#but sometimes he just catches a particular scar when he's washing up or rolled up his sleeves to work

[astrangertomykin]

Caleb just sitting alone at home one night and casting disguise self just to stare at his scarless arms and get lost in what could have been

[masterwords]

Not So Big

For @hogwartstoalexandria, my darling. A very quick little story involving Hotch, Morgan, a scraped knee and some superhero band-aids. (No warnings, all cute.) ~1k words.

**

It was a rare morning treat anymore, getting to meet up at the park for a run. Hotch had been cleared to exercise again for a couple of weeks, but he was taking it slow as a promise to the team for collapsing in front of them. Guilt could be a powerful motivator.

“You ready for this, old man?”

Hotch's eyes narrowed, but he couldn't hide the smile. Yes, he was more than ready for this...getting back into this routine felt like coming home. A mile in he'd be bitching about a stitch in his side, two miles and his feet would hurt because his new shoes weren't completely broken in yet, but at three miles he'd hit his stride and everything around him would melt away except the thumping of his heart and the sound of his own breath. Every so often he'd turn to the side, note that Derek was still there running beside him, going much slower than he was capable of for Hotch's sake, and a feeling of complete contentedness would wash over him.

“You doin' okay?” Derek called, and Hotch nodded.

“Great,” he replied. And it was true. The sky above was mottled blue and white, a wash of gray on the horizon warning of inclement weather later. There was frost still kissing the last of the leaves, it would melt away by the time they finished. An eerie quiet settled in the park, the sound of icy gravel crunching beneath their feet.

At four miles they made a turn and looped back, talking now about nothing in particular. Filling the icy air with words that crystallized before them, blew away like smoke on the wind. It was nearing winter, the trees and the grass were doing their best to hang on but things were going bare. There was snow in the forecast; they knew if they ran this route again tomorrow, all of these leaves would be on the ground. Hotch lost himself in the tangled thoughts of winter and death, spring and birth, it never ceased to amaze him that the Earth knew what to do and when.

“On the left!” came a shout from behind them and they both jumped to the side, letting a group of cyclists roll by. Hotch pumped his hands a few times to regain feeling in his fingers and let Derek slip up ahead of him as they approached the hill. He was capable of more right now and Hotch would eventually catch up, or so he told himself. Even if not, he was enjoying the slow thud of his feet on the ground.

“Go ahead!” he shouted when Derek craned his neck to see Hotch still plugging along behind him. “I'll meet you at the car!”

He slowed his pace, an ache in his belly deepening behind the new scar. Sometimes he thought he was imagining it, a memory of pain more than anything real, just a phantom but Jessica insisted he listen to it and pay attention. There was no reason to push it now that Derek had gone ahead, so he drew back until he was comfortable again and ascended the hill that would pop him out on the final stretch to the car.

Up ahead, he caught sight of Derek sitting on the curb next to the car with his pant leg rolled up and he thought for a moment how very like Jack it was. This was a sight he was familiar with.

“What happened?”

“Kids,” Derek muttered, shaking his head. “Lost their soccer ball, didn't see it in time.” Derek told him about how embarrassing it was, the way he sprawled out like a flying squirrel as his feet went out from under him, about how the kids looked terrified at first and then like they were going to burst from holding in laughter once he managed to get back up. "You would have laughed."

"I'm sure," Hotch said as he crouched and checked out the gash on his knee, bloody but not terrible. Jack had come away far worse from an accident on the swings just the week before...this was nothing. The scrapes on his palms were light, indents from gravel since picked out leaving only soft green grass stains in their wake.

“Come here,” Hotch said, holding his hands out to pull Derek to his feet. He watched Derek walk, eyeing him for further injury, and came away satisfied that this would be a quick fix. At least the external injuries would be...his wounded pride might take a little longer, and probably some coaxing by way of a decadent slice of peach pie at his favorite diner. Popping the gate of his SUV, he told Derek to sit in the back and crawled in far enough to grab a large black crate from behind the seats.

“What's that?”

With a determined hum, Hotch ignored the question and popped open the top. The inside was neatly packed, everything in separate baggies clearly labeled and sorted by injury type. Taped to the lid was an inventory sheet, laminated and ready to be marked with supplies he'd used. "You gonna bill me for this, doc?" Derek asked with a smirk and Hotch chuckled at that, shook his head. He knew how it looked...he also knew it was absolutely necessary.

"If I don't replace items right away, this thing gets depleted too fast. Kids." With steady hands, Hotch wiped at Derek's knee, carefully nudging and picking bits of debris from where they'd lodged themselves, until it was all cleaned up and he could inspect it. It stung and he hissed, watching a family pull their infant from a car seat across the parking lot to distract himself. He could handle a gunshot like a pro, but a little scrape was making him feel lightheaded.

“It's not bad,” Hotch muttered, his lips barely moving. Derek hazarded a glance down at where Hotch had fixed him up, it looked a lot less menacing now without the blood and the muddy gravel. With one large swipe, Hotch smudged the antibiotic ointment over the wound and pressed a series of Iron Man and Batman band-aids over the entire thing.

“I think my first aid kit is all band-aid wrappers at this point...and the tube of neosporin is definitely expired.”

Hotch eyed him suspiciously and shook his head. “What if...” he started, and Derek laughed, interrupting him.

“I'll just use yours. Do I get a lollipop now?”

"How about breakfast instead?"

[superbadassnatural]

The One With The Morning After

Summary: Y/N has to deal with the aftermath of a night filled with booze, sex, and questionable choices. Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: 3,143 Warnings: mostly fluff, tiny bit of angst, a bit of smut, hangover A/N: this was written for @smol-and-grumpy​’s awesome challenge “SuperFriends Tittle Challenge”. The prompt is the title of this story of course. Hope you all enjoy it!

(x)

Few rays of sunshine struggled to get past the blinds and illuminate the room. As the warm light ghosted over your face, your eyes fluttered open. You blinked a few times before taking in your surroundings. A thin white sheet covered your body. You lifted it only to notice you were naked. You felt disgusting as if you had sweated the whole night.

Turning on your back, you noticed the guy you spent the night with was still there. He was on his side, his back to you. The sheet only covered his lower half. Fresh scratches covered his back. You didn’t have to put your tired mind through much thinking to know you were the one who caused them. As much as you wanted to see his face to at least have an idea if you had picked it right, you didn’t want to wake him and deal with the whole morning after thing. One night stands are good. You have fun and most of the time you get off. The problem was the morning after itself. Unlike most people, you thank god when you wake up and the guy has already left or when you wake up first and leave without explanation. The whole ‘it was good, I had fun’ was annoying. Every time you had to put an extra effort to not roll your eyes.

It was frustrating, to say the least when you didn’t even remember the guy’s appearance. You could only hope a glimpse of his face would come back to you. You took one last glance at him before getting up. You nearly choked when your eyes landed on the small scar on the side of his hip. There was no way in hell you wouldn’t recognize that scar. You were the one who stitched him up back then. Clothes formed a trail on the floor, you scooped them up and dressed as fast and as quiet as you could. Your heart was almost leaping out of your chest by the time you walked out of the room.

Outside of the motel, you allowed your breath to even and your heart to calm down in your chest. His car was parked only a few feet away. You ignored the shining impala and made your way back to the bunker. It wasn’t the first time you came to this particular motel so you knew the way.

It was early. Dean never wakes up before noon after a night at a bar. You had enough time to get home, shower, and take a nap before he came back. You could only hope he’d remember as much as you did. Nothing. The thought of ruining your friendship with Dean had your palms sweating. It was undeniable that you felt something for him. Those feelings were buried way too deep and throughout the years you learned how to live with them. He didn’t make it any easier on you though. Dean was constantly flirting with you. In the beginning, it was tough to be around him. Dean’s a flirt. Every now and then he’d give you his signature smirk and wink followed by a flirty comment. Although it caused a weak in your knees, you figured it was best to keep your feelings to yourself rather than risk losing him.

