's a little distracted as his ridiculously large penis is splitting her in two and, even so, he keeps going deeper and deeper until his balls are rubbing against her clitoris:

- You're fucking tight... And that's a fucking problem.

His claws dig into the back of her neck and waist when he begins to pump in and out of her in such a bestial way that she scrapes her cheek against the dirt of the floor and tears gather in her eyes. It's too much. No. It’s fucking perfect. The size of him, the way he reaches every pleasurable corner inside her, is overwhelming and he licks her tears slowly.

- Even your fucking taste is a problem.

She intercepts his tongue with her own and his intrusion inside her slows down a bit. She kisses him, as best as she can, and his claw slides over her skin, caressing her stomach.

- Holy shit, mermaid.

He lifts her up and separates her knees from the ground before fucking her fiercely. She can't do anything but moan and endure Koba's harsh assault on her pussy, but when his claw scratches her clit, her core tightens around his cock.

He pulls her hair.

- Your name. Tell me.

A sob escapes her throat before telling him:

- Marina.

Her back arches deeply as he pulls her hair further.

His threat blinds her reasoning:

- I'll kill anyone who dares to take you away from me...

Koba thrusts sharply once.

- I'll kill you if you run away from me.

Koba thrusts sharply once again.

- Do you understand, Marina?

She cries yes a second before cumming so hard that it hurts her.

Koba turns her around, locking eyes with her and, as she can finally see him and touch him, she reaches out her hands while trying to catch her breath.

As soon as Koba feels her fingers scratch his back, his claw lifts her butt and he shoves his still hard dick deeply inside her.

She moans as he fucks her mouth with his tongue and his hot milk inside her pussy, load after load, for too many times.

There's so much cum that some spills down her thighs and his fingers tickles her when he collects some of it.

- Open.

And his mermaid licks his claw clean.

[thevegandarkelf]

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Thirty-Four

Masterlist

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Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death, PTSD

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, discussion of scars

Word count: 5.9k

Daryl and I had our coffee together, and shared plenty more kisses, before he had to go relieve the overnight person from watch. I tried to return his vest to him, but he insisted on me wearing it for the day. Wanted me to “show these pricks what’s up” and “it looked better on me, so I should be the one wearing it anyway.” After he went and got changed, I met him at the front door, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes and fixing it so it looked a little less crazy.

“Gonna be hard bein’ away from ya all day after that,” Daryl said as he snaked his arms around my waist. I tugged him by the collar of his button-up and pulled him in for another kiss, this one a bit longer than the others.

“Will that hold you over ’til later?” I asked, dropping my eyes to the floor and blushing heavily. With the amount of time I’d spent blushing since I first walked through the front gates months ago, my cheeks might as well have just permanently stayed pink. He gave me another few soft, quick pecks before pulling me close for a hug.

“Now it will,” he replied. I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Try not to miss me too much,” I joked, giving him a flirtatious wink as he went out the door. He should’ve been the one saying that to me. I was already aching to be back in his arms.

There was an extra pep in my step as I bounded upstairs to get dressed. Before my series of very fortunate events, I planned on just wearing a regular pair of shorts and a t-shirt with Daryl’s jacket. But now, especially knowing he had some kind of surprise planned for later, I decided to wear the beautiful sundress he’d gotten me all those weeks ago, back when we hardly knew each other. I put his vest over top of it and looked at myself in the mirror. I was glowing, the smile on my face stretching from ear to ear. I was a giggling mess as I went back downstairs, taking some deep breaths to regain my composure before stepping outside.

The leaves had almost fully changed colors now, beautiful shades of red and orange creating a stunning visual, the branches swaying in the gentle breeze. The sun had almost completely peaked over the horizon, and there were hardly any clouds in the sky. Lights were starting to come on in people’s homes as everyone began to awaken and get ready for the day. Alexandria was like a painting.

I promised Aaron I’d stop by and help him practice walking before spending my day in the infirmary. My plan was to hang out in there all day, and I’d let everyone know to just stop by if they needed anything. And I of course encouraged my friends to come by if they wanted to chat. I softly knocked on the front door, hoping they were awake and I wasn’t disturbing anyone’s sleep. After a few moments, Aaron answered the door, the scent of whatever he or Eric had been cooking wafting out.

“Mornin’,” I greeted in a sing-song voice.

“Well you’re awfully cheery this morning,” Aaron acknowledged, “I’m ready when you are. Figured we could walk circles around the community for a bit if that’s good with you.”

“Actually, could we maybe…go to the infirmary?’ I asked, gesturing to it over my shoulder.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Aaron replied, looking puzzled, “do you need to check something?” I shook my head.

“No. I, umm, I need to talk to you. We can walk after, I promise,” I explained, practically stumbling over my words. My pink cheeks were quickly turning red. His eyes wandered down and grew wide when he realized what I was wearing, and a big, silly smile spread across his face.

“Ok, yeah. Yeah, we can go,” he agreed. He put his shoe on his good foot and came outside, taking my arm to balance as he closed the door behind him.

Once we got to the infirmary, I shut and locked the door. Everyone knew that when the door was locked, it meant I was with someone & to come back later. Y’know, doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.

“So I think I have…an idea as to what you wanna talk about, but what is it?” Aaron asked. I laid down on one of the infirmary tables, my arms folded across my stomach, and Aaron took a seat on the other one.

“It finally happened,” I said, unable to suppress the giggles any longer and gently kicking my feet on the table, “he asked if he could kiss me.” I could see Aaron’s goofy grin in my peripheral.

“And what did you say?” he asked, joy slipping into his voice. He knew damn well what the answer was.

“Dude, what do you think I said?” I responded, biting my lip to prevent myself from squealing with joy.

“Aah, that’s awesome!” he gushed, “I’m so happy for you! How was it?”

“Aaron, it was like a dream,” I said, staring up at the ceiling and smiling big again. I covered my face with my hands, turning blood red as I recollected the events of that morning. “I’ve been waiting for him to ask for weeks. My knees got so weak, I nearly collapsed. God it was…it was amazing. It was electric, it was perfect.”

“So would you say you two are official?” he asked.

“We didn’t talk about that. He’s supposed to be surprising me with something later.” I took my hands off my face and let my arms fall beside me, hanging off the sides of the table. “Maybe he’ll ask me then.”

“You two are joined at the hip,” Aaron said, “you’ve been practically dating for weeks now. He’d be silly not to.”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem like the type that’s into labels,” I sighed.

“Doesn’t matter. If he wants to be exclusive with you, he needs to tell you,” Aaron assured. The brotherly tone he used reminded of talking with my own brothers, and it warmed my heart.

“Yeah, you’re right. Oh my god, wait, I have more!” I exclaimed, throwing myself forward and sitting up on the table, folding my legs to the side. I brushed a hand through my hair to fix the frizzy mess. “So I have these pictures in my notebook. Most of them are of me with my family and friends, except for this one, which is a picture of me from a Renaissance festival in this beautiful blue gown. I look stunning in it, I won’t lie. Anyway, I showed them to Daryl weeks ago, and he dropped them all over the floor before giving them back to me. Well turns out, that was a clever little plan he concocted to steal the photo of me, and he’s been carrying it around in his vest this whole time.” I buried my face in my hands again, and adoration, joy, and giddiness swelled in my chest. It was so cute, it almost made me sick. “He fucking takes a picture of me out on the road with him!”

“Oh he’s in love with you,” Aaron gushed, that big, goofy smile returning to his face, “a hundred percent.”

“I think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves now,” I said, “if he is, I don’t think he’s going to reveal that right away.”

Aaron and I took a few long, slow laps around the community, him using my shoulder or arm to balance himself as he walked. He’d been making great progress in terms of being able to walk on his prosthetic. He was still using the cane a lot of the time but had been practicing walking around his house without it. I was proud of him, both for his determination and the progress he was making.

After I got Aaron home, I spent the day in the infirmary. Rick came by at one point, and while he didn’t make a comment about me wearing Daryl’s vest, I knew he saw it based on the face he made. Other than a few people coming in, I was mostly doing some writing and rummaging through some old stuff I’d found that I somehow missed during my initial deep clean weeks ago. And to my surprise, I found a white coat tucked away in an old bin. It was blank, with no name stitched above the pocket. I was going to have to take it home and customize it. I never received my long white coat, so to find one filled me with an excitement that I couldn’t put into words.

After a long period of my head buried in my notebook, I looked out the window. The sun was starting to go down, and since I told everyone that I would be available until it started to get dark, I started to pack up my backpack. As I slung it over my shoulder, the rusty door creaked open, and Rosita came skipping in.

“Hi,” she greeted, “I don’t need anything. I just wanted to say hey. Are you going home now?”

“Hey girly,” I replied, “yeah, I was going to. If you want to stay and chat for a bit, I’m down.”

“No, it’s ok. I was going to go home anyway. I just wanted to stop by for a moment.” Her eyes wandered down to Daryl’s vest, and she lit up. “Umm, hey Vector…what’s that you’re wearing?” she asked, gesturing to my attire.

“What does it look like I’m wearing?” I sassed, biting the inside of my lower lip to contain my giddiness.

“Do you have an update to share?” she inquired.

“Maybe.” I let out a series of soft giggles and averted my eyes from hers as I started blushing. “This morning, he, umm, asked if he could kiss me,”

“Aah!” Rosita squealed, running over and throwing her arms around me for a hug, “finally! How did he do it? Tell me everything!”

In order for the context of the kiss to make sense, I had to explain the question I initially asked Daryl, and that would require explaining what happened a few days ago, which I didn’t want to get into. “He just asked me this morning. I got up before him, I was drinking coffee downstairs, he came down, and he asked. And holy shit, it was fucking magical.”

“Took him long enough,” she said, “I’m happy for you, dude. That’s so exciting!”

“Thanks.” I bounced my leg anxiously and looked past her to the door for a moment before looking back at her. “Could you do me a favor? Can you go see if Daryl’s home?” I requested, “he told me to not get home before he did.”

“Why’d he say that?”

“He has a surprise of some kind. Told me not to get home before him so I wouldn’t ruin it.”

“Like a…like a bedroom surprise?” she teased. It was like she was more excited for me to sleep with Daryl than I was. Rosita wasn’t aware of my history, so I couldn’t blame her for assuming that was the direction tonight could be going in. But I knew it wasn’t, and that’s exactly how I wanted it.

“Rosita, please,” I sighed, “could you just go check?”

“Ok ok, fine,” she said, holding her hands in the air as she walked over to and out the door.

I tapped my foot on the ground anxiously. The minutes she was gone felt like hours. She threw the door open when she returned, causing it to slam into the wall and startle me.

“He’s back,” she explained, and I let out a sigh that was both one of relief and nervous energy.

“Alright, I guess I’ll go home now,” I sighed, grabbing my bag once again and slinging it over my shoulders, taking the white coat I’d found and doing the same.

“You’ll have to tell me what happens,” she requested as she led us to the infirmary door and opened it for me.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” I said, discreetly scratching at the side of my thumb with my index finger. Rosita stopped me and stood in front of me, putting her hands on my shoulders.

“You’re gonna be fine,” she reassured, giving me another hug, “you got this.”

“Thanks. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

I rubbed my arms as I walked back home, the cool October air nipping at my skin as the sun continued to set. Porch lights were coming on, and people were gathering in their homes for dinner. The door was unlocked, as it usually was, and I kicked my boots off and set my bag on the ground next to me.

“Hey Daryl, come look what I found,” I called out, taking his vest off and resting it on top of my backpack. I slipped the white coat on, the familiar feeling of that cotton-polyester blend on my skin soothing my anxiety like a blanket of comfort. It was a bit big on me, but not too bad. Better than it being too small, I suppose. The sleeves were a little long, and it hugged my body just a hair, which I was happy with. Happy tears welled in my eyes as I started to get emotional. Since the world had fallen before I completed my residency, I didn’t think I would see the day I got my long white coat. I just wished my family had been there to see me. Daryl came out from around the corner upstairs, probably from in his room.

“Well, look at that.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and picked me up, bringing me to eye-level and kissing me like it had been months since we’d seen each other, “ya became a princess after all."

It took a moment for me to understand what he was talking about, but then it clicked. The story about what made me first want to become a doctor, with the lady in the floral dress and the white coat who saved my brother’s life, who little 3-year-old me asked if she was a princess, and she said yes…I’d become the princess little me had dreamed of being.

“Well hello to you too,” I greeted, blushing and kicking my feet.

“How was ya day, sunshine?” he asked, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

“Not bad. Helped Aaron with his walking, saw some people,” I explained. I ran my fingers up the back of his neck and into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “How was yours?”