Arriving at the bunker, you made your way to the war room, hoping to find one of your best friends. There was no sign of Sam. You figured he’d either be on his morning run or making breakfast. It wasn’t even eight yet, so he must be home.

“Hey you,” you smiled, leaning on the fridge.

“Hey,” he greeted as he finished making his sandwich. “I didn’t expect you to be back already.”

“Yeah, I know. Just missed my bed I guess.”

“Dean’s not home yet. Did you hear from him?”

“Nope,” you were grateful he had his back to you and wouldn’t catch you lying.

“Do you want me to make you something?” He turned to you, hazel eyes widening as they roamed over your entire body. “You okay? You've been crying?”

“What? No, of course not. Why?”

“Your mascara or eyeliner, I don’t know, is a little smudged.”

“Oh,” your fingertips touched the skin under your eyes softly. You left in such a hurry that you didn’t even look in the mirror. “Guess that’s what happens when you sleep with makeup on,” you shrugged. “Alright, I’m gonna take a shower then take a nap. Trust me, I need it.”

“Okay, you do you.”

You headed straight to the shower. The need to wash off the guilt and fear of ruining your thirteen-year friendship grew stronger by the second. You could only hope those feelings would be dispelled down the drain along with the stink of alcohol and sex. The water felt good on your tired body. You didn’t take long in there though. Every cell in your body claimed to be in bed again. You needed at least two more hours of sleep to survive the rest of the day. That and being away from Dean for twenty-four hours both physically and psychologically. Mission impossible.

Your eyes fell closed the second your body hit the soft mattress. Memory foam hugged your limbs, lulling you to sleep.

The headboard banged against the wall. Your mind was in a haze of alcohol and pleasure. Dean’s groans sounded distant. His hands were all over your body. His thrusts were erratic as he searched for the final push. You arched against him, breasts pressed to his firm chest. He whispered soft praises against your skin as a wave of pleasure consumed you.

Your eyes shot open as you sat in bed abruptly. Beads of sweat covered your forehead. Pulling the covers off, you got up, making a beeline to the bathroom. You washed your face in an attempt to get rid of the images of last night. It was in vain. The mirror only reflected how screwed you were. As if the images and the sounds running wild in your mind weren’t enough, your cleavage was covered in hickeys. You closed your eyes and suddenly you were back in that cheap motel room.

Dean’s lips kissed and sucked every patch of skin they could. Your hand shot to his head, fingers tugging at his hair. He groaned against the curve of your neck. His lips descended to your collarbone. Dean marked your skin as his hand squeezed your breast softly. He drunkenly mumbled “mine” against you.

Shaking the memory away, you turned off the tap and headed to your room. It was early which meant you had high chances of not seeing Dean. You just needed to eat and take a pill for the pounding headache. Then you could come back and hide in your room for the rest of the day. Pulling on a hoodie, you made your way to the kitchen.

“You’re awake,” Sam greeted. “Thought you were gonna sleep for the rest of the morning.”

“Yeah, me too,” you sighed, turning on the coffee maker before grabbing some bacon in the fridge for you to cook. “I wanted to, but I had a bad dream.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” you shrugged.

“I found us a case,” he announced as you sat in front of him with a plate and a mug in your hands. “Omaha, Nebraska. I think it’s a spirit. A quick salt and burn will do it.”

“Good. When do we leave?” you asked, munching the crispy bacon.

“Tomorrow?”

“Okay.”

“And, uh, do you mind if it’s just you and Dean on this one? Eileen and I have a date tomorrow and uh-“

“Yeah, s-sure. I don’t mind going alone with Dean. I mean… Why would I mind? It’s not like we haven’t been on hunts just the two of us.”

“Y/N? Is everything okay?”

“Sure,” you tried to keep your voice as normal as you could, but failed miserably. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “You’re the one acting weird.”

“Okay,” you sighed. “I need to tell you something, but you can’t tell anyone. Last night I didn’t come home because I was with Dean. After you left the bar, we had a few more drinks. A lot more. And we slept together.”

“Finally,” he breathed out and you gasped at his reaction. “I just don’t understand why you guys went to a motel instead of coming home.”

“The motel was closer and we were kinda in a hurry.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you said as you finished your breakfast.

“Why didn’t he come home with you?”

“I panicked when I saw him sleeping next to me. I practically ran out of the room. I think he won’t remember a thing. At least I hope he doesn’t.”

“Why? You’ve known each other for thirteen years. You have feelings for each other for at least ten. I’m surprised it took this long for something to happen.”

“You don’t understand, Sam,” you shook your head. “I can’t ruin my friendship with him. I can’t risk that.”

“Of course you can. You’re just afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Dean asked as he walked into the room. You nearly gasped. He shouldn’t be back already.

Dean was sporting a hickey on the right side of his neck. You felt your cheeks heat up at the sight of it.

“I’m afraid of spiders and I can’t kill them,” you said fast before Sam could say anything.

Dean only hummed, opening the fridge and grabbing a pot with overdue food. He put some in his mouth but spat most of it, grimacing. A chuckle left your lips at the scene.

“What you got?” he mumbled, turning on the coffee machine.

“Salt and burn. Omaha, Nebraska. Should be easy for you and Y/N.”

“You not tagging along?”

“Nah, got a date with Eileen,” Sam smiled.

“You’re finally getting some,” the older Winchester teased. “Y/N and I can cover it. We are a great team, right sweetheart?”

He gave you a wink. You wondered if he remembered anything of your activities the previous night.

“Right,” you clicked your tongue.

Dean grabbed his coffee and sat beside you. He stank of alcohol and sex. He should’ve gone straight to the shower but he didn’t. He was still in the same clothes as last night for crying out loud.

“Dude, you smell terrible,” Sam grimaced.

“That, Sammy, is the smell of a man who had a crazy night of hot sex. You should try it sometime.”

Fuck, he remembers, you cursed.

“You’re disgusting.”

“No, I’m not. It’s a shame I had what was probably the best night of my life and I don’t remember shit. Not even her face. She left without a note. She could at least have left her phone number somewhere. But she did leave this bad boy here,” he pointed to the purple mark in his neck.

You could only hope neither of them would notice your flaming cheeks. He was so close. You were afraid he’d take one look at your face and all the memories would come back to him. You were afraid he’d still be able to smell his scent ingrained in your skin.

“I do remember some things though. Hmmm, some really good things,” Dean nearly moaned as he closed his eyes and bit his lower lip. Sam quickly glanced at you, hazel eyes wide before staring back at his brother. “Whoever she was she surely knew what she was doing to me. Her body was trapped under mine as if she belonged there. Her hands all over my body, exploring it. Oh, and her skin felt so good under my touch. That I remember damn well.”

You fought hard to repress a moan. The words rolled out his tongue in a sensual song. Your thighs clenched unwittingly. Though you were as much aroused as you were embarrassed. He was saying all that in front of his brother after all. Sam didn’t want to know anything about Dean’s activities, but the look in his eyes told you he was having fun seeing you suffer.

“And she smelled good too. So fucking good. I swear that if I close my eyes, I can feel her touch. I can even hear her soft moans. What wouldn’t I give just to know her name.”

“Maybe you should try asking the bartender if he remembers her face or even her name,” Sam suggested and you kicked his foot under the table. “I’m sure he might remember something.”

“She felt absolutely perfect,” Dean completely ignored his brother. “The way her fingers tugged at my hair, making it hurt just a little. Then her legs wrapped around me and… fuck,” he growled. “That was mind-blowing. She clenched around me so tight-”

“Dude, too much information. You should keep that to yourself,” Sam interrupted his brother while you prayed neither of them had listened to the small groan that left your lips.