“Borin’ as hell, which I guess is good. Coulda been worse. Been thinkin’ ‘bout ya all day. Was excited to get back.”

“Likewise.”

“Now c’mon, got something to show ya,” Daryl said as he set me back down, “g’on out back. I’ll be there in a sec.”

I took off my white coat and tossed it onto my backpack. I couldn’t be bothered to put my boots back on. I skipped out the front door and around the side of the house, the soft grass tickling my ankles. In all my time here, I’d never actually spent any time in the backyard. I preferred to be around Daryl or my friends, but when I did have alone time, I liked to stay in bed. After not having a bed for a year and a half, I wasn’t taking the one that I finally got for granted.

The backyard didn’t have anything in it, just a stretch of grass that led to some small trees. My blanket was laid out on the ground, and there was something small in the center. As I approached it, I realized that the small item was a glass mason jar filled with daisies.

I for sure thought my heart was going to explode.

I sat down on the blanket and took the jar in my hand, tapping my fingers on the glass. I caressed the soft petals with my fingers, careful not to tug on them so I didn’t pull them off on accident. I brought the jar to my nose and breathed in deeply, taking in the comforting scent the little flowers emitted. The scent of daisies was one of my favorites. A few minutes later, Daryl came around the side of the house and joined me on the blanket.

“Ya like ‘em?” he asked as he sat down next to me, scooting closer to close the space between us.

“Are you kidding? I love them,” I gushed, “this is so sweet of you.”

“Got somethin’ else for ya too,” he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out some pieces of cloth, “put ya hands out.”

I looked at him, confused, but did as he instructed, setting the jar down and putting my hands out in front of me. He took one of the pieces and slipped it over my hand onto my wrist, then did the same with the other. They were little wristbands, made out of one of Daryl’s old bandanas that I often saw him use when he would work on his bike.

“Had Carol make ‘em,” he explained as he adjusted the one on my right wrist, “now ya don’t gotta look at ‘em all the time.”

He had wristbands made for me, out of one of his own bandanas, so that I wouldn’t have to look at my scars all day. That had to be the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me. In an instant, I was overcome with emotion, and I buried my face in my hands and started crying.

“Hey, are ya ok? Didn’t mean to make ya cry,” he soothed. He snaked an arm around my back and rested his hand on my hip, kissing me on the cheek.

“They’re happy tears,” I assured, taking off my glasses and rubbing my eyes with my fists, “it’s just so sweet, I’m so overwhelmed, but with happy feelings. Thank you. I love them. Seriously Daryl, you're incredible.” I wiped my cheeks with my hands, the tears still flowing freely, laughing softly. “God, I’m such a crybaby.”

“Just got a lotta emotions,” Daryl said as he used his sleeve to wipe tears from my cheek, “ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”

A lightbulb flickered on in my head, and I had an idea. “I actually have something for you too,” I said before slipping my glasses back on. I gave him a kiss on the cheek before skipping back inside, grabbing my notebook and coming back to join him on the blanket.

“A few weeks ago, you asked if you could read something of mine. Well, this is why I never let you read anything,” I explained as I flipped through to find the page I was looking for, “practically everything before I arrived here is about…what happened. Everything from the last couple of months…is mostly about you.” It had gotten dark at this point, and while I hoped the lights inside would be enough for him to see, I hoped it was dark enough to conceal my flushed cheeks.

“Ya write ‘bout me that much?” he wondered.

“I’ve been writing about you since the day I got here. If I showed you how much there actually is about you in here, you might laugh at me,” I replied, continuing to rifle through the pages to find the exact one I was looking for. If I had thought of it ahead of time, I would’ve bookmarked it for easier access. But allowing Daryl to read a piece of my work about him was more of a last-minute decision.

“Nah, it’s cute,” he admired. I could see him watching me in my peripheral, meticulously eyeing every move I made.

“Here,” I said, holding it out to him, “I picked something for you to read.” He took my notebook, brushing his hand against mine as he did. “It’s a bit of a long one, but I think you’ll like it.”

I don’t think he’d ever say it, but I knew based on the look on his face that he was excited to finally be getting a peek at this notebook I spent so much of my time buried in. I watched his eyes scan over every word, the anxiety in the pit of my stomach beginning to make its way up the further he got.

Hi everyone,

So I made it to this community called Alexandria, and I met this guy. His name is Daryl, and I like him. A lot. Here's why I know you all would like him too.

Mom: He makes me happy, Mom. Like really happy. Like the way I imagine Dad made you feel. You would see him, lean over to me, and tell me you can see the sunshine radiating off him. You'd welcome him into the family with open arms. You'd be impressed with his knowledge of the local flora and show him your garden. You always loved showing people your garden. You'd offer to make him a few day's worth of food, and despite his protests, you'd do it anyway. "Everyone deserves a good home-cooked meal," you'd always say. You never let anyone leave the house without food.

Dad: Daryl is everything you taught my brothers a man should be--a protector, a confidant, a friend, a lover, and a good example. He's kind, compassionate, and sticks up for the little guy. He's a shoulder to cry on when you need one. Daryl's respectful, caring, loyal, and such a sweet soul. He claims not to have a way with words, but that doesn't matter because his actions speak for him. He doesn't care about things like what you look like or who you love. He just cares about whether or not you're a good person. He's truly one of the most stand-up people I've ever met. I hope you're out there Dad. I want you to meet him.

Preston: Being the oldest and the most protective of me, I know you'd have your reservations at first, but those would fade quickly. After your big-brother interrogation, you'd fall in love with him too. Sure, you'd let him know that if he ever hurt me, he'd have to deal with your wrath, but that's not something you'd have to worry about, and you'd know that. You'd see how happy he makes me and how well he treats me, and you would know I was safe. You always trusted my judge of character, so you'd know if I was bringing him around you, he'd have to be a good one.

Jay: Oh Jay, you and Daryl would be the best of friends. You'd bond over outdoor activities, maybe even go camping together. You'd have a drink together and take hunting trips and talk while you gutted your kills. Maybe get a little too drunk and share things you'd otherwise not. You had a habit of oversharing when you were drunk. Like Preston, you'd have to interrogate him a little, but you'd be nothing short of impressed. His sense of humor is very similar to yours, and I know you'd love that. You admired strong morals, and while the world has gone to shit, his moral compass hasn't. If you're out there Jay, maybe you'll get to meet him.

Eli: I know it would take you longer to warm up, being the shy one between the four of us. Once you did, you'd adore Daryl. You'd look up to him, see him like a brother. You were always about getting to know people on a deeper level, you sensitive soul, so you'd wanna get to know him and his interests. You'd show him your music and ask him to be your concert buddy when I couldn't go. Your favorite thing, though, would be his loyalty to his family and the people he cares about. You always admired that in people.

Kathryn: Oh bestie, I think this might be the one. Daryl's a gem, a true diamond in the rough. He's every woman's dream man--attentive, romantic (in his own way), an absolute sweetheart, loyal to death, the list goes on. He's the type that, in a normal world, would run out and get me tampons at 3am if I needed them. Not to mention, he's incredibly handsome. He's so hot, dude. Like I almost don't know what to do with myself. He's a bit shy with a hard exterior, but once you crack that wide open, that's when he really shines. You were such an extrovert, so you'd enjoy watching Daryl come out of his shell as you got to know him. But most of all, you'd love how happy I am with him. He makes me really happy, Kathryn. And he makes this scary world a little less scary to be in.

When he was finished, he ran his fingers over the edges of the paper, tapping it lightly. I tilted my head to get a better look at his face. He looked like he was trying to suppress a big, goofy smile, but a little bit of it broke through. The look on his face indicated positive feelings, but his lack of response worried me. What if he hated it and was trying to figure out how to tell me? Or what if he was laughing at it because it was stupid? I didn’t know which was worse.

“So…what do you think?” I asked. The nerves and anxiety were obvious in the shakiness of my voice.

Rather than responding with words, he set my notebook on the ground in front of him. He looked at me with a longing and adoration I’d never seen before, and he lightly bit his bottom lip. Daryl interlocked his fingers on the nape of my neck, careful not to tug on my hair, and brought his lips to mine. It was fucking electric, the sparks dancing between us causing my lips to tingle. He tenderly massaged the area behind my ears, and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling like an idiot into our kiss. He rested his nose and forehead on mine as he pulled away.

“Does that answer ya question?” he asked.

Sure, we were tucked away in a dark backyard, most of the community in their homes minding their own business, but for Daryl to show this type of affection in a semi-public setting was…riveting.

“Yeah,” I giggled.

“I love it,” he beamed as he continued to massage the sensitive area behind my ears, “thanks for sharin’. Could…could I maybe keep it? Or could ya write one for me?”

“I had a feeling you might ask me that.” I leaned past him to grab my notebook from its spot on the blanket. I tore along the edge, removing the paper from its spiral binding and handing it to him. “Yes, you can keep it.”

“Add it to the collection,” he joked as he folded it up and slipped it into his pocket.

I took my notebook and started to flip back several pages. “Do you wanna hear the very first thing I ever wrote about you?”

“Hell yeah.” He put one arm around my back, the other under my legs, and scooped me up into his lap, crossing his legs. He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his head on my shoulder. I went back too far and flipped forward a few pages before finding my first entry since arriving at Alexandria. My first entry about Daryl.

“Well, I did it. I finally found Alexandria. No sign of Jay though. Hopefully that means he traveled south to Florida to find Dad. But there’s someone else here. When I showed up at the gates with the man whose foot I’d hacked off on my shoulder, I was knocked out and woke up in a little cell. There was a man with a crossbow aimed at me, but that wasn’t the first thing I noticed about him. The first thing I noticed was his voice. It’s—“ I paused, chuckling and blushing a little as I read ahead. “God, did I really write that? Anyway, it’s nice and gravely, and I like it. A lot. The way he called me sunshine gave me butterflies. Then I noticed how handsome he was. Surely someone that gorgeous had to be off the market, but I guess he’s a free man. His name’s Daryl, and we’re sharing a house. I don’t think he likes me all that much. Hopefully, he’ll eventually be able to at least tolerate me.”

“Definitely more than just toleratin’ ya now.” He was drawing small shapes up and down my spine with his fingers, switching between circles and swirls and shapes that I was now certain were hearts. “When ya got here, definitely thought ya’s married.”

“Why’d you think that?” I asked, confusion lacing my voice, “I never had a ring on or anything.”

“Have ya looked at yourself? Any man’d be crazy not to wife ya up.”

“Said the same thing about you,” I echoed, holding my notebook up and flashing the entry I’d just read him before tossing it on the blanket next to me. “What did you want to show me?”

“Look up,” Daryl said as he craned his head to the sky. I mimicked him, tilting my head up as well.

It was almost pitch black now, the only light coming from the ones on in our house and the ones next to us, and there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, giving the stars a chance to, for lack of a better phrasing, really shine. The sky was decorated with them, each one twinkling like glitter. Growing up in a small town, I spent lots of nights in our backyard, staring up at a cloudless sky filled with stars. After moving to a big city for medical school, those nights became few and far between, and they were an experience I savored when I visited my hometown. After the world fell, my sole focus, like everyone else’s, was survival, so I never bothered to take a moment to appreciate the scenery of wherever I was. But now, I was in a walled-in community, and it was safe enough to kick back and look at the stars.

“Whoa.” It came out as a soft, breathy whisper. I was in complete awe, hardly able to speak. Funny to see ya speechless since ya talk so damn much, Daryl would probably say.

“North star’s up there,” he explained, pointing up to a particularly bright little star, “little dipper comes off it. Follow it down—“ he drew an invisible line with his finger as he pointed from one star to another “—and ya get the big dipper.”

“It’s like us.” I was smiling big, and despite not looking at Daryl’s face, I knew he was looking at me with a confused expression on it. “Y’know, like big spoon, little spoon. One of these nights, I’m gonna treat you to being the little spoon. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

There was silence between us for a bit as we admired the stunning sight above. It was like someone had taken fairy dust and sprinkled it across the sky, each little flicker of a twinkling star causing my eyes to dart around to keep up. I was in awe.

Of course, I couldn’t look up at a night sky full of stars without thinking about my dad. It comforted me to know that, if he was alive, whether that was up in space or down here on Earth, we were looking at the same view. Daryl’s beautiful voice pulled me from my dissociation.