“All I’m saying is she was too fucking hot. I wished she could’ve had the decency of leaving me her number,” he sighed. “If you guys think this hickey is the only thing she left for me, you’re wrong. She might not have left a note, but she did leave some real sexy marks all over me. Hmm, I love it when they mark me up. So damn hot.”

“Dude-“

“And if I concentrate hard enough I can still taste her in my tongue,” Dean smirked.

“That’s enough, man. I’m gonna have nightmares for the rest of my life.”

Dean chuckled at his brother’s reaction and took one last gulp of his now lukewarm coffee.

“Excuse me, but I, uh, I’m gonna take a nap. I’m tired,” you hurriedly stood from your seat. “I’ll catch with you guys later.”

As you disappeared in the hall, Dean’s grin got even wider as he shook his head. Sam scoffed, realization dawned on him.

“You remember, don’t you?” Sam asked his brother, a smile on his lips.

“Every single detail,” Dean nodded with a smirk.

“Dude, you aren’t worth a penny.”

“What can I say? I love seeing her squirm.”

“You should go after her.”

“I am,” Dean said. “I’m just gonna give her some time to pull herself together.”

Sam nodded. Silence fell between the brothers. Each of them lost in their own world. Dean tried to come up with a way to approach you without making it weird. Sam tried to erase the images his brother put in his mind. The younger Winchester was sure he threw up in his mouth a little. Dean had given him a share of traumas concerning sex when they were teenagers and now this?

Dean got up from his seat and before he headed to your bedroom, he placed his mug on the dishwasher. He was about to leave the kitchen but stopped and glanced at his brother.

“You were the only one who didn’t score last night, Samuel,” he teased and Sam rolled his eyes.

Three soft knocks on the door startled you, dragging you out of your trance. Mumbling a “c’mon in”, you straightened yourself at the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” Dean smiled, peeking his head through the door.

“Hi,” you smiled, a thumping beat of your heart in your chest.

Dean made his way to your bed and sat just a few inches from you. His thigh brushing against yours.

“How’re you feeling?” He glanced at you but your eyes were fixated on the closed door.

“Really tired. You?”

“Exhausted. Don’t know if I should take a shower or a nap.”

“I think you need both,” you smiled as a chuckle reverberated in his throat.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he clicked his tongue, green eyes falling in his hands as he rubbed them together. “You know, I must confess that you did rock my world last night.”

“You remember?” You stared at him wide eyed only to meet a crooked grin on his lips. “Of course you do,” groaning, you buried your face in your hands.

“How could I ever forget?”

“We had a lot of drinks. A whole lot.”

“Yeah, guess I just needed to get my ass drunk to finally go after something I wanted.”

“Don’t do this, Dean,” you pleaded, staring into his forest green eyes.

“I thought last night meant something, you know? I thought it would change things between us for the best. I couldn’t believe I was the only one feeling something. Not with the way we look at each other and the constant flirting and the way we hold each other. Now imagine my disappointment when I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“Dean, I-“

“I thought you were gonna be there. I thought we were gonna talk and figure things out between us, but you didn’t even give me a chance. It felt as if you regretted it, as if what happened between us was a mistake,” his voice was low, barely upon a whisper.

“No, Dean, I don’t regret it,” you shook your head. “It wasn’t a mistake but we shouldn’t have done it.”

“Why? Why shouldn't we have done it? Give me one good reason why.”

“Because we are friends and I don’t want to ruin that.”

“We were never friends, Y/N. I feel something for you from day one. And I know you feel something for me too. Now you either-“

You captured his plump lips in yours. His eyes widened and it took him a second before kissing you back. His hand cupped your face, thumb caressing your cheek. The gentle press of his lips almost made your heart leap out of your chest. He pulled away a little too soon for your liking. Dean placed a small peck to your lips before resting his forehead against yours.

“Now I either what?” You giggled, opening your eyes and finding his still closed.

“I don’t know,” Dean chuckled. “Guess this changes things, right?”

“Mmhmm,” your hands were on each side of his neck as you pecked his lips.

“Good.”

“I hate to tell you but you need a shower.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said sheepishly, his hands were on your waist as he moved you to straddle his lips. “But I think you should come with me. You know, that whole save water, shower together thing.”

“Hmmm, I’ve kinda already showered.”

“Do it again. I promise you won’t regret it,” he smirked.

“I thought you said you hated shower sex. You said it was too complicated.”

“I don’t hate it. It is complicated though, but I’m sure we can work things out,” he grinned, standing up with you in his arms as you wrapped your legs around his waist. “‘Sides, you ought to see all the damage you caused last night.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Winchester.”

I’d love to know what you think of this one!! Consider sharing your thoughts with me via reply, reblog or ask!

Note that if your name is crossed, tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you :(

Forevers: @hobby27​ @thewinchesterandreidwhore

Dean Sweethearts: @maya-craziness​ @akshi8278​ @herfalsegod​ @witch-of-letters​ @weepingwillowphoenix​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​

[angel-tries-to-write]

New life from the darkness: Light reveals the end

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan Rating: Teen and up Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Hanji Zoë, Eren Jäger x Mikasa Ackerman Word count: 3271 Genre: fluff, humor

A very free form in a very alternate universe, where Eren actually did nothing wrong, titans were defeated somehow else and all my main ships are real, alive and happy.

The day was exceptionally hot, to the point when even the slightest movement was making people sweat incredibly. Yet the work had to be done, but everyone was seeking even the slightest possibility of getting cooler, so when Connie got rid of his shirt, his friends followed his idea. It seemed great at the beginning, lack of clothes really helped to bear the temperature, but it quickly turned out that basically every person in this squad was incredibly good looking, so everyone who had any crushes, kept staring at them, while they should be working. Levi, being a master in hiding his feelings and pushing them aside, had to constantly remind them of working and it was the only thing that could actually make them do what they were supposed to do. Otherwise they all would just stare: Eren and Jean at Mikasa, Mikasa at Eren, Connie at Sasha, Sasha at food and occasionally at Connie, Armin at Annie and Annie at Armin. Only Levi and Hanji weren't that obvious, though it was possible to catch them stealing some glances.

At some point it turned out that this staring did some good, when Eren dared to stop what he was doing and approached Mikasa, who refused to take off her red scarf. It was still warm, despite being worn almost every day through all these years, so it was making her even more hot and not in terms of looks. Unfortunately she could be really stubborn sometimes. Eren was the first one to notice she didn't look good, therefore he decided to confront her.

“Mikasa” the young man spoke with his calm yet firm voice.

“What happened, Eren? Is something wrong?” she asked, looking at him. She was clearly exhausted, her face was all red and sweaty, it was obvious she was extremely uncomfortable.

“Yes. Give me that” he unwrapped the red scarf from her neck and while her black eyes were expressing shock and betrayal, she immediately looked better. “I understand and appreciate that you want to wear this, but it's way too hot for that and I'm not going to let you hurt yourself.”

“Eren, I—” she tried to protest, but her voice died down her throat. First of all, she knew he was right. Second of all, she realized that a very shirtless, very sweaty, very muscular and deadly handsome Eren was standing really close to her. Loose strands of his hair that escaped his bun were sticked to his forehead and neck, his turquoise eyes stared deep into her soul, his face was serious and worried, and beads of sweat were running down his broad chest and toned abs.

“You know I'm right” he stated gently, trying to show her he wasn't angry, just concerned about her well-being.

“Y-yes, I know” she admitted quietly.

“Oi, brats, get back to work!” Levi scolded them.