“Hey Lydia?” My name sounded so sweet when it dripped off his lips like that. “As much as I like watchin’ ya get all excited ‘bout the stars, ain’t the only reason I brought ya out here. There’s somethin’ I wanna ask ya.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” I wondered. Like I didn’t know exactly what he was about to ask me.

He shifted a bit, putting his hands on the ground behind him to lean back and balance himself. It was difficult to make out his facial features with how dark it was, but it looked like he was biting his lip anxiously. If he was going to ask what I thought he was going to ask, he had nothing to be anxious about. I’d never heard Daryl’s voice shake when he talked, unless it was shaking in anger, but he was nervous, and it was obvious in his voice. “Was wonderin’ how ya’d feel if I…if I started callin’ ya my woman.”

I was over the goddamn moon.

“Daryl, my sweet, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He shifted more, and the anxiety radiating off of him was palpable. “Guess I am.”

Every ounce of joy, excitement, giddiness, enthusiasm, and happiness my body was capable of experiencing flowed through my veins, replacing every drop of blood, all of which was gathering in my cheeks. My heart rate skyrocketed, and I could practically feel my pupils dilating. I was grinning ear-to-ear so hard that my jaw was already beginning to ache. Every square inch of my skin was tingling in the most magical way.

I leaned into Daryl, our lips colliding before I could even close my eyes. My hands wandered up the back of his neck and into his hair, delicately twirling those dark chocolate locks around in my fingers. My big, silly smile broke through, causing me to laugh into our kiss and elicit a little smile from him in return.

Every kiss with Daryl was nothing short of absolute magic.

“Does that answer your question?” I replied, tickling the tip of his nose with mine.

The excitement and happiness were quickly overshadowed by anxiety, the butterflies in my stomach being swallowed whole by intense feelings of guilt. All I could think about was the one thing I might not be able to do for him, or if I could, not for a long time. I bit the inside of my lower lip and looked down, hanging my head in shame as my arms fell around his neck. “I, umm, I just have some…concerns. Regarding…uh…”

My voice trailed off, and I couldn’t even form the words. Sex, Lydia, just say it, I thought, you’re a doctor, just say it. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry for long, as Daryl seemed to know the exact direction I was going in.

“Hey.” He had the softest, most reassuring tone to his voice. He took my face in his hand, stroking my cheekbone with his thumb and doing that thing with his eyes again, where he looked deep into my soul, past all of the trauma and the bullshit. It made me weak in the knees in the best way. “Take all the time ya need. Ain’t goin’ nowhere just ‘cause of that.”

Not that I thought he would, but it was nice to be reassured anyway. And coming from someone as honest as Daryl, I knew it was true.

“Remember the other night when we were talkin’ ‘bout rememberin’ things the other person said?” he asked, and I nodded, “I remember when ya’s pukin’ after drinkin’ too much and said ya could kiss me at that moment.” It may have been dark, but I was blushing so hard, I was confident my cheeks were glowing & he could see it.

“Damn,” I sighed, “was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”

“The first time ya talked ‘bout wantin’ to kiss me? Ain’t never forgettin’ that,” he cooed, pulling me in for another long, tender smooch.

Taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley

Divider found on Google via searching for stock images

[witchysquirrel]

Epiphany

Chapter Five

By the time Ravenna had concluded her walk, Rhys, Azriel, and Celeste had gone, and she found Cassian fast asleep in bed once again. She took a seat in the chair at his bedside, leaning back and rubbing her eyes a little. She reached over, grabbing the novel she’d picked up from the library that morning; it was a mystery romance novel she’d decided to try. Ravenna read while Cassian slept, taking a trip into her own head for a time. She had a sandwich for dinner and continued reading as the sun lowered in the sky and was replaced by stars.

It must’ve been close to midnight when all of a sudden, a low growl filled the room. Ravenna looked up from her book just as Cassian shot up in bed, eyes wild, panicked. His chest heaved, eyes searching frantically around the dim room until they found Ravenna. He looked at her wide-eyed, catching his breath as he rested back onto his knees, hands on his thighs, face ashen.

“Cass,” she said, just above a whisper. “You’re safe.”

His eyes searched her face again. “It was a nightmare,” he croaked out, sniffing and running a hand through his hair as he looked around the dark room once more.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, concern evident on her face.

“There were…. people I loved,” he said, his gruff voice quiet, soft around the edges. “About to be killed. I couldn’t get to them. My wings wouldn’t work,” he continued. “The pain,” he started, but he couldn’t finish, his face scrunching into a grimace. Ravenna turned to get him another dose of pain medication, pouring the liquid into a small glass with her back to him.

She puzzled over her next words for a moment. “I have nightmares too,” she said, quietly. Ravenna opened her mouth to say more, but nothing came out. She turned around anyway, handing him the glass of blue liquid. He was looking at her, trying to read her eyes.

“I guess its hard not to be fucked in the head after centuries of this,” he said, taking the glass from her hand and throwing it back, a distant look on his face.

“I guess so,” Ravenna replied, taking the empty glass back to the shelf.

“What are yours about?”

She swallowed, hard. She hadn’t told anyone that she was even having nightmares, let alone their typical contents. The plots of her dreams were so laced with self-hatred and fear and regret that she didn’t think she could say the details out loud even if she wanted to.

“Events that I’ve already lived,” she replied finally. “Bad ones.”

“I’m sorry,” Cassian said. “So goes the mind of a healer who’s seen it all.”

“I’m sorry too, then, General,” she answered, sadly. “You should try to get some more sleep.”

Cassian nodded, but his eyes remained glazed as he laid back down. “Do you ever get scared to go to sleep?”

Ravenna nodded, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders. “Sometimes I prefer not to fall asleep at all.” She was shocked at her own words, wondering where the vulnerability had come from.

“I get that. Like maybe if your eyes never close then the images won’t be there,” he said, turning over, wincing as he readjusted his scarring wings.

“Goodnight Cassian,” she whispered, then turned off the light once more.

-

Epiphany Masterlist

[feverinfeveroutfic]

Tijuana sunrise | kinktober 2024 | day xxiii.: “olives”

pairing: lars ulrich x oc

prompt: scars

word count: 3583

song: “take me” by image

I woke up cuddled up next to him there in the backseat of my car. Evening had nearly fallen upon us, and yet I could tell right away that the storm had passed all around us. If nothing else, I was more concerned about his motorcycle still parked outside of the car, especially since the winds raged all around us, and yet they had rocked us both to sleep. I was warm laying up close next to him, wrapped up in the Indian blanket and nestled down against the back of the seat itself.

I looked on at his left eye, at the little olive-shaped scar right underneath the arch of his eyebrow. Something about it struck me as odd, especially when it didn’t remind me of a birthmark or anything like that. This small rounded hole in his skin that showed me a story into this boy’s world without an introduction. An entrance without a door.

I reached up to caress his face with nothing more than my fingers. He was still sound asleep, but a smile crept across his face at the feeling of my fingers on him. I pressed my lips to those little cherry ones, and he puckered them after the fact. I moved my fingers up to the crown of his head, just to nudge his hair back from his face.

I couldn’t stop staring at the mark over his eye, however.

It took a moment for him to open his eyes, and when he finally did, it felt as though I found myself in a forest. A thick lush forest even while out in the desert.

“Has the storm passed?” he asked me, and his voice broke with sleep.

“I believe it has,” I replied, and I kept my hand on his head to feel his long, smooth hair. “I don’t hear the winds anymore and I think we can climb on out of here. I’m starting to get hungry again, anyway.”

“Yeah, I am, too,” he answered, and he cleared his throat right then. He shifted about right next to me as if he wanted to roll over, but he and I were squeezed in rather snugly in that backseat. I tried to lift myself up next to him with my other arm, but it was easier said than done with him pressed up against me. He shifted a bit so his back was up against the backs of the front seats, and then he giggled hard right then. I couldn’t help but laugh as well.

He reached up over his head and pushed the door open, and we were met with the cool, damp evening air and that smell of rain having fallen on the ground around us. The sky had been painted a rich royal violet at the very top while the horizon before us was like a watercolor painting with its bright yellow and orange: a few clouds dotted the sky in shades of orange and pink. A chill rang throughout the air, and I wanted him to shut the door again.

But at that point, we had sat up enough so he could climb on out of there and find himself on the grass. However, he nearly lost his balance and fell onto the seat of his pants. He once again laughed, that time a much heartier and louder laugh that echoed out over the grass and the calm waters which lapped against the edge of the shore beyond my car. I crawled out of there so I could stand over him and he could see me from down below. His round face and the little olive-shaped scar under his eyebrow glowed pink and orange from the monsoon sunset in front of us, such that he looked so radiant and round. 

So kissable.

Chuckling myself, I climbed out and helped him up to his feet, and he dusted himself off.

Somehow, his bike was still standing, having stood up against the high winds of the lake. The seat was drenched, and small pearls of rainwater dotted the exhaust pipe and the handles, but Rokke was still standing against the kickstand.

He offered to fold up the blanket for me while I handed him his helmet, pristine and shiny under the twilight.

Before we had left Pyramid Lake, I told him to meet me again, but this time out in Virginia City in a couple of days. He was more than happy to come along out there on that bike of his, albeit that I had brought my own helmet.

“I’ll make it completely worth your while,” I assured him, and I kissed him on the cheek. He returned the favor, and then he strapped on his helmet.

I led him out of the valley: I gave one final glimpse into the rear-view mirror to the lake as well as the single headlight of the motorcycle. Against the light, I could see the lake, once again placid and still under the darkening sky.

We gave each other a bone and now it was letting us go. 

Meanwhile, I took a glimpse at him every so often in the rear-view mirror all as we made our way out of the valley. He stayed in my mirror all the way back to Carson City; at some point before my place, he turned away and disappeared into the desert night. All I could think about was getting my hands on a new helmet all for myself.

It wasn’t until the next day when I found myself a sparkling emerald green helmet to contrast with my hair as well as the livery of his motorcycle. All the while, I was eager to see him again.

To see him and the little olive-shaped scar over his eye.

He came rolling up to my front door wrapped in that tender leather jacket, a pair of mirrored sunglasses, and a quaint little Mona Lisa smile on his round face.

“Ready?” he asked me in that accent of his.

“I was born ready,” I assured him as I tightened the strap under my chin. I climbed aboard right behind him, and I put my arms around his soft waist. A soft feeling under the tough exterior of the aged dark leather jacket was all I wanted to feel on the way back out of Carson City.

Virginia City was nestled back in the hills outside of Reno, and everything about it gave me the creeps. The fact that the place was a ghost town and surrounded with old abandoned mines, and each and every time I couldn’t help but let my imagination run wild. I swore that some of those tunnels were haunted, especially during that time of year when the sun hung low much sooner and the chill of the monsoon hung in the air around us as the shadows grew long. Even though it was the middle of the day, I could feel that chill around us as we found our way up through the hills and straight into Virginia City.

I especially couldn’t help but let my imagination run wild when I flexed my fingers against his soft belly ensconced in that tough layer of leather. Soft flesh with tough leather and the story of the deep little scar on his brow.

We rode on up past the stretches of sagebrush and pinion pines into the southern edge of the town, and I could hear the echo of the bike’s engine through the canyons and the mouth of the tunnel off to the side.

I had an idea, but it would have to wait once we were done throughout the actual ghost town itself.

He pulled up to the one stoplight on the very edge of town, and he turned his head towards me. I couldn’t hear him, and I pointed to the building off to the right, the white one that looked like an old timey general store. He flashed me a thumbs up, and the light turned green. He made his way up there, whereby we took the second spot on the side of the building, parked in the shadow of the pointed roof. A deep chill settled over my body right then, even though it wasn’t that cold out that morning.

He switched off the bike, and he picked off his helmet.

“What’s over here?” he asked me, and the squeaky sound of his voice penetrated the silence around us like the blade of a knife.

“Only the best candy store in the world,” I answered with a slight click of my tongue. “This is also the kind of town where you walk around and look at everything it has to offer.”

We kept our helmets on the handlebars, and we climbed off the seats and made our way to the walkway of aged rickety wood, faded slightly fallen planks against the glittering asphalt of the streets. He held out a hand for me to take, even though there was only step for the actual walkway itself.

“Do you know why the streets here are so sparkly?” he asked me with a glimpse out to Main Street on our left, in which the asphalt sparkled the same way that he made me sparkle, all under the morning sunlight,

“Silver,” I replied. “This whole town is built upon veins of silver because back then, during the Gold Rush and this town’s heyday, they saw silver as completely worthless so they paved all the streets with it. Quite the surprise they found themselves in when they realized that silver is anything but worthless. There’s all the tunnels and abandoned 

He smiled at that, but his face lit up when we both caught a whiff of the confectionery and sugar cooking next to us. His face lit up even more when we saw the candy apples and big spiraled lollipops in the window next to us. I never saw myself as the romantic type, but when I walked about with him on that aged wooden walkway, I thought about holding his hand. I still never learned his name, but I wanted to hold him and feel him for much longer as we roamed about that ghost town, and especially when we made our way into the candy store.