“I'm keeping it for now” Eren squeezed his hand around the scarf more firmly. “But once it's cooler, I'll wrap it up for you again, I promise” he smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear, and left to continue his work, before the captain got angry at him. Mikasa stared at him with loving gaze for a while, then picked up her task again. It was suddenly much easier to work, now that she didn't have her scarf. Maybe Eren was right, after all.

When the sun set, the air cooled down, so it was time to rest. Obviously after a mandatory bath, because Levi was ready to beat the crap out of everyone who dared to stay sweaty and smell. For the first couple of days they tried to keep the old rules, so they had to bathe separately, but after Mikasa and Annie called Levi out for breaking the rules himself by bathing Hanji, they decided to give up. Besides, through all these years everyone grew so close to each other, that nudity stopped being any taboo. After all there were more terrifying things in the world than seeing your friends naked. So when the evening came, everyone but Levi, who hated to bathe with others, and Hanji, who was too busy to bathe when everyone else did, were sitting in the cold lake, chilling after a tiring day. Jean, Connie and Sasha were talking about some weird stuff that only the three of them could understand, no one else was actually paying attention to them, Mikasa was washing Eren's long hair, Armin was lost in thoughts and Annie just sat next to him unamused, just like Levi she didn't like to bathe with others, but she was doing it for Armin.

“Why do you always do that?” she asked finally, looking at Mikasa. The black haired girl looked at her former rival, her expression was quite ambiguous.

“I simply like it” she replied casually.

“Washing my hair or testing captain's patience?” Eren chuckled, actually knowing the answer.

“Both.”

“He's always mad when he sees us like that. He knows we're breaking the rules and not breaking them at the same time.”

“That doesn't make any sense, you can't do those things simultaneously” Armin spoke, getting out of his own world.

“But we do. We are closer than it's allowed, yet we don't do anything inappropriate” Eren explained, but his best friend still wasn't convinced.

“I don't know, man. That still doesn't make sense.”

“Armin is right, that sounds stupid” Annie agreed. Suddenly Sasha stood up and left the lake, with no reason.

“Leaving already, Sash?” Mikasa asked, looking at her friend.

“I'm hungry” she answered, drying herself with a towel. Now that explained everything.

“You're always hungry” Jean rolled his eyes.

“Not always!” Sasha protested. “Just most of the time...”

“Right, because that's so different.”

“It is!”

“Stop it, Jean, leave her alone” Connie poked his best friend in the ribs with his elbow.

“Ow! What the hell, man? That hurt!”

“It didn't, stop being a crybaby, you've had worse.”

Eren opened his mouth to say something, but he quickly shut it, biting his lower lip when Mikasa pulled his hair. It worked every time. But apparently this time Jean was in the mood for picking up fights.

“I saw it, Jäger.”

“I didn't say anything!”

“But you wanted to!”

“What is your problem? Are you jealous again?” Eren looked at him intensively.

“He totally is” Connie laughed, shamelessly exposing his friend.

“Well, it's not my fault Mikasa loves me. You know you can't change her feelings, I've tried for years and nothing worked. And thank goodness, I was such an idiot” he smiled fondly, looking at his girl. “But I'm sure you'll find someone one day too.”

“Yeah, man, don't worry” Connie agreed with Eren. “Love is always unexpected, you never know who and when.”

“Fuck you. Both of you” Jean stood up and joined Sasha, who was almost fully dressed and ready to go.

“Ew. I don't judge, but I personally prefer girls” Connie joked, trying to not be obvious which particular girl he had in mind.

“Yeah, if I ever allow anyone do that, it'll be only Mikasa” Eren said more bluntly and shamelessly, making said girl blush. She pulled his hair hard enough to look him in the eye. “Ow, that hurts!”

“Good, it's supposed to hurt. Shut your mouth before you say something you will regret” she warned him, finished washing his hair and let him go.

“Alright, alright, I'll be good” he promised, sitting up. Armin chuckled, watching them. “What?”

“Nothing. I just remember how you always rebelled against anything she said, yelling she's not your mom, and now you obey her without batting an eye.”

“I've just realized it's better to listen to her instead of fighting and then admitting she was right, like I used to do.”

“You've clearly grown up since then” the blonde said, looking at his friends affectionately.

“We've all grown up. I can't believe how fast time flies. I feel like yesterday we were little kids, and now? Just look at us” Eren looked at his friends with nostalgia all over his face.

“I don't know. I prefer you now” Mikasa smiled lovingly.

“Alright, I'll leave you, lovebirds” Connie raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and left.

“I think I should be leaving too. I'm cold” Annie complained, but made no move, clearly waiting for Armin, who didn't take a hint.

“I can warm you up” he blurted out instead, then he realized everyone was staring at him with wide eyes. It was unlike him to say something suggestive, he was usually too innocent for that. “No, I mean... I don't... not like that... ugh” he tried to explain, but ended up stumbling over his words, so he quickly left the lake.

“Armin, wait” Annie followed him, she actually liked when he wasn't so innocent.

“Maybe not everyone grew up” Eren chuckled, watching his best friend's embarrassment.

“Or not everyone is as shameless as you” Mikasa pointed out.

“I'm not... Alright, you have a point.”

“Are you guys coming or not?” Connie asked, looking at the couple.

“Nah, we'll chill out for a little more, but you can go” Eren answered, closing his eyes.

“Captain will be furious when he finds out you're here all alone.”

“I'll gladly fight him if it's necessary” Mikasa shrugged.

“As you wish.”

They waited for a few minutes until the rest of their friends walked away, before Eren approached his girl and kissed her passionately.

“Quick, we don't have much time” he whispered, pulling her on his lap.

“Oh, I'm sure you can use all your time properly” she smirked and kissed him again.

When they came back, captain was indeed furious.

“Where have you been?” he asked angrily, his hands were crossed and his eyes narrowed. The scars on his face were making him look even more terrifying.

“Oh, we decided to take a walk and watch the stars, sorry for being late” Eren lied smoothly. Mikasa hid her face in a red scarf her companion wrapped up for her, just like he promised.

“Get off my sight before I chop you to pieces” Levi growled, not buying it in a tiniest bit, but he didn't want to fight about it. Mostly because he had heard Hanji's footsteps behind him. The young couple quickly did as they were told.

“A walk, huh? Maybe we should take a walk too?” Hanji smiled widely.

“Not even a word, four-eyes. Don't you dare.”

The remaining time they all spent resting and preparing mentally themselves for the next day full of hard work, so in the morning they could wake up and continue their job. The only difference was that this time Eren wasn't working with them. He was taken somewhere by Hanji, who claimed they needed his help. And that was only partially not true, they actually needed it, but they also chose Eren for a reason: they wanted to spend some time with him. After all, those kids, Hanji and Levi grew somehow close, to the point they were almost like a family. And Eren, being a titan shifter for the longest time, sharing Hanji's impulsive personality and being bound to the Ackerman, no wonder he was their "favorite child", even now. Recently they didn't have much time to spend together, so Hanji decided to change that.

“You know, we've never even had a chance to talk, just the two of us, since all of this happened” Hanji said, breaking the silence they worked in.

“Yeah. And we used to spend quite a lot of time” Eren smiled with nostalgia. “I kind of miss us hanging out.”

“How are you doing?”

“I'm fine.”

“I mean it, Eren. Look at me and tell me in the eye that you are actually fine” Hanji looked at him seriously, their good eye expressed concern. They ditched their eye patch to help Levi feel better about his injuries, so their own bad eye was in full display, but none of 104th seemed to care.

“Honestly... I've been better” he admitted with a sigh. “If it wasn't for Armin and Mikasa, I don't know how would I take all of it” he was so embarrassed he couldn't even look at Hanji.

“I understand. You know, on the one hand, I'm glad that titans are gone and we're finally safe, but on the other hand... I miss them” they smiled sheepishly when Eren looked at them surprised. “Don't look at me like that. I've spent so many years researching them and doing experiments, they felt like a part of me. I can imagine it must be hard for you too, since you've been a titan yourself.”

“And I hated it.”

“So did I.”

“But you do have a point. I guess I sort of miss it too, mostly being powerful. It's been so long that I find it hard to get used to being normal again. Last week Mikasa saved my leg from being chopped off, because I forgot I can't regenerate it anymore, so I wasn't careful enough. If she wasn't there... I guess she was right saying that without her I would die a very tragic and a very young death” he smiled fondly, thinking about the girl.

“You love her” Hanji grinned. “Don't even try to deny it. You have the exact same face as Armin when I ask him about Annie” they added, reading his expression.

“Armin and Annie...?” he asked dumbfounded, he was so occupied by his own relationship, that he didn't even notice his best friend's one.

“Come on, don't tell me you don't see it. They're obviously into each other, but they're both too shy to act. I've been their matchmaker basically since we came here and nothing works. Either they are too difficult and stubborn, or I am too bad at this. Then I'm so glad you and Mikasa did it on your own. Sometimes I wonder how I, with one eye and glasses, can see more than them, both with pretty good sight.”

“But we're not—”

“Eren, please, do you think me and Levi believed in your last night's "sudden walk" lie? We're not stupid, we know you had a date, or something” Hanji deadpanned, looking at the young man with a very done expression. “You two are as obvious as Armin and Annie. But don't worry, we're not going to punish you, in fact, we are happy that you are happy, as long as you are responsible. Just better be careful, and here's a little tip for the future: Ackermans are screamers, have that in mind” they smirked.

“Yeah, I know” he answered. It was the moment when both of their brains started actually processing what they said.

“WAIT NO!” they screamed unison, then stared at each other shocked.

“How do you know that?!”

“What do you mean you know?!”

Another silent minute has passed before Eren spoke again.

“So you and captain...”

“Not a word, kid. If you tell anyone, I'll murder you. And if you think you should fear Levi, you just don't know me well enough” Hanji was deadly serious, saying these words and they were actually scary.

“I won't tell a word if you won't. Me and Mikasa don't want any trouble either.”

“So we have a deal.”

“Deal.”

They worked in silence before Eren spoke again, this time about something else.

“Hanji-san... Do you think the others... I mean, other than Mikasa and Armin... Do you think they hate me?” he asked, still unable to look them in the eye.

“Why would you even think that?” Hanji asked with shock.

“When Armin told me Mikasa loves me, I couldn't believe it at first. Even when she confirmed it herself, I still didn't think it was real. How could she loved me, when even I couldn't love myself? I wanted to do terrible things, I wanted to commit a genocide! I actually believed it was the right thing to do and I really wanted this. If it wasn't for you all... I don't know what would happen. How anyone can not hate me? How can anyone ever love me?” he asked, with every question his voice was breaking more and more. It was clear he needed support.

“Come here” Hanji pulled him close and hugged firmly. “We all love you, Eren. Levi would never want me to say it out loud, but you are like our children to us. All nine of you — I'm counting Ymir and Historia — are a part of our weird family and we really love you. We were killing for you, we would die for you, we would do anything to protect you.”

“Yeah... Sometimes... Sometimes I think that captain was a better dad than my actual father. Even though he seems to hate me, at least he taught me useful things and actually helped instead of causing problems and disappearing” Eren admitted, wiping his eyes and smiling sheepishly. “And while I could never forget my mom or stop loving her, I think you are quite a good parent too. I couldn't ask for better parent figures.”

“I can promise that Levi would burst with pride if he heard that. You know him, he can be harsh and rough, but that's because he actually cares, he just never learned to properly express his actual feelings. I'm so proud of you too and I'm very honored to hear that you consider me a good parent, because I don't see myself as one” Hanji confessed, holding back their own tears. “It's probably good, I'm supposed to be your commander, not your parent, but I can't help but feel bad about it.”

“You shouldn't. You're not a bad parent” Eren assured.

“You're not a bad kid yourself. Or a bad person. Just because you wanted to do something, it doesn't make you better or worse, because you didn't actually do that. You have no idea how many times I just wanted to get Levi and run away to spend the rest of our lives in peace, just the two of us. But I never did it, even when I learned that he shared my dream. He wanted to peacefully settle down as much as I did, even more after I barely saved him, yet both of us knew that our duties were more important. So we stayed and it was so worth it. Now we know for sure that in a few years, once we are done fixing it all, our dream will become our reality. And that's all that matters, you know? That we didn't run away, no matter how much we wanted to.”

“I want this too, you know? To settle down with Mikasa and just live a normal, boring life. Maybe even start a family one day...”

“Good luck. I personally feel like we're a bit too old and too scarred to start a family, other than just the two of us and you nine, our adopted children. Besides, with small children even two pair of eyes aren't enough sometimes, while me and Levi together have one pair” they chuckled. “But it will be nice to finally rest. It was worth to wait and always go back to fight for this possibility.”

“Thank you, Hanji-san. For helping me to get it all off my chest.”

“Any time, kid. Now let's get back to work before Levi wanders here and decides to judge or punish us” they laughed, but both of them were fully aware that if he only wanted, Levi actually would do that. Unless Mikasa got involved, then maybe they could stand a chance. A little one.

[subbing-for-clones]

She Who Walks the Line Between Part 4

Maul x GreyJedi!Reader

Word Count: 3103

WARNINGS: Child abuse, night terrors, fluff

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       Six weeks had passed since your ship went down and Maul 'rescued' you. Thanking him with a kiss to his cheek that neither of you mentioned after that night. Since he was rebuilding muscle that used to be there rather than starting from scratch, he built himself back up fairly quickly. Especially because you were constantly nagging at him to eat if he didn’t take the initiative to do it himself at least three times a day. His face was fuller and his arms and chest much more prominent under his trademark deep v tunics. His thighs were also thickening up quite nicely you thought often to yourself. His eyes still glowed gold but it was a honeyed glow like a sunset, so much softer than they once were. No longer bloodshot and raging.

    Some days he would push his progress much too far and require soaking in an unbelievably hot bath. You would’ve been almost frightened if he hadn’t told you his core temperature was much higher than yours. You always offered massages to which he would try to turn down but you never really let him refuse. You could tell he wanted them. His entire demeanor would change if you only brushed against him let alone actually dedicated time to rubbing the strain from his muscles. Whatever horrors he dealt with as apprentice to a Sith Lord he had no comfort to turn to before, that much was apparent. Followed by a decade of forced solitude, you always made him melt with ease.

    He was a worthy sparring partner to say the least. Despite having new legs, he was incredibly nimble. His muscle memory was powerful at worst, awe striking at best, but he was still easily flustered which was his downfall. Every. Single. Time. Just recently you dodged a swing of his crimson Saber by dropping into a split and throwing your head backwards. The sight of it caused him to lose his footing. One of the goats bleated at him like she was laughing which of course sent you into a giggle fit of your own as you stood back up to your feet clutching your sides.

    Today you two would be doing something different though, assuming he would accompany you, which was a safe assumption. The two of you sat at your small table by the kitchen drinking caf, Maul was eating waffles you had freshly cooked while you flipped through an encyclopedia you yourself had written on the planet.

"What are you looking for?" He asked, trying to see what you were reading from the other side of the table.

    Leaning back in your chair you took a long drink of your caf, finishing the mug with a sigh. "Well, there's a particular ocean species that lives here that migrate through this side of the planet once every few years. If I remember right, because I can't find my notes..." You stood and walked to refill your cup. "If I remember correctly, they should be passing right by us today or tomorrow or… sometime soon. Honestly I don’t know why I write anything down if I can’t look back on it when I need it.”