He was all the more eager to take a big lollipop for himself, while I helped myself to a box of fudge for the two of us. But then I remembered the biggest part of the shop itself, and more so when he pointed it out to me. Several wooden barrels around the rim of the main room filled with saltwater taffy, and he looked on at me with that quaint little smile once again on his face.

“Like I need more sugar in my belly,” he joked to me with a little twirl of the lollipop.

I showed him a sample of a root beer saltwater taffy, which he gladly took with his mouth open and his little velvet tongue ready for me. I placed it on the pad of his tongue, and he closed his mouth, and all the while, he locked eyes with me. Fresh green eyes like the freshest of spearmint. I let my eyes wander up to the scar over his left eye, and he raised that eyebrow in particular at me.

“I see you see my mark,” he said in a soft voice as he swallowed down the sample.

“Let me show you my scars,” I coaxed him.

“Gladly, and—wow, that was delicious,” he remarked, and his face lit up. “Let us have some more sugar and candy.”

I offered to buy us a bag of taffy, as well as the fudge and his lollipop, and soon, we doubled back out to the street once again. A cool breeze swept over us as only a few people roamed about Main Street before us.

“Shall we have a bit of breakfast?” he offered me.

“We shall.”

“And let me buy it this time, my sweet,” he added with a smile dotted with dimples and little apple cheeks. He held the bag of candy under his arm, and then he took me by the hand again, and we padded across the deserted street to the restaurant right across the way from us, the one that resembled to an old saloon.

We were met with a heavy wooden bar on the right of the room and an expanse of tables on the left, but he was all the more eager to take to the bar before the bottles of whiskey and sarsaparilla on display.

“We cannot show off each other’s scars without a little nosh first,” he assured me with a little wag of his finger and another quaint smile on his face.

“Agreed.”

It reminded me of our breakfast the two days before at Heidi’s, except this time, he shared with me his cup of black tea with not a grain of sugar or drop of cream inside.

“Just the raw tea by itself?” I asked him as he let the bag steep in the white china mug before him.

“Just the raw tea,” he replied. “You know. I like it raw.”

“As do I,” I told him, and I couldn’t resist the smile on my face, either.

“You like it raw, too?” he echoed me, and he unleashed that little giggle again, a sound that made me think of two wine glasses tinkling together.

“Raw like a scar,” I added with a nod, and he squinted his eyes at me.

Our food arrived in time, albeit on big emerald green plates that made me think of fancy fine china, and we indulged in our breakfast in quietude. It wasn’t until we had finished and took a stroll about the inside of the restaurant, which we soon found out was in fact a general store. New to me, especially since I hadn’t been away from Virginia City for very long.

He picked up a cup from the shelf on the side of the room, and he showed me the picture of the Savage Mine and the Sutro Tunnel as well as the veins of silver from the Comstock Lode on the other side.

“Now, that’s one hell of a teacup,” I told him.

And without another word, he bought it for himself. He then bought me one, one that had a pinion pine on the side.

We doubled back outside with our bellies satisfied and our candy and mugs tucked away under our arms. I tried to remember the way over to the mouth of the Savage Mine itself. It was as if he had read my mind right then.

“Perhaps we should go to one of these tunnels and explore a little bit more?” he volunteered with a gesture up the street, as if to insinuate the mouth of the one on the edge of town, the one by the stoplight.

“Most of those tunnels are sealed off,” I told him. “Dunno about that one, though. And I’m trying to remember the way to the Savage Mine itself, too.”

“The mine or the Sutro Tunnel?” he asked me.

“The mine. The tunnel is over in Dayton. But maybe, we can in fact go to the mine entrance and hang out there, barring it doesn’t get dark soon.”

“It’s ten-thirty in the morning, I doubt it is going to get dark soon,” he assured me with a smile and a flick of his eyebrows. I still couldn’t stop staring at the mark under his left eyebrow. “Do you remember where the mine is?”

“It’s in that direction,” I replied with a gesture towards the direction of the sun.

“Let us drive over there,” he suggested, and he flashed me a wink. We strode on back across the street for our helmets again and our things in the rack part of the seats so we could travel about with no problems whatsoever.

He fired up Rokke again, and I pointed down the street off to the right. He nodded, and we got rolling once again. Ornate Victorian-style houses and shacks lined the sides of the pavement all the way out towards the desert, the scraggly brush and the low pines about the barren landscape around us. Eventually, we caught the signs telling us about the Savage Mine and a monument to the Comstock Lode on the side of the road as we came on closer.

We were met with an expanse of flat ground lined with low bushes of silvery sagebrush and bright mustard yellow rabbit brush: right in front of us stood the vast entrance of the mine, partially sealed off with weathered and rotted planks: a single lightbulb and a rusted pull chain hung right above the entrance. We took off our helmets and walked on over to the lightbulb in question, and the cold of the earth and the tunnel inside washed over me. Though it was a nice morning, I shivered there at the entrance.

“I don’t know if we can even go in there,” I confessed him. “Especially when it’s mostly closed off.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid,” he quipped, and I could see the look of concern on his face. Without another word, he sank down onto the fine soil in a cross-legged position: I spotted the big piece of sandstone about the size of a tennis ball right next to his knee. I sat down across from him, also in a cross-legged position, but then he gestured for me to sit next to him.

I picked myself up and did just that. No sooner did I do that when he reclined back onto his elbows and showed me his body.

“So, where are those scars you were telling me about?” he asked me with a clearing of his throat.

I sighed through my nose and then, I stood up and dropped my pants. We were alone with nothing more than the partially shut mine behind us, so I could do it without the worry of someone looking at us. He took off his jacket, and he lay it down on the dirt where I was sitting; I sat back down again, and I showed him a small olive-shaped scar, a tiny pale white spot on the side of my right kneecap.

“I got this when I was about ten,” I explained to him. “I fell off my bike pretty bad. I remember I went around a manhole cover and I leaned over a little too far. I fell off and skinned it all the way down to the bone.”

He grimaced at that, and then he brought his fingers down to the little white spot on my right knee. Gently, he fondled that soft skin as if he was giving me a massage.

“Allow me,” he beckoned me, and he held his lips down to my knee. He kissed my scar with those soft cherry lips, once, twice, five times.

He then lifted his gaze and locked eyes with me.

I could feel it. I could especially feel it with the mine shaft right behind us.

He moved his lips to the inside of my thigh, a line of kisses all the way down to my panties. Using one finger, he tugged them back, and he brought his lips to the inside of my crotch. He moved into my lips and my hood, which partially closed me off from the swipe of his tongue.

I never thought I would be eaten out at the mouth of the Savage Mine, three miles away from the Sutro Tunnel, but there I was, and there we were. I reclined back on my elbows and I let his tongue do the work. I gasped, and I let out a low groan. Though the mine was partially sealed off, my voice echoed through the shaft and the tunnels. I knew someone on the other side was going to see the place as haunted, especially when I saw it as haunted, but for a different reason.

The tip of his tongue hit the head of my clit, and I groaned again. My voice echoed through the mine, against the winds around us.

“Left…” I guided him. “Left…”

My voice was ghostly against the depth of the mine behind us. His tongue touched the left side of my clit. He got me right where I wanted it.

I tilted my head back. I arched my back. I let out another groan, a louder one that time, and one that I swore was going to wake the spirits that haunted the mines. I returned my gaze to him right as he crawled over my body with one hand on his own shaft.

Breathing hard, my elbows gave out and I fell onto his jacket. He grinned at me, and he put his free hand on the side of my face. He kissed me on the lips, to which I put my own hand on his face to better feel him against me. 

He then held back and locked eyes with me for a moment. Those soft spearmint eyes, like a breath of fresh air, or a breath of sagebrush following a monsoonal rainfall.

“Let’s get out of here,” he gently suggested to me, and his voice echoed around the mine shaft as well.

I couldn’t help but laugh to myself when I remembered that Sutro was a German man and probably had an accent just like him.

[frozenjokes]

Signing Back In, Apparently - 13

Prev/Next

Given his track record of completely crumbling at any sort of emotional encounter, Mumbo was doing surprisingly well. His body was falling apart a little, sure, but that could all be fixed with a little care and attention, and he had all the time in the world! Obviously, he couldn’t reach the more concerning cracks on his back, but for the splintering that had spread through his arms and legs, it was just a matter of smoothing things out. Running his hands over the divots, massaging them, squeezing if needed- why, by the time he was done, he looked like a new man! He felt like a new man!

The sky showed its first signs of darkness by the time Mumbo found a ghost that could lead him back to the group. He was happy to see them, excited even, despite the dark undercurrent lapping at his mask. They were all gathered in what the other ghost had called the minigame district, fumbling in a small arena catching sticks(?) falling from the sky. Impulse saw him first.

“Mumbo!” The other ghost stopped immediately, hopping the small rail that separated the arena from the grass, “We were a bit worried- no one could find you for hours! What were you up to?”

“Oh, just-“

Impulse gasped, cutting him off, “Your back! What happened? Did-did-“

“No,” Mumbo didn’t want to hear Scar’s name, not now. He didn’t want anyone to be upset or angry either, not when they could be having fun. He could be having fun, doing whatever it is they were doing. “I got stuck. I just ended up exploring for a while.. hours I think, and I ended up looking at this dead tree? A weird thing, it was all curved so I could stand under it. Well, crouch. Probably not even Grian could have stood at full height-“ Mumbo talked too much when he lied, he always had. Wrap it up. “It fell.”

“You got CRUSHED by a TREE??” Grian shrieked and stumbled to his side, followed closely by Pearl. A sort of baffled look crossed her face, but she didn’t press, and Grian clearly wasn’t concerned about the logistics.

“I’m fine now, really, just a bit wiped. These should clear up on their own,” Mumbo gestured vaguely. He turned his back away, but his translucence made it so the breaks were still quite visible.

“Well, maybe we should go back now?” Impulse suggested, looking to the others for approval.

Mumbo, threw up his hands, alarmed, “No! Don’t on my account!”

“No, no, I think that’s a good idea. Some of us sleep , and this was exhausting. Gotta get out of here before sundown when the monsters come out anyway,” Cleo said, waving a hand in Mumbo’s direction.

“We’ll be back.” Grian’s voice was firm. Determined. Mumbo noticed him look specifically at Pearl, who didn’t look nearly as convinced.

“Of course,” Impulse added, patting her back, “Scar can’t keep us away forever. We’ll wear him down.” Mumbo wasn’t so sure. But at the same time, he was finding it hard to care very much.

The group of five waved their goodbyes to the present ghosts, half of whom Mumbo didn’t recognize, and started the walk back. Out of the corner of his eye, Mumbo noticed Pearl fall back and slip a rock the size of her hand into her pocket. Maybe at another time, that action would have sparked anxiety, but now, his only worry was having to watch. He slowed his pace, catching her eye. Clearly she hadn’t meant for him to see, but when she stared back, there was no concern.

“I respect Cleo enough to wait.”

Answer enough, he supposed. But as they reached their destination and began their journey home, Mumbo heard the thump of stone on the deck, and watched with apathy as a rock bounced and rolled, falling off the edge and into the water. Pearl’s expression was all he needed to understand. It had fallen through her, no longer part of the island that made it physical. Ah, so it wasn’t meant to be for either of them tonight. Impulse and Grian didn’t notice Pearl’s moment of strangled desperation, didn’t notice the look she and Mumbo shared. It was then, he understood her. He understood, because they were the same. Shackled by impossibilities, forced to watch over and over as the things they longed for slipped elegantly through their fingers. Mumbo swore he saw a glint of recognition in her eyes in return, before they slid back into a soft indifference. Is that how he had looked, turning up at the minigame district? Did Pearl believe his story about the tree?

At the very least, Scar was mercifully quiet.

And so, the next week was decreed their Scarcation. ‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ Grian had said, but Mumbo was having quite the difficult time regardless. Now, it wasn’t that their self imposed vacation wasn’t fun. The visit to The Haunted Island had given them all a few ideas despite their limitations, and they managed to make a few of their own games in the time they spent together. It was lovely. Truly.