Maul suppressed a smirk. He had come to realize that with all your brilliance and various talents you could be unorganized and forgetful. Just the other day he caught you frantically looking for a seventh goat, having to remind you that you only had six. Six goats, seven chickens, one rooster.

    Still wearing your dangerously short sleeping shorts and with your back to him, Maul had a moment to admire your legs without threat of you noticing. "What creature is it?" He asked while eyeing a scar on your inner thigh he hadn't noticed before following the curve of your backside.

"Well, they don't have a name, from what I know anyway but they look a lot like the Purgill that live in space. Not nearly as big cause, you know, space is a lot bigger than the ocean here." You stirred cream into your brew and sat back down crossing your legs.

Now he leaned back in his chair, shoulders shaking lightly with a silent chuckle, “you know I did know space was bigger than the ocean here.”

You playfully pointed your spoon at him in a mock warning before smiling and continuing.

"I'm gonna go down to the beach and see if I can find them. They're one of my favorites on this planet. We're nearing the mating and migration time of a few species actually so wildlife is gonna be more apparent around here."

"I'll have to flip through that book of yours and study up." He smiled at you.

"Well you're lucky you have someone like me who knows this planet pretty damn well. Even if I can’t find my notes." You flashed him a returning smile and stood. Your hand ran over his scalp affectionately as you made your way to your room to get dressed for your adventure.

 ~~~~~

      Maker, did she realize exactly what she did to him he wondered. He swore he could still feel her touch after she had left. He was indeed lucky to have her, not just for her knowledge of this strange world. A now familiar knot grew in his belly once again, the same one that never failed to show up when she touched him. He wasn't sure what it was.

    He stood and cleared the table, washing the dishes from their breakfast in the sink. The first time he did this she had actually flustered almost embarrassed 'thank yous' saying she had meant to do them herself. Since that moment he made it his job. After all she did everything else for him. He ran fingers over his hearts down to his belly and gripped where the invisible knot formed. Most of her books were educational, breeching just about every topic at least fundamentally. She did however have a small collection of fiction. One of which he had read that held a romantic theme. Was this what love felt like? Happiness? Is this what Lord Sidious had kept from him his entire life? Or was it simply admiration?

    Not ever having felt anything like it before he couldn't say but one thing he did know for a fact. He hoped against all hope that in a way he'd never 'fully recover' fearing once the scale she talked about was perfectly balanced again she'd send him away and continue her life of solitude. She had sought this out. She had chosen this life. This planet, purposefully unpopulated with sentient life. As far as he knew and saw she was the only person here.

    His brows furrowed and as if she could sense his distraught increasing, he heard her call to him. "Darling," she mewled just loud enough for him to hear. Possibly too quick he made his way to the door of the fresher where he heard the water running. Darling he thought, he had never heard her call him that before, he was sure.

"There’s a pack hanging from the door, could you fill it with snacks for us? It'll probably be a while on the cliffs." He silently carried out her will, obsessing over the name she had called out from the shower. Thoughts of her naked body dripping with warm water, calling out to him filled his mind. He had to physically shake his head to focus. Just as he finished packing the last Meiloorun she entered the room wearing her usual training garb, barefooted as usual when she dressed in it.

    He watched as she added her encyclopedia and another small notebook to the pack along with a pair of electrobinoculars and a blanket. Swinging it over her shoulder she beamed at him obviously excited to see this strange creature.

    Once they were out the door she started sprinting calling out "race you!" Maul smiled and gave her a few more seconds head start greedily watching how her body moved so gracefully before taking off after her. Allowing himself to fall into the role of a hunter once again. This however being the only prey he ever really wanted to catch. This was his element. This is where he was most comfortable, chasing, hunting. His legs propelled him forward while his arms pumped at his sides, feeling the wind push him onward towards his goal. It was a long race but her speed never let up, she was incredibly fast but not so fast that she could escape him. Just before she reached the cliff's edge preparing to jump, he darted in front of her and caught her in his arms, spinning from the velocity alone. His arms latched tightly around her waist and hers wrapped around his neck pulling his face to that sweet spot just below her ear.

    They sat like that for what felt like only a second but also an eternity before a shaking hum rang through the air. Remembering what she had come for she pulled away excitedly.

"I thought we would be early but maker we made it just in time!" He released her and she jumped off the cliff, falling 200 feet before using the force to slow her fall lowering her safely to the sand below. Maul followed suit and met her where she stood, her toes wet with the tide rolling in over the sand before pulling back out to sea. Salt was heavy in the air but he could still smell her. Making her way back to the rock and clay cliffs she laid out the blanket and took a seat, spreading out her books and setting the food to the side. He joined her, sitting where he hoped wouldn't be too close.

    Before his mind could roam too far, she gasped and pointed to the sea clutching his arm in excitement. Breaching out of the depths a giant creature almost took flight but just for a moment, calling out in a singing hum. They had massive heads and rounded teeth with four tentacles that trailed behind them. They were all painted in the same deep blue but had uniquely shaped and colored markings. Unlike their space brethren they didn't have bioluminescent streaks on the inside of their tentacles.

    Maul watched in amazement as the creatures sang to one another, jumping and diving back down below like they were dancing for Y/N and his eyes alone. Looking through her electrobinoculars with one hand and sketching furiously with the other in the smaller of the two notebooks, never taking her eyes off of the Sea Purgill, she was entranced.

 "Have you ever seen such a beautiful, mysterious creature," she inquired utterly enthralled.

    Now he was watching her, smile plastered on her face, cheeks rosy with excitement and salt flecks sticking to her hair. "I can honestly say no, I have not in all my life witnessed such a beauty." She closed her notebook and put away the electrobinoculars, pivoting her head to look into his eyes again; softer than she had ever seen them.

    She scooted closer to him so their hips touched and leaned her head against his shoulder. Cautiously, he snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her closer and rested his cheek on the top of her head. Together they sat like this for hours, not moving, not speaking, simply watching the mighty creatures frolic through the waves on ahead.

~~~~~

    You didn't want to move from this spot. He hadn't touched you since he pulled you from your crashed shuttle yet you found every excuse to make fleeting contact with him. Now, with his strong arm wrapped around you, hand gripping your waist, your head nestled into his chest you could hear his tandem hearts beating. Beating hard, it both soothed and excited you. Falling for this tattooed warrior was not on your original agenda. Falling for anyone at all was never something you craved or saw yourself doing. Not because of the same reasoning as the Jedi you had tutored under. No, you didn’t fear attachment. It had always just looked like a distraction or a nuisance.

    Yet you found yourself falling for him nonetheless. Selfishly you had hoped that the scales would never again be balanced because once they do, once he is completely and utterly healed... he would leave. Wouldn't he? Why would he want to stay here on this unpopulated world with you and you alone? He had been forced into his solitude while you had searched for yours. You no longer craved silence; no longer did you wish for the seclusion of this lovely planet. All you wanted was to listen to the velvety melody of his voice, to feel the almost impossible heat he radiated.

    If you asked him to stay, would he? If he would ask you to leave with him, would you? You didn’t think you could leave. Not with the war raging across the galaxy. This was the only place where you couldn’t hear every scream of every person torn from life by mindless violence that wasn’t supposed to happen in the first place. Feel every tear through the fabric of the force every time a Jedi either fell to the dark side or was killed. You can’t leave, and if you can’t leave for him; how could you ask him to stay for you?

    The sun was starting to set and the creatures' appearances became less frequent. A realization dawned on you. Sensing your change Maul lifted his head to look at you, brows furrowed.

"The night of every migration a storm follows these beings. We should head back, whether it's rain or snow or wind it will be brought down on us soon." You watched him stand and extend a hand to you, taking it, he pulled you into a tight embrace. Both arms around you securely he whispered a thank you, lips just brushing against your ear. You didn't ask him what he was thanking you for, simply returning the hug with an equal fervor.

    The two of you quickly packed up, leaping up the cliffs and making your way back home. Just as the cottage was in your eyeline the dark sky opened. Temperatures plummeting, snow fell from the heavens with a savage determination. Running now, you locked your animals in the barn and cranked up the heat. Power was hard to come by here with only the infrastructure that you had installed yourself, allowing only one heater for your homestead. Giving it to the animals was an easy decision.

    Maul took your hand and ushered you inside, 6 inches had already stuck to the ground and your exposed skin was cold to the touch. Your bare feet no exception. He lit the hearth himself to take the chill off the room and wrapped you in a warm blanket. Before you could even think to ask, he brought you a hot cup of your favorite tea. He glowered over the fact that you still shivered.

    He took your blanket and gathered you up into his arms, draping the blanket around the both of you. Holding your freezing feet in his hand. The heat he put off was almost burning against your form but you were more than grateful, sinking into him. You both fell asleep in each other’s arms but the dreams you had that night weren't your own.

 A darkly hooded figure stood tall above a scarlet whimpering child. Tears streaked the red and black face of the young boy until the figure spoke. "Did I say you could eat yet?" He asked calmly but with venom in his tone. "N-no master I'm sorry I'm just... so hungr..." the boy was cut off when bolts of electricity shot out of his master and punished the boy. He screamed in agony, his cells burning. "YOU WILL NOT TAKE FROM ME APPRENTICE!" eating in front of the starving boy he screamed and continued to shock him. "YOU WILL KILL AND EAT WHAT YOU ARE HUNGRY FOR!" The boy still screaming managed to reply. "Yes master... I'm sorry master... Forgive me... PLEASE." He begged. He was attacked until his body started smoking "WHAT ARE YOU!" His master demanded as he finally released the child. The boy's claws dug into his forehead until he bled, sobbing. "I said WHAT ARE YOU?" his master demanded, shocking him again.

"I AM HUNTER... I AM FEAR... I AM FILTH... I AM NOTHING!" Screaming in torment he fell over, silent. He was tossed out carelessly onto a burning terrain surrounded by fiery pits of lava.

    You awoke first, tears falling from your own eyes and you looked upon the man that lay next to you. He was still asleep but he was shaking, whining, nails digging into his own arms. You took his wrists and begged him to wake up.

"Maul... Maul darling please wake up!"

     His eyes shot open blown out in fear and snarling, sitting up ready to kill until he focused on you. You softly pushed him down on the couch so he rested on his back. You leaned over him, wrapping your legs around his waist and running your hands soothingly over his body. Peppering his face in kisses whispering "you are safe... you are cared for... you are my joy... you are cleansed... you are everything." Tears welled in his eyes threatening to spill over. He gripped you with bruising fingers as if you would disappear should he let go. "I have you... you're with me... he can't find you here.." you continued to sooth him between tender kisses.

    He looked up at you with those shimmering gold eyes, one hand entangling in your hair, he pulled your lips onto his with a desperation. He needed proof that he was in fact awake and not in a different dream. You brushed one of your hands against his cheek and gripped the back of his head, horns between your fingers and deepened the kiss. He slightly opened his mouth in a pleasured moan; eyes rolling back. Taking it as an invitation you glided your tongue over his teeth and against the tip of his tongue which he immediately responded but not the way you expected. He broke the kiss and pulled your body even closer to his as if to turn the two of you into one. For the rest of the night, you held one another, he had never been so thankful for his night terrors.

[passable-talent]

Hi! Do you think that you could write an atla scenario where the gaang finds out how Zuko got his scar? Maybe, he was ranting about how his life was hard back at the fire nation and ends up opening up about it?

I’ve always wondered how this convo would go down.... let’s find out, shall we?

Zuko didn’t particularly enjoy going through the photos and artifacts left over from his childhood in the royal vacation home, but that didn’t stop the other members of Team Avatar. Sokka in particular seemed to be intent on digging through for anything he could find. Zuko would’ve thought that he’d been deterred after finding that ‘cute’ picture of Ozai, but it seemed not. He was on his knees in front of a pile of parchments and little trinkets left behind by the royal family, on their last vacation to Ember Island. The rest of the group had gathered around, waiting to see what he found, or keeping each other company.

“Why does it matter so much?” Katara asked, sitting just out of range of the objects that Sokka was flinging behind him as he dug.

“I’m determined to find an embarrassing picture of Zuko,” he said, pausing to examine a drawing of an eight-year-old Azula before tossing it over his shoulder.

“Why?” Toph asked, her arms crossed, voice unimpressed. It’s not like any of this mattered to her- she couldn’t see the pictures anyway.

“Because he’s the only other person in our little group who scares me, other than you and Katara,” he answered Toph, “and at least I’ve seen you guys half asleep or something. I’ve never found any flaw in this jerk and I’m determined to find one.” Zuko rolled his eyes and leaned back, happy that at least the group was busy.

Sokka pulled up a parchment of Zuko when he was about twelve, and upon seeing it clearly, tossed it aside. Katara picked it up slowly from the floor, and looked at it for a moment before deciding to speak.

“You don’t have your scar in this one,” she said, making Zuko’s eyes lift up to her, “and you’re pretty old. When did you get your scar, anyway?”

He wondered, briefly, how she could ask that question so easily. It was a massive scar over his eye- obviously he had suffered something horrible. How easy would that be to explain?

“When I was banished,” he answered, his gaze taken back to the ground in front of him. Sokka stopped digging and turned to look at him.

“What happened?” Aang asked, likely not realizing the gravity of the question, and Zuko let out a hard breath through his nose. He realized he’d never even had to tell this story- the only person he was candid about it with was Iroh, who was there when it happened.

“I spoke up in a war meeting when it wasn’t my turn,” he said, the words flowing quickly. He didn’t want to dawdle on a single one, and so let the honest truth fly quicker than he normally spoke. “My father decided that my disrespect needed to be punished, and I was challenged to an Agni Kai.” It occurred to Zuko that they might not know what that was, and so he added on “-it’s a firebending duel.” There was a somber silence over the six of them, and Zuko paused before continuing. It wasn’t a nice memory- he could still feel the heat of the flames. Sometimes, when he was too hot, his left eye teared up, like it was remembering that day.

“I didn’t realize that the duel was with my father himself, not the old general I’d interrupted. So when the day came, I wouldn’t fight my father, and that showed even further disrespect and, supposedly, cowardice. My punishment was my banishment- and this scar.” For a moment, no one said a word, until Suki spoke up quietly.

“Your father burnt you?” She asked, putting together his implication, and Zuko nodded.

“If I thought that jerk was evil before,” Sokka muttered, abandoning his search. Still Zuko stared at his shoes, letting the group discuss amongst themselves. It had been three years, and still he was terrified of fire coming too near his face. It had been three years, but still he could see the look in his father’s eyes when he stood above him.

“I can’t even imagine,” Katara said in angry disbelief, “how could he even do that?”

“And you were fourteen?” Toph asked, oddly somber.

“Thirteen,” Zuko corrected, and silence once again settled over them.

“That’s evil,” Suki whispered, “I kinda don’t blame you for being so angry.”

“I don’t get how no one stood up to him,” Katara said, clearly filling up with more anger. “You were a child!”

“And he was the Fire Lord,” Zuko said, bitterness in his voice. “He’s a maniac, who had never been told that he’s not as great and amazing as he thinks he is. No one would dare speak up to him. After all, I did, and look where that got me.” Zuko snapped the last sentence with a bit of a snarl on his lips, and looked away from the group again when he realized his hostility. He wasn’t angry at them- of course not. He just wanted the memories gone, his father defeated.

“Good thing Aang’s gonna tell him that, right?” Toph said, as though trying to bring the mood back up. It received only a few chuckles, but it was a start.