But the longer he spent away from Scar- the more fun- the more comfortable Mumbo got, the more afraid he was. Impulse and Grian especially loved to talk about their futures; hopeful things where they lived at least part time on that dream of a place, reveling in their own creativity and freedom. An existence that was functionally without Scar. But Mumbo didn’t- well it’s not that he didn’t want that- well- it was complicated . It was wishful thinking, maybe. Or maybe he was just afraid of being left behind. All he did know was that the pressure to get what he needed from Scar was mounting, and the cracks in his back weren’t healing. God, the ‘what’ in that equation was getting blurrier every day.

Pearl wasn’t doing well either. She put on a brave face, just like Mumbo, but even a mention of Scar’s name was enough to make her shoulders tense. Grian and Impulse knew too, it was hard not to see, but Mumbo noticed it all. Every twitch, every strangled inhale, every creased brow. Pearl saw it all over him as well; they caught each other’s eye more often than not lately. It was comforting, maybe, that they could endure it together. Mumbo really knew she had his back when she had caught him staring at Scar’s sleeping form, and didn’t say a word. Somehow, he knew she wouldn’t. In turn, he said nothing when he spotted her the next day, stalking Scar like a predator as he chatted up another pirate. Maybe that’s why it was so frightening; forgetting Scar and turning to greener pastures. Mumbo couldn’t move on. He couldn’t let it go.

It was the early afternoon on day six of their Scarcation when Mumbo broke. He had to ask, he had to know , and then this could all be over and he could believe in a better future. While the ghosts spent most of their time together now, it wasn’t unusual for anyone to slip away for a break or some alone time, so Mumbo took his leave after finishing up their latest version of the Faction Isles flight course. His stomach roiled so violently, he was certain his body would split apart and give him away, but he managed to remain intact. Off to Scar’s room. He tended to sleep late, so Mumbo was certain he’d still be there, and with any luck, he’d be in and out in minutes. No one had to know, and he could finally just relax.

It was a blessing to find Scar awake, writing in some sort of journal Mumbo hadn’t seen before. The ethereal sewn-on wings flapped lazily at his back, as if having a mind of their own. Based on Mumbo’s limited contact with Scar this week, he was pretty sure they did. While Scar was clothed now, Mumbo had seen from previous nights his back was healing quickly. Honestly, a little too quickly. The places around the sutures had seemed to be losing color as well, like the death that had been stitched there was draining his life away. Did Scar know? What was he writing about? Mumbo forgot Scar could see him as he leaned over his shoulder, startling at Scar’s own frightened reaction. Even in his surprise, it did not escape Mumbo’s notice that Scar slammed his journal closed.

“Couldn’t stay away huh? Cleo mentioned your guys’ Scarcation, and I don’t think the week is over,” Scar leaned back in his chair to feign ease (poorly), but Mumbo still couldn’t figure out what Scar was trying to mask. Was he pleased to see him? Angry? Probably not angry. It didn’t matter , he didn’t have time for this.

Mumbo pointed to the ouija board. Scar eyed the shelf with careful consideration, suspicion sliding over his gaze.

“Something to say, huh? I don’t suppose you’re here to kiss and make up.” Scar got to his feet, missing Mumbo’s pointed glare. “Well, curiosity might kill this cat, but that’s alright.”

Mumbo relaxed as Scar went to his shelf, pulling the ouija board from the top, but tensed up once more when it was set on the ground. He couldn’t mess this up. Be quick. Be cold. Get out. Scar sat down, annoyingly, resting his hands almost completely over the planchette. Mumbo kept his own hands on the very edge, his and Scar’s fingers just barely brushing. Even then, the supernatural warmth threatened his concentration. The edge of Scar’s mouth twitched into a small frown, but he didn’t move.

“Alright Mumbo, what do you want?”

Mumbo felt color rise to his face. He moved the planchette.

“Wait- no, no, you’re not serious with this are you? Come on, just talk to me. I won’t be able to swing this without a pencil and paper, even then-“

Mumbo faltered, unable to continue without being asked a question. He glared. Scar huffed, probably equally as annoyed with him as Mumbo was. When it was clear Scar wasn’t winning this fight, he got up and tore a page from his journal, grumbling as he went. Once they were back in position, Mumbo started over.

Why do you smile?

Scar stared at the message, a look of baffled irritation crossing his face, “What kind of question is this? Seriously Mumbo, I thought you had limited time here. Explain. With your words, maybe?”

Mask.

Scar’s brow furrowed, and Mumbo was starting to genuinely worry Scar would never understand. Was it not obvious? How could you live your entire life under a facade, and not think about it constantly. Not have a reason for it. In his own fantasy retellings of this moment, the wording of the question had not been an issue. In his mental replays, Scar also didn’t look nearly as exasperated.

“Is- is this seriously what’s been bothering you all this time? You know, I’ve been told this smile could win awards. Can a man not just smile because he’s happy?”

No.

“Geez, so is this what set you off before? Christ man, and you still look like shit. You know, usually I understand why people want me dead, but this seems like a bit of an overreaction. You won’t even talk to me! Why do I smile, ugh. It’s none of your business why I do anything I do. I smile because I want to. Happy?”

No.

“Well then, I’m glad we both agree this is a waste of time. Now, I’ve got lunch with Cleo soon, so I’m gonna do us both a favor and-“

Mumbo lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of Scar’s shirt in one hand and his wrist in the other, pulling down onto the planchette. Scar gasped as he fell forward, head colliding with Mumbo’s own as he struggled against his grip, but there was no escape. Scar had given up his power the second he let his guard down, and now he was trapped, only growing weaker as his skin cooled. Mumbo had known Scar could trade his warmth, but he now learned he could just take it. Scar’s struggle was manic, pulling and scratching as his strength dwindled. At the height of his panic, he even tried biting at Mumbo’s face, only to be yanked down by his shirt.

“Pay attention, I don’t have all day.” Somehow, Mumbo knew Scar would be able to hear him. Ah, but that meant he’d need to start asking questions. That was fine. “Why do you hide yourself from the world? Why are you pretending? Who are you? ”

“I can’t help but feel like these are loaded questions. Care to loosen your grip?” Through his nerves, Scar flashed a smile. How he didn’t think that was a bad idea at this point, Mumbo didn’t know. He jerked Scar upwards so they could speak face to face, digging his nails into Scar’s wrist. Mumbo felt him shudder as more of his warmth was stolen away. Mumbo breathed it all in, letting it envelop him, make him stronger. Scar was left shivering.

“I thought you had lunch plans? Don’t want to miss them, do you?”

“Not particularly, but I think we’ll be here all day regardless if you want to unpack all those questions.”

“How about we start with the gist then?”

“I don’t know what you want from me. I’m not going to spill my heart out to strangers.”

“You’ve been here for months , Scar, the Kestrels aren’t strangers anymore. We weren’t strangers. You didn’t see it that way, did you?” Mumbo struggled to keep his voice level, the thought dizzying.

Scar scoffed, turning away as much as he could manage, “I don’t need anyone thinking I owe them anything. I’m here for a good time, that’s all. Are we done with the interrogation?”

“I don’t believe you! Did the crew of The Flying Jellie mean nothing to you? Did we even know you? We gave you everything! How many years did we travel together, with you just pretending you loved us?”

“Here we go,” Scar rolled his eyes, putting his spare hand on his hip like this was the most trivial question in the world. The effect was lessened by how weak Scar was beginning to look.

“Answer me!”

Scar spoke, but Mumbo couldn’t hear the words, not that they were anything significant. Scar wouldn’t even look at him, why would he do anything but dodge his questions? But even now at the height of his frustration, Scar was beginning to deflate, his body curving into fits of uncontrollable shivering. His hand suddenly felt frail under Mumbo’s own. Was this killing him? After the night spent together, Mumbo was certain the ouija board interactions wouldn’t, but then again, he had never felt this warm. It was almost hot now, bordering on unpleasant. Maybe the extra heat stemmed from his anger? Mumbo sighed, loosening his grip. This wasn’t going to work, not with Scar so defensive. He’d have to switch gears. Even as some warmth returned to Scar, without Mumbo holding him up, he fell forward over the ouija board. Mumbo jumped, pushing him back into a sitting position. Since when had he gotten so weak?

“Scar, I need you to listen. Can you hear me?” He wished the gentleness of his tone didn’t come so easily. He wished he wasn’t so concerned.

“You’re hurting me.”

“Can you hear me, Scar?”

“Yes. Yes, I can hear you,” Scar slouched, and Mumbo thought for a moment he might topple back over. When Scar looked back up, beads of sweat were running fast down his face.

“I don’t want to care about you. About the things you did, about the person I never got to know. I don’t want to, but I do, and I won’t be able to move on unless you answer my questions. We- all of the ghosts- we are trying to move past this. Past you. Find a better life that isn’t just misery all the time. But I’m not ready, and I can’t be ready until I get some closure . Work with me here. You don’t want your back hurting for the rest of your life, do you?”

Scar laughed, the effort shaking his entire body, “You want closure, huh?”

“Yes. That’s all I want.”

“Closure,” Scar hummed, his eyes drifting elsewhere, his mind far away, “I guess I owe you one, don’t I. Well maybe if you’re right, I’ll get a hell of a deal out of this.” Scar closed his eyes, presumably imagining a life without the crew of The Flying Jellie, ever present and ever disruptive. Ever painful. “Alright, Mumbo. But if this makes things worse, try not to make it my problem. Shake on it?”

Mumbo narrowed his eyes at Scar’s outstretched hand, the other still trapped firmly under his grip. Make things worse? Seriously? No, things couldn't be worse than they already were. The answers would sting, Mumbo was sure of it, but the pain would fade. Knowing the answers to questions he had obsessed over for months would make it all worth it. Anything was better than laying on the floor of Scar’s room as he slept, wondering if the pain of his betrayal would ever cease. Still, sitting across from Scar and having this moment framed as a ‘deal,’ he couldn’t help but feel like he was getting conned. Mumbo shook his head. It didn’t matter. He reached out his free hand, meeting Scar’s in a firm shake.

[waywardsou2]

Whumptober 2024 - Shared trauma

Summary: HYDRA had sunk its claws into every price of the new world Bucky was growing accustomed too. Even into the lives of his new family.

Word Count: 705

Tags: shared trauma, wholesome, fluffy, less whump more fluffy, nightmares

It was nights like these where Bucky would wake up sweating. Water running off his back and dripping from his brow onto his lashes. The way tears would stain his face and his bottom lip would tremble. The way his hand would shake. Just his flesh one. His metal one wasn't made for such weakness.

His blankets would be torn. He would have to ask Tony for a new set.

And he wouldn't be able to sleep again. He didn't want to.

He didn't want to face what was there every time he closed his eyes.

So he got up, grabbed whatever was closest and threw it on before heading to the roof for some fresh air and privacy.

Except instead he found the red headed ex secret agent. Natasha Romanoff. He had met her before. He remembered her.

He felt like turning around and leaving. She seemed comfortable in the silence and he still wasn't sure if he was welcome. Having almost killed her. Twice.

But she saw him, she passed for a moment and he froze. His hands in his pockets as they started at each other in the dark.

Until she beckoned him over. Moving her hand in a forward motion before patting it on the concrete next to her. She was sitting with her knees tucked to her chest and he head resting a top them.

He sat down. Laying his legs over the edge of the building and leaning back on his hands.

He didn't look at her, simply at the forest Stark owned and the twinkling stars littering the horizon above the tree line.

The cold air was tough in his lungs but he reveled in the freshness of it. The cold of nature and night time. Not lab chambers and frozen metallic air.

"You get the dreams too Barnes?" Natasha said breaking the silence.

"Yeah" he admited

"They don't ever go away do they? Not matter how many wrongs you right. Doesn't take away what you did"

He breathed deeply listening to her calm voice. Though what she was saying was true. Her somber and soft voice drowned out the bad thoughts creeping their black tendrils of dread into his mind.

"It's all in the past. But that past is too recent. Too real. Too memorable" she continued

"Like a life you could never have imagined living but had to live anyway" he finished for her

"Like a bad dream you couldn't wake up from"

She hummed in agreeance.

And the two sat there. Staring at the night sky until day break. Basking in the dim glow of the stars and the pleasantness if each other's company

"I'm sorry for trying to kill you" Bucky says bluntly

"I'm sorry for not sticking by you against Stark. He's a douchbag"

"No hard feelings then"

She shook her head. A small smile on her lips. Her teeth just peeking out

"You aren't so bad Barnes. I get what Steve sees in you"

Now it was Bucky's turn to smile. If not for Steve he never woild have make it here. He would never have left HYDRAs clutches and he would have never been given to the Wakandan's so they could help him.

He would have still be trapped

And he believe Natasha might have been too

Even years after the wars HYDRAs still had its filthy hands in every organisation over the world. They had ruined more lived. Even if Steve and all the history books told him they'd one the war.

The scars from every battle said other wise.

And even thought Natasha never lived to see the war. He could tell she had seen a great deal of battles

And the compassion she still had through all of it was commendable. He respected her.

And Natasha revered Bucky. Knowing it took more than just being a soldier to survive all he had. To learn to live again after feeling like you were nothing but a husk for so long. She couldn't help but admire his strength.

Silent the two of them marveled at the strength and bravery of the other as they waited for the sun to rise and their new families to start wondering where they are.

Part of head canon AU for a domestic and peaceful Avengers. More coming soon.

[ghostmaldo]

Merlin X GN!Fae!Reader Modern AU

I wrote this purely out of my own suffering in my heart. Gooosh I miss the show so much ;-; Reader can be a good friend of love interest. Left it up to the reader. I think about Merlin wondering around the earth waiting for Arthur much more then I’d like to admit. Anyway. Enjoy!

Little sad, fluffy ending. Merlin misses Arthur.

Slight warning: Mentions of death, spoilers??? If you haven’t ever finished watching BBC Merlin ^^

Playlist listened to during the writing process: https://youtu.be/_DMo7B7oAVo?si=WVMp4ZYLMGiIDdaQ

~Maldo

Merlin sat quietly under the gray thundering clouds. Nothing but the company of an old park bench and the creaking of its old wood underneath his legs. Pellets of water graced the young man's shoulder as the sky weeped upon him. Well… prehapes… young wasn’t the right word… Not anymore at least. Truthfully he was… millennia upon millennia years old. He only appeared young… bright eyes and high cheekbones. The weight of carrying such heavy misery waved from the corners of his eyes with a little sorcery still brightly dancing in his veins. Magic had long died in this world, yet not in him. Clinging on to thin threads from a promise made to him long, long ago.

The once and future king will rise again.

Creeaak. The interruption made Merlin nearly jump out of his whole skin. His eyes immediately looked to the source of the sound. Where he found an old friend. A fae with many secrets… yet still a comforting presence. A small smile crept onto his lips, his eyes crinkling slightly. ”Come to keep my company in the rain, (Y/N)?” They promptly returned his smile. The rain seemed to lighten with them here beside him. They had that sort of effect on the world . “Someone has to, otherwise you might just let the rain consume you.”

“You might be right about that.” He shot back with a low chuckle. In all of his years of being alive. (Y/N) was still the only one in eons to bring amusement back into his tear stained heart. He took a deep breath, basking in the rain's chill icy touch. He closed his eyes briefly and simply let humanity’s silence rush over him in waves. What was he doing here…? Truly? Still waiting for Arthur? Merlin’s memories of him were still freshly cut in his mind. The pair running through the castle halls like fools and the iron still strong in his mouth from the battles they faced… The scars he kept when Arthur died in his arms…

”Merlin…?” He flinched when he sensed (Y/N) wrap their delicate fingers around his arm. Though he quickly relaxed, the warmth of their head on his shoulder chasing away some of those unruly demons. “Your doing it again.” They spoke softly, always so courteous to his feelings…

“Sorry… I can’t help it sometimes… I was suppose to protect him-“

“It wasn’t your fault Merlin.” (Y/N) cut him off before he blumitted to far into his guilt. Merlin let out a long sigh, he certainly didn’t agree with them… but he knew better than to argue.

”What was he like?” Merlin fixated his eyes on them again, brows raised above his head. The question had taken him aback for a second. Unsure if he’d heard it correctly. “Arthur?” He confirmed watching them nod. They hummed, peering up at him with those wide curious eyes he’d come to cherish in his years of immortality. Their cheek a little smooshed up against his shoulder. He couldn’t help the wide grin spamming across his face.

“Well, first off he was a complete ass-“ A fit of giggles erupted from (Y/N) mouth at the comment, followed up with his own series of laughter. The rain didn’t feel so cold along his shoulder anymore…

Merlin went into all the details of his adventures with the young king of Camelot. Their adventures, conversations, the friends they’d made and the memories they’d forged together. His mood lifted with each word, recounting each step he’d taken next with his best friend. The one he missed so dearly…

“He was an idiot sometimes… but he was a good man with a good heart. He always wanted to do what was right.” As soon as he’d spoken the words, he sensed (Y/N) curl tighter around his arm. Their loving touch melding with his own. He was so grateful they were here with him. His body moved on its own, clasping one of their hands with his and pulling them closer. Resting his head on top of theirs. The motion brought a harsh burning lump into his throat. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes.

“It’s okay to cry Merlin. To mourn something you’ve lost even after all this time.”

That’s all it took. Large tears welded in his eyes and cascaded over his pale cheeks. Becoming lost in the sea of droplets still raining down from the sky. He stayed this way for several minutes. Clinging and sobbing into (Y/N) arms. Their gentle fingers circling soothing circles onto his arms. Everything he’d kept bottled up inside of him for so long ruptured violently and without apology. He didn’t need one. Not with them.

Over some time, the tears did run dry. He snuffled a few times as he wiped away the excess unflattering snot leaking from his nose with shaking hands. It was as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from him. Feeling so light he might fly off into the heavens to find Arthur himself.

“Better?” (Y/N) voice sweetly questioned. He smiled toward them through his tear filled lashes. “Better, thank you. I needed that.”

[moochou-eats-paper]

39 moths and I

@autismkhksj I think you asked me to tag you when I wrote poetry even though that post was ages ago

anyways I wrote a something. It feels too long and story like to be poetry. Anyways.

tw: blood, fire?, SH, suicide (please don’t kill yourself)

Every forty seconds, life falls from the killer’s own hands. A suicide, you may call it.

One.

A singular comment hits harder than it should. Each word is like a sharpened blade.

Two.

Each word is now an immortal sigh, passing through your mind eternally, gossip among the grass, reeds and wind.

Three.

Society walks until he finds a camping place beside the lake, beautiful and serene, the stars smiling with unspoken words of love and encouragement.

Four.

The murmuring breeze crept into the public’s jacket and plays in his hair. The cool night made him sit down by a bench.

Five.

Urgent whispering finally tips Society off the tip and a match is struck, disturbing the tranquility of the lakeside.

Six.

The flame drops onto a fire pit glowing with heat. However, this heat is one of burning hatred and not a cosy glow.

Seven.

Society did not mind. Embers are spat out from the fire and frolic in the air before landing on the grass. Society stamps on them.

Eight.

Light fills the air and sky, leaving the stars dim compared to the fire and they are forgotten.

Nine.

Each crackle grows crueler and crueler as it hisses and sputters more. Anger, sadness, neglect. Hatred, depression, cowardice. Betrayal, anxiety, fear. Hurt.

Ten.

Society turns a blind eye to this and merely stokes the flames, enjoying their profit of the growing flame.

Eleven.

Worry grows evident in your face. Indents on your forehead leave ugly reminders of the words and their poisonous sting.

Twelve.

You sit alone and think. Your life is ablaze and even if the fire is evil, it can still hold the passion of the world of wronged people who seek for revenge.

Thirteen.

The tears that leave a salty path in its wake cannot dampen the inferno but neither can a lake, deep and inky and swallowing the sky.

Fourteen.

Maybe it could, that endless flowing water, so gorgeous and clear, unlike the dark emotion inside you. Get closer, you think but for now, it’s too late and the lake is too far. Ironically close.

Fifteen.

Such answers and possibilities tauntingly close but wildly out of reach. One step before your collapse.

Sixteen. 

Even if feelings such as serenity and excitement are so different, each leaves a person with a trace of a smile. These feelings now swam deep into the lake, too far.

Seventeen.

Society looked on, focusing on the fire. Each shift in the embers was a hand clawing at your heart and taking a chunk with bloody fingers.

Eighteen.

Society was a blur, ignoring your screams. Haunting faces appeared in their fire, yet he still did not mind.

Nineteen.

A choice is made. Silver is held in a trembling hand and brought to skin, severing it, like a fleshy chasm flooding over with rivers of blood.

Twenty.

This blade is the same one that was first drew your blood, many many days ago. Yet this time, the hand that brandished such an innocent yet evil weapon was yours and not one of an enemies’.

Twenty one.

Perhaps it was. You were your own enemy, refusing to undo the chains that hug you tightly yet wanting to fly and spread your glorious wings in one final fall.

Twenty two.

Society watches a moth come to his fire. A beautiful creature. So fragile and serves little purpose but so natural and beautiful. Just like you.

Twenty three.

Society swats the moth away. Only more come, to his dissatisfaction.

Twenty four.

You think to yourself about what it truly would be like. Freedom of living and the restraints of this vulnerable prison and the things people do to it.

Twenty five.

Moths flock the fire, interested. Naive, it seems, is what they are; they are unaware that they flutter mindlessly around such a dreadful thing. The thing that eats away at the crumbling soul inside you.

Twenty six.

Scars line your arms like tattoos, like art. Life is a form of art, you are but a puppet on a string, discarded after use.

Twenty seven.

Moths flutter, dipping in the frosty air with every word in thought. Does that dangerous yet beautiful thing really have the capability to hurt you? You just need to experience it first to know.

Twenty eight.

Screams deafen you, shrieking about how you do know. You do have experience. Perhaps it’s not just pain but something further.

Twenty nine.

How you only wish to be held like a newborn baby in arms that have a mother’s gentle touch. To be held, cradled.

Thirty.

The longing to leave and run is far far greater. To plunge into the inky void. The curiosity.

Thirty one. 

Moths fluttered weakly around the fire, curiosity building up like the flame in front of them. 

Thirty two.

Society is bored. They want more. Society is a very busy person.

Thirty three.

Your will is struggling to thrive. What are you to do when all is hopeless.

Thirty four. 

The fire grows, a roaring mean voice. A siren, begging you to come and join it. 

Thirty five. 

You sit at a window ledge. Or a knife is in your hand. Nobody can solve this now, you’ve gone in too far.

Thirty six.

Fear strikes you. Hotlines exist and so do family. The wonders of life truly are amazing.

Thirty seven. 

Yet the problems outweigh the precious golden moments. Your decision is made.

Thirty eight.

A moth wanders closer to the flame than ever. How mesmerising it is on the surface.

Thirty nine.

Flames engulf them. Each moth looked on, too curious. As each moth dies, Society smiles a little. How fun. 

You look at the fire, corpses littered around you and smouldering in the fire. You look back at Society, who gives you a nod. Hesitation. Then a fiery death.

[dangerous-advantage]

If you want, a disaster twins hurt/comfort drabble? Maybe even cuddles? You don't have to if you don't want to.

(cws: heights/references to falling from heights, discussion of canon-typical trauma, cursing)

Lightning flashed through the cover of clouds, exposing their rain-swollen underbellies. Leo counted the seconds between the latest strike and its corresponding rumble of thunder.

One, two, three...

He kicked his legs to the rhythm of his thoughts, concrete bruising his heels. The sting was grounding. Up here, above the city lights and conversation, Leo could use all the grounding he could get.

A fat droplet of rain smacked wetly on his arm. He looked up, just as the sky growled warning and unleashed it's downpour.

Leo closed his eyes and pretended not to breathe.

The rain had been worse this year. The last three days had seen scattered showers and an endless, overcast sky.

Leo liked the rain. God knows the city needed it. It made him feel cleaner than he had in a long time. Like New York was finally washing its hands of the events earlier that summer.

If he let himself, he could almost pretend everything was back to normal. That it had never been un-normal.

But the rain also brought new and unfortunate side effects. His time in the prison dimension left him scarred. Several months removed, he was still recovering.

The rain ignited his deepest aches. He'd lay in bed, clenching his jaw to stifle his whines of pain as the muscles in his legs cramped and spasmed. His shell ached, too, the cracks in his carapace lit up like a live wire. He'd popped three ibuprofen the day before, but this time, it didn't save him.

He'd hoped fresh air would do him some good, but his thoughts were as raw as ever.

If he had the energy for it, or maybe someone to tell, Leo would've joked about it. But his dramatics were never entertaining in his own head, and they weren't meant for him, anyway.

He tipped his head down and sighed out a breath. Cold rivulets cascaded down his face, tracing his jawline. They fell to his lap in scattered droplets, refracting the city lights as they rebounded.

He was starting to get a bit too cold for comfort. They weren't fully cold-blooded, seeing as they were part human, but they were still susceptible to temperature changes, especially Leo.

He didn't want to deal with a cold on top of everything else.

Leo gathered himself, shifting into a crouch. His body protested as he came to a standing position, retrieving his katanas from where he'd set them.

His bandana was soaked, say nothing of his bandages. He'd need to change them before his brothers awoke. He'd better dry off his katanas, too-- he didn't know if mystic weapons could rust, but he'd rather not find out.

Retreating away from the edge of the roof, Leo could feel his heartbeat start to settle. Heights didn't bother him, exactly. It was more about potential. Sitting on a precipice, seconds away from what could be your last breath.

It was the ultimate test of arrogance. Would you really test your luck, lean over the edge to catch a glimpse of what lay below? Just a cursory misstep and you would be sent plummeting, with only moments to contemplate before you were crushed against concrete.

Adrenaline was an effective tool for alleviating the worst of the pain. It probably wasn't a healthy practice, but what worked, worked.

Summoning his ninpō, Leo slashed a katana through the air, flinging rainwater with the sweep of his blade. The air rippled, a pool of blue reflecting in the puddle beneath him.

With barely so much as a thought to serve as a directive, the connection stabilized, pulling at his gut. Leo stepped through, shutting the gate behind him.

He emerged in their bathroom, water dripping off his disheveled form to the floor. Glancing up at the clock, he frowned. Had it really been three hours?

Leo set his katanas on the counter and foraged through the cabinet for a towel. He discarded the first two he grabbed on account of their worn texture, tossing them to the ground behind him.

His fingers closed around plush, white material, and Leo pulled out a newer-looking towel. It would do nicely.

He set to work drying his katanas with fastidious motions, guiding the towel into the crevasses where excess rainwater might accumulate. He dried his first katana once, and then a second time, before doing the same to the other.

When he was satisfied, he turned back to the cabinet and rifled through it, looking for a first aid kit. He'd had Casey restock recently, given how much of their supply had been damaged in the Kraang invasion. He didn't remember if anyone had put them away-- they might still be on the kitchen counter, for all he knew.

Leo gave up, nudging the cabinet shut, and carried his katanas to his room. His body was really starting to hurt again. He perched on the edge of his bed, tensing the muscles in his body.

He let his eyes flutter shut. His body felt washed out and faded like an old t-shirt, washed one too many times. Maybe he should just try and rest while he could, before the pain returned in full.

But the medic in him eschewed the idea. Not to mention, his brothers would kill him if he risked infection by something so careless.

Heaving a sigh, Leo abandoned his bedroom, making his way to the train car that housed their kitchen. To his surprise (and wariness), the lights were on, curtains drawn.

Had Mikey forgotten to turn off the light? That wasn't like him.

(Which meant he probably hadn't.)

Leo procrastinated by the entrance, killing time locked in an internal dialogue. Somebody else was up, or had been. Most likely scenario, it was Casey, being a light sleeper.

He was also the only person that knew about Leo's midnight escapades. He'd confessed that knowing Leo was gone set him on edge. Often, Leo would return to find him sitting in his room, eyes on a distant memory.

Shaking off his indecision, Leo pulled himself up into the car, grimacing at the jolt of pain that ran up his shell. He stepped inside and froze, stomach dropping to his knees.

Donnie sat on a stool at the counter, thumbs flicking over his phone screen. An empty bowl and spoon sat in front of him on the otherwise clean surface, evidence of a midnight meal. There was a cutting board in the sink and a stockpot on the cooktop.

Donnie looked up from his phone, eyebrows slightly smudged. They knit together in confusion as he took in Leo's waterlogged state.

Leo shifted his weight. "I didn't know you were up."

Donnie raised an eyebrow. "Went for a midnight swim?" he deadpanned.

Leo moved past him, toward the opposite counter. "Something like that," he mumbled. He withdrew one of the first aid kits from a plastic grocery bag stowed on top of the fridge.

His thigh dissented, muscles contracting, and he gasped. He bent over, resting his forehead on the fridge, eyes squeezed shut.

A stool creaked, sliding back. "Leo?"

Leo gritted his teeth. A bead of water slid down his face and fell from his chin like a teardrop.

"Just sore," he groaned. "I'm fine."

He could feel Donnie's presence as he approached. He stopped a few feet behind where Leo was standing, back bowed.

"You don't look fine," he pointed out.

Leo hadn't "looked fine" since the prison dimension. He choked on a laugh at the thought, unable to smother it. He couldn't see Donnie's face, but he could imagine the expression it displayed with ease.

The tension between them grew. When was the last time Leo had talked one-on-one with his twin? He didn't remember it ever being this awkward.

The cramp in his leg let up a little. Leo gingerly placed it on the ground, testing his weight. The sooner he could get out of this situation, the better.

"I should go," Leo said finally, straightening. He turned. Donnie's arms were crossed over his plastron, examining him with narrowed eyes. Leo stepped around him, gaze avoidant.

He got halfway across the kitchen before Donnie spoke.

"How long were you out?" Donnie asked. "Your bandages are soaked."

Leo recognized the trap laid out in his brothers' casual demeanor.

"Not long," he replied, matching Donnie's tone. "Just needed some air."

"Hm, is that so? Because I've been up since midnight, and it's now--" He checked his com band. "--two thirteen, so unless you magically gained the ability to be quiet, I'm not sure your story holds water."

Leo resisted the urge to make a pun. "Hey, I can be quiet!" he protested.

His brothers (somehow) hadn't realized just how accurate Leo's ninpō had gotten in the previous months. He would prefer it stayed that way. (Raph definitely wouldn't be too happy to find out how much time Leo spent overlooking foreign cityscapes instead of sleeping.)

"Don't change the subject, Leo, I know what you're doing." Donnie placed his hands on his hips. (Did mutant turtles have hips?)

Leo held his hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. Fine." Prime example of a battle he refused to pick. "I lost track of time, sue me."

Donnie blew out a breath, and Leo knew they were entering safer waters. Works every time, he thought.

"Just tell me you didn't go far?" Donnie asked wearily. "Raph would freak."

"I didn't," Leo assured him. It wasn't a lie-- compared to his usual destinations, his trip to downtown New York was a novelty. "You aren't going to tell him, are you?"

Donnie hesitated. Leo's expression grew shuttered.

"No," he sighed. "Just-- next time you go out, could you at least leave a note or something? That way, if you get kidnapped by pirates again, we'll know where to look?"

"That was one time," Leo argued. Donnie sent him The Look™. "...Okay, two times, but can you really blame me?"

"Yes." Donnie stated the word without hesitation.

Leo hid a smile. It was easy, falling back into their familiar banter. He had missed this.

His legs gave a throb of pain and he winced. "I should go," he said reluctantly.

Donnie blinked, caught off guard. His gaze took on a hint of concern. "Oh. Uh. Right." He shifted uncomfortably. "Here. Do you... I can carry that for you." He gestured at the first aid kit.

Leo wanted to refuse, but he'd officially run out of luck. At that moment, his legs gave out beneath him. He crumpled, carapace smarting at the sudden movement.

"Leo!" Donnie knelt next to him, eyes dark with worry. "Are you okay? What's happening?"

"It's nothing, I'm fine," he groaned out. His leg gave a traitorous pulse, and he yelped.

Donnie stood. "I'm getting Raph," he decided.

"No!" Leo cried. "Honestly, Tello, I'm fine."

"Is that why you're laying on the kitchen floor?"

Leo swatted weakly at Donnie's calf. "No," he groaned. "It's just... the rain. Makes all my scars ache, and stuff."

"Oh," Donnie said. He returned to a kneel. "I... didn't think of that."

"'S fine," Leo grumbled. "Just need to re-wrap my bandages." Something he was not looking forward to.

His muscles slowly untensed, leaving a dull ache of pain in their wake. He let out a miserable sigh, closing his eyes.

In a moment, he'd need to get up and make his way to the bathroom. Though, he could probably get away with a few more minutes on the floor. Donnie had seen him through worse.

To his surprise, he could feel an arm slipping under his shoulders, helping him up. He cracked open an eye to see Donnie on his left side, bracing his arm on the wall as he helped pull Leo to his feet.

"Okay, come on," he groaned. "Let's get you to the bathroom before you forget how to walk again."

"Ugh, rude," Leo said, accepting his support. "You'd say that to an injured man? I'm on the cusp of death here, Dee."

"I'd say that to a dead man."

"What, was that a threat?"

"No, but it can be."

Leo snorted, then winced as they made their way down the steps. Donnie was careful, but not smothering, letting Leo lead. They limped their way to the bathroom, where Donnie set him down on a stool, flicking on the light.

"Thanks for leaving fucking puddles everywhere," Donnie said, lifting up his foot and shaking it. "Did you really not dry yourself off at all?"

"I dried my off my katanas," Leo defended. Donnie rolled his eyes and mumbled something beneath his breath. He turned and began rifling through the cabinet for a towel.

"Just use one off the floor," Leo said, kicking at the towels he'd discarded earlier.

"Those ones are shit," Donnie said, emerging triumphant with a fluffy, dark purple towel he must have hidden somewhere in the back. "Do you really want a sad, dirty floor rag? Not that it wouldn't fit you, but..."

Leo snorted, hiding a grin in the back of his hand. Donnie leaned over and swaddled him in the towel, wiping off his plastron with quick motions.

"What are you, some kind of towel elitist?" He leaned away, grabbing the towel for himself and pulling over his carapace. "smh, can't believe you were holding out on me." He rubbed his hand over the plush fabric. "I might be stealing this."

"Did you just say 'smh' out loud?" Donnie asked. "And absolutely not, I will destroy you."

"Then you gotta tell me who your dealer is, at least." Leo buried his face in the cushy material. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled. "This is exactly the kind of wasteful bullshit I need in my life."

"Frivolous luxury would suit you," Donnie mused.

Leo simpered up at him. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Do you even know what that word means? And don't fucking simper at me."

Leo simpered even harder.

Donnie grabbed one of the towels from the floor and threw it at him. Leo raised his hands with a laugh, shielding his face.

Donnie snatched his purple towel back. "Shh! You're gonna wake the others."

"I'm not the one who decided to commit a hate crime." Leo took off his mask and placed it on the sink.

"I threw a towel at you," Donnie deadpanned. "How is that a hate crime?"

"Because you were being mean to me." Leo wore his best pout.

"That's not a hate crime."

"It is if you hate me."

"I don't think you know what that word means, either." Donnie opened the first aid kit, setting it on the sink. "Okay, sit tight."

Leo stuck his tongue out, but kept quiet as Donnie leaned over him, inspecting his bandages. Neither of them spoke as Donnie took one in hand and carefully began to peel it off. He grimaced as it exposed the puckered scar beneath, gently dabbing it with a clean pad of gauze.

Leo didn't bother to wince at the soft prick of pain. It was so minuscule compared to everything else he'd gone through.

The thought was a depressing one, draining the small amount of humor he'd managed to recover out of his chest. He slumped a little, studying the floor.

Donnie seemed to notice the change. He paused for a minute, thinking. Leo could nearly hear the gears in his brain turning as he puzzled out what to say.

"...I hope the rain stops soon," he finally settled on, cautious.

"Yeah," Leo sighed. He glanced at the wall, his jaw working. "I used to like the rain."

"Yeah? Oh, that's right," Donnie remembered. "You would always beg papa to take you up to the surface when it rained. And then Raph."

Leo nodded mutely, turning his thoughts over in his head.

"Its... I just..." Leo glared at the wall. "It makes me angry."

Donnie replaced one of his bandages with a new one and started re-wrapping his shoulder. "The rain?"

A sudden wave of emotion rose in him, and Leo's hands clenched. "No. The Kraang. That they-- that they took that from me." He glared at the floor willing his mouth to not wobble. Damn it.

Donnie didn't speak, but he rested his free hand on Leo's shoulder.

"It's just-- it's so stupid." Leo tried for a bitter laugh, but it came out wetter than he'd intended. He sniffed, trying to get a hold of himself.

"It's just fucking rain. But it's like-- every time it rains, I'm not gonna be thinking about how much I like it, or drag you guys out to stand in it. 'Cuz all I'm gonna be thinking about it the stupid fucking Kraang."

Donnie had gone still, but his hand remained on Leo's shoulder, a silent show of support.

Leo swiped a hand over his face. "And it's stupid, because-- we got rid of them! The Kraang are supposed to be gone, or whatever." His voice broke on the word 'gone,' but he persisted.

"But they're still here. Everywhere I go in the city, I'm reminded of them. They're like... a shadow, or something, looming over me. All the things I like, they've infected." He barked out a wet laugh.

"I mean, did you know the reason I gifted all my Jupiter Jim comics to Mikey is that I can't read them without thinking about the Kraang? And it's-- so stupid because I love Jupiter Jim. But now I can't even watch our favorite movies, because every time it feels like a punch to the throat!"

Leo was about to cry, something he really didn't want to do right now. He took a tremulous breath. "I mean-- isn't that stupid? I know it's stupid." He let out a shaky laugh.

"...I don't think it's stupid," Donnie offered quietly. He returned to his previous task of changing Leo's bandages. "I think it makes perfect logical sense. We went through something traumatic. Of course it's going to affect us negatively."

Leo laughed, sharp and bitter. "Yeah." He glared at the floor.

It was quiet for a long moment.

"I get it."

Leo looked up, confused. "What?"

Donnie worried at the edge of his mouth, intent on his task. "Do you remember when I took control of the Technodrome?"

Leo swiped a hand across his face. Guilt twinged in his abdomen. "Mhm."

"In order to create a connection, it had to--" Donnie cut himself off. "Um. It had to. Physically connect to me."

Leo froze. "Like... how?"

Donnie tapped a repeating pattern on the edge of his shell, before reaching for the medical tape. "It was... through my shell."

"Oh." Leo said. Then, "Oh."

"Yeah," Donnie sighed.

Leo scuffed his feet on the floor. "Shit, Dee, I'm s--"

Donnie flicked him firmly on the forehead. "Don't."

"Hey!" Leo cried, rubbing at the spot.

"If you're gonna apologize, apologize for something that was actually your fault." The words were spoken with the tone of one who is used to speaking them. "And anyway, it was my choice."

"You wouldn't have needed to choose it if--"

"Nardo, oh my god, I will smack you." Donnie pulled back. "I am trying to empathize with you here, why are you making this so hard?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Leo mumbled.

Donnie sighed. "It's-- well, it's not fine, but. It's a topic for another time."

Leo nodded.

"As I was saying," Donnie continued, "It was not the most pleasant experience, going into it. And-- well, I didn't particularly enjoy the hasty removal, either.

"But... I didn't mind it, being in there. It's just... it made me realize how much I'm missing. How weak I am, with my shell." Donnie rubbed an absentminded hand over the strap of his battle shell. "Sometimes I'll wake up, and I'll..." His voice dipped into a whisper. "I'll miss it."

He paused as if waiting for Leo to react. Perhaps with disgust, or anger. Leo did neither, covering Donnie's hand on his shell with his own.

"I know it's not a perfect correlation, but. It makes me... feel. Emotions. Things I don't like." Donnie rummaged around in the kit for another piece of gauze. "And I just. It's. Ugh."

"'Ugh.'" Leo agreed. "That's a pretty good word for it."

Donnie scowled at him.

"I'm being serious!"

"Ok, enough being nice to you," Donnie announced. "I'm leaving. Suffer."

"But Dee," Leo whined, dragging out the 'e'. "You didn't finish wrapping my shell."

"Urgh, fine." Donnie rolled his eyes. Leo resisted a smile, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't have actually left.

They lapsed into silence again. Far above, Leo could hear the rain slowing, the downpour giving way.

Donnie finished wrapping his shell. He pulled back, considering. There was an edge of hesitation to his expression. Leo knew that look.

“What’re you—”

Donnie leaned down and pulled him into a hug.

Leo tensed for a moment, caught off guard.

Donnie was very particular about touch. He didn’t like casual touch, unless he was the one to initiate it. That, plus with the invasion, had made him even touchier about it than usual. Well, less touchier.

When was the last time they’d just. Hung out? Slung an arm over the others’s shoulder?

Leo closed his eyes and let out a shuddery sigh. He melted into the embrace. God, he was tired.

Donnie pulled back. He placed a hand on the back of his neck, mouth hanging open as if he’d had something to say, but had forgotten it.

“You’re bandages are done,” he said finally.

Leo glanced down. “Oh. Thank you.”

Donnie nodded stiffly, and backed off. “We should turn the lights off before anybody else wakes up.”

Leo nodded in agreement. He was surprised Casey hadn’t woken yet. He made to stand, the full-body ache in his limbs intensifying. His feet landed in a puddle of water.

"Hold on, I have to clean the water off the floor," Leo said, reaching for a towel. Donnie intercepted him.

"I will clean it up," he contended. "It's time for you to get to bed."

"Don't act like your sleep schedule is any better than mine," Leo returned, but silently, he was grateful.

Donnie switched the lights off behind them and walked with Leo to his train car. It wasn't necessary by any means, but Leo didn't mind. The sick, weary feeling in his gut had been replaced by something warm and safe.

He paused at the steps to his train car, turning back. "I think I can go to bed by myself," he joked.

"After tonight, I truly doubt that," Donnie said drily, but Leo could hear a hint of fatigue in his voice. No doubt he was bone-tired.

Leo shuffled his feet. "Um, sorry. I didn't mean to keep you up."

Donnie stared at him, letting the silence stagnate long enough for Leo to remember their earlier conversation.

"Please go to bed," he said finally, exasperated.

"If I must," Leo sighed, putting on an air of melodrama.

"You must," Donnie deadpanned. Leo stuck his tongue at him again.

With little fanfare, Donnie turned and began to walk away. Leo watched him go, mentally preparing himself for the strain of getting up the steps into his train car.

“Oh, hey, and Leo?” Donnie looked back.

Leo frowned in confusion. “What?”

Donnie smirked at him. “I changed my mind. I’m not cleaning the floor.”

Leo gasped, adopting a scandalized expression. “Liar! How could you?”

Donnie smiled evilly and disappeared up the steps into his train car.

Leo went to bed smiling.

In the morning, he checked the bathroom floor and found that it was clean.

[willowbird]

For the AFTG prompt game, Based off a fairytale, Trope-6 and location is a mysterious lair with far too many chandeliers for andriel.

Love me some idiots in love 💜

____

It was the sixth time that Andrew was choosing to do The Stupid rather than wisely staying on shore.

(The Stupid: free diving into a ravine and taking a series of tunnels to an underwater cave system. The tunnels were too narrow for him to bring a tank, and it would be woefully easy for him to drown or be crushed or be eaten or a number of other pretty horrific ways to die.)

He told himself that this would be the last time and pointedly ignored the bitch in the back of his mind that snidely reminded him he'd said that the last three times, too, and look where he was now. Instead, he focused on where he was going. Andrew could hold his breath for a very long time, but he was still only human. He could chide himself later, once he'd made it to the caves.

Really, it was a relatively quick journey. Hazardous, sure - but quick if you knew where you were going. Andrew could probably get there with his eyes closed at this point, he was so familiar with the push and pull of the current as it was redirected by the stone and sea. He knew where to resist it and where to let it give him a bit of a push. He knew by touch which tunnel would take him to his destination - the shapes of the walls unique as fingerprints to the identity of the cave.

So okay, yes, it was stupid. But it was also familiar, and the route always filled him with this incredible anticipation that Andrew pretended to attribute to the deep water and the risk. It was the same jump of adrenaline he got when he faced ocean-dark water, the endlessness below him and the night sky too far above for the meager moonlight to guide him. It just made more sense - that the danger of the caves activated that sense of living inside him with its own kind of fear. More sense than the alternative, anyway... that the cause of his fluttering pulse and tight chest has less to do about his carefully rationed oxygen and the godless behemoth of the ocean and more to do with the singular peculiarity that awaited him in the cavern he journied to.

Or at least, that'd what he was usually able to convince himself of right up to the point where he surfaced in the central cave. Then, when he pulled off his diving mask, he had no choice but to acknowledge, at least for the barest of instants, that what pulled him down here again and again and again was the same thing that caused his heart to trip and his lungs to stutter.

The sixth time was no different than the fifth or the third or the first. Andrew broke the surface and refilled his lungs, treading water over to the edge of the pool where he could pull himself up and out of the water. The main room of the cave was large and oblong, and lighted by about thirty or forty different chandeliers that hung from the stalactites, each one glowing a slightly different hue of gold from light sources that Andrew did not understand. It was some kind of magic, obviously, but Andrew's knowledge of the arcane was third-hand at best.

Once sitting, he pulled off his mask and looked toward the large flat boulder where Neil was usually resting.

He was not disappointed.

The boulder, Neil had told him, was some kind of magical reservoir for the elements of fire and earth. It could recharge those who had affiliations with those elements. Neil had no such affiliation, but he did enjoy napping in the warm, smooth surface. He said it felt good on his scales and on his scars - of which Neil had many of both.

Neil didn't open his eyes or sit up, but the large, sensitive fins that ran from jaw to temple (approximately where a human had ears) fluttered as they registered the vibrations of Andrew disturbing the water and the air with his movements. The fins were a rich, deep garnet with lowlights that gleamed like onyx. They matched the fins on Neil's forearms, his back, and on his large, powerful tail. The scales themselves where a dappling of reds and golds and blacks. Andrew was pretty sure no two were exactly the same shade and he was fascinated and awed in spite of himself.

Neil sighed, his tail flipping to slap lightly against the boulder, then he peaked one eye open and slanted it Andrew's way.

"You came back," Neil said quietly. It wasn't accusatory, like the second time Andrew had shown up. Nor was it confused, like the third and fourth times. No, it was just a quiet statement of fact. Andrew almost thought he heard something else in the soft, husky rumble of Neil's voice - something that was almost like pleasure or relief... but no, no he wouldn't let himself go there.

"I'm personally offended by your inferior decorating skills," he said instead.

Neil blinked, and then he we looking at him with both of those ethereal blue eyes. He sat up, and his teeth were sharp when he grinned, though he quickly smothered the expression. Neil didn't like to smile, he seemed self-conscious of it - though whether that was because of the vulnerability that came with humor or the expression itself, Andrew didn't know. Not yet.

"Oh? What exactly do you have a problem with? Let me guess - there's too much water all over the place."

Andrew snorted. "Wise ass. No, the water is fine. You've got a good place to store your treasures and it's defensible and well hidden. But you're able to be on land as much as in the water but you've got fucking nothing for when you put your legs on."

Neil wrinkled his nose. "Ugh why do you have to say it like that?

"You'd rather I say "for when you molt all your scales off and grow legs" instead?"

"I hate you."

"That's my line."

Neil rolled his eyes and leaned back, bracing himself on his hands as he prepared for the change. Andrew could feel the electric hum of it in the air, in the water. And then, as he watched, Neil's tail began to shine. The scales glimmered and trembled, then began to fall, turning to a glittery dust that covered the surface of the water like snow made of fire. When they were all gone, where there was once a tail were two shapely, scarred legs that still had the imprinted pattern of scales.

"Gonna just stare at my junk all day or are you gonna grab me some pants?" The humor in Neil's voice was not appreciated, but Andrew was too flustered at being caught staring (because yeah, okay, Neil was naked and he was.. uh.. very fine) to bite back. Instead, he stood uo from the edge of the pool and crossed to Neil's land-nest. He grabbed a pair of pants and tossed them up to the insufferable mer, who caught them effortlessly.

"So," Neil said as he jumped down to land beside Andrew, stretching his legs with a small wince - he was always a little stiff after the change, "you came because my cave isn't, what, homey enough for you?"

Andrew snorted. "No, I came because it's not homey enough for you. You chose to stay, Neil. I won't believe it until you make yourself more at home." He said it firmly, and Neil - surprisingly - didn't even look like he wanted to argue.

"So what do I need to make it a home, then? Can't say I've ever really had one of those."

Well, Andrew could relate to that, at least.

"Lets start with a bed."

"A bed," said Neil, and there was something in his tone that made Andrew look over at him. Their eyes locked, and all the breath in Andrew's lungs quivered with this.. this something that only Neil seemed to be able to do to him.

Andrew cleared his throat but his voice still cracked when he said, "Y-yeah. Ah, yes. A bed."

Neil didn't look away as he nodded. "Alright. Let's do that."

Two more seconds, four thumps of his pulse at the base of his throat, that's all he lasted before he had to turn away. "Okay come on fishboy. Let's go pilfer one of your shipwreck hoards for shit to use." He didn't look back as he stalked toward the nearest tunnel, but he didn't have to - for some reason he could always sense where Neil was when they were together.

As such, he wasn't startled when Neil's voice was only a step or two behind him as Neil said, "I don't sleep in beds often. You'll have to show me how."

He still tripped, though. Probably because of the wet stone. Yeah, that was it. Definitely.