“Hey, at least I know that I’m recognizable. Really memorable, isn’t it?” Zuko said, trying to will a smile onto his face.

“I don’t know,” Sokka said, “I think the ponytail was better. I could see you coming from a mile away when you still had that thing.”

“You couldn’t handle the ponytail,” Zuko responded dryly, which seemed to catch Suki’s humor and send her into a fit of giggles. The laughter caught on the with the group, and soon enough their somberness was all but washed away into the sea.

-🦌 Roe

[hwy-unicorn]

show me the places where the other’s gave you scars

Summary: He holds you, tighter than you’ve ever been held before, but it feels safe. You are not frightened by it. And he whispers your name into the night, as he presses you into the mattress, his firm hands caressing your body in ways that make you feel on fire. It’s a burn that you welcome; you are willing to be engulfed by the flames.

More loving Normero smut ;) also my first time writing in second person so lmk what you think!!

It was no secret to Alex that you had scars. He had spent hours exploring every inch of your body, committing each and every part of you to his memory. He considered you a treasure, and he was one of the few people that you allowed to see you in such meaningful ways. Not that you were a stranger to sex, you’ve had your fair share of experiences with men before, but it was never like this. No man before him had wanted to take their time with you, to see and love every part of you. So while others have seen you, no one has truly seen you in the way he has. And no one ever questioned your scars, sometimes you wonder if they had even noticed them at all as they were too caught up in having a woman to lay claim to.

Alex, however, noticed everything. Every scar, scratch, bump and bruise of yours was tucked away in his brain, and he was always careful to treat such an area with a tenderness that it may have not had before. Your scars didn’t hurt anymore, the pain washed away with the years, but it didn’t seem to matter to him because he was always attentive to those areas. He would always provide each spot with the most featherlight touches and faintest of kisses. You wondered if he was even aware of what he was doing.

He never brought it up though, never asked you questions about where they had come from, and for that, you were grateful. It was not that you didn’t trust him, you actually trusted Alex with every part of you, but you were still cautious about what you revealed. You couldn’t help the fear that lurked beneath the surface, afraid to see Alex walk out the door and never return, the burden of your monsters too dark for him to handle.

But you noticed him, his curious eyes and wandering fingertips, always tracing the edges of your marred skin, silently wondering where they had come from. And at night, when he’d carry you to bed after dinner, intent on making love to you for the rest of the night, that one particular scar would always catch his eye. It was the one on your inner thigh, the patch of skin that provided you with a traumatic flash of memory every time your fingers grazed it. You remember the panic you had felt on your first night with him, when he had touched it and gazed up at you sadly, almost like he knew that it wasn’t from an innocent accident. And then you had pulled him away from it, had distracted him with a searing kiss and a well practiced moan, and he didn’t question it. You let him see it now. You wonder what he might say if you told him where you had gotten it.

You want to tell him everything, you don’t want to feel like there is a barrier between you both, but you don’t know how or even when to say it.

Tonight, you eat dinner alone. Alex is working late; he has been working late quite a bit these past few nights, and he sounded so apologetic on the phone that you couldn’t be the least bit upset with him. You know his job isn’t easy, but you have been getting lonely. Though, these lonesome evenings have given you some time to think about your whirlwind of a relationship with the man you had once hated and was sure hated you in return- even though he said he never did. You had only been married a few months now, truly together for even less than that; it felt like you didn’t really know each other at all, but at the same time he knew more about you than anyone before him. It was you who didn’t know much about him, and you longed to know more.

You finish eating your dinner by the time you hear the front door creak open, and you pause your work on the dishes to heat the leftovers. He comes up behind you, sweeping your hair off to the side to place a gentle kiss on your shoulder and you smile, leaning into him. He feels strong and safe and you want to stay here forever, and luckily for you he has no intentions of letting you go yet

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he sighs into your neck, peppering more soft kisses there, his fingers rubbing soothing circles on your hips. “I won’t be working late much longer, I promise.”

The microwave beeps but neither of you move, his hands still on your waist and face still buried in the crook of your neck, but it feels different now. “Are you mad at me?” he asks and you shake your head, pulling one hand from your hip to kiss his palm.

“I’m not mad,” you reassure, and he smiles, gently turning you to kiss you.

“I’m not hungry,” he whispers against your lips, and you frown, pulling away to give him a soft glare. “I ate already,” he admits, his eyes apologetic and you gasp mockingly, placing a hand on your chest, as if you are truly offended.

He rolls his eyes, he knows your tricks by now and you can’t help but giggle as he lifts you onto the counter. His lips are on you again, devouring you hungrily and you shiver against him as his hands move up and down your body, as if he needs to touch every part of you. He is always so careful with you, gentle, yet rough all at once and the contrast is intoxicating. Alex is strong and dominant, but it is not something that you fear, no, you lose yourself in it. He leads, and you follow, but it’s pleasant because you know you are taken care of and that he would never do anything to cause you harm.

“Not here,” you murmur against his lips. You are both desperate, buzzing with need, but you don’t want a quickie on the kitchen counter.

He lifts you with ease, carrying you up the stairs, though you would’ve accepted the couch as a reasonable second option. Laughter fills the room as he stumbles, falling onto the bed with you in his arms, and you push yourself up, straddling his hips, giggling wildly as you push him onto his back. Sometimes, he is happy to let you lead; he would gladly follow you into fire.

Your hands make quick work of the buttons on his shirt, gasping against his lips as he bucks his hips up into you. You can feel him through his jeans and you can’t help the breathy moan that escapes you at the sensation. You fumble a bit with the buttons, becoming too desperate to even think straight and Alex takes the opportunity to gently flip you onto your back, taking his place on top of you.

Sometimes you find it strange how much you enjoy being underneath him, as with men before it had felt claustrophobic. But he doesn’t press you down hard, does not make you feel trapped or suffocated beneath him, instead, protected, and while you often are on top of him for sex, this position doesn’t bring you any discomfort.

He kisses you, softer this time, as he works at the buttons of your blouse. His movements are not frantic anymore, you can feel the energy slow, though arousal still courses through you like fire in your veins. Alex slides your blouse off your shoulders, and you sit up to help him undo your bra. The light is still on, you can see his face as he watches you, so full of love and adoration while you undress for him.

His hands slide up your tummy, and cup your breast, just softly squeezing and you sigh, laying back onto the pillows. He does not want it to be quick this time, you can already tell by the way he is looking at you. He wants to watch you come undone, and while you love your passionate, heated encounters, you truly don’t mind this. It feels strangely empowering to have him see you in such a vulnerable way.

Alex’s lips close around your nipple, his hand cupping your other breast, as he nips at you playfully, soothing the sting with his tongue. You can feel yourself becoming needy, and he can feel it too, but he holds down your hips as you push them into him and you can’t help but groan. He shushes you, too intent on taking his time with you tonight, and you know you will not get what you want so soon.

He will make it worthwhile though.

His mouth trails down your body, his hands pulling your panties off as he kisses your tummy, moving down towards your thighs and spreading your legs.

Your eyes flutter close as his lips trace a gentle path up your legs, and he smiles at your frustrated groan when he skips over the place you need him most. He moves his mouth down your other thigh, placing a soft kiss against your scar, like he always does, and your eyes flutter open. You prop yourself up on your elbows to see him watching you lovingly while his lips trail along the edge of the blemished skin. There is no judgement in his eyes as he looks back up at you, his face full of adoration and you feel your tummy flutter, suddenly wanting to reveal every secret you have to him. He already knows so much; he knows what Caleb had done to you all those years ago, that Dylan is his son, he knows about Norman and how he killed Sam to protect you. What is one more secret?

“It’s from an iron,” you breathe, and he pauses his movements to look up at you. You open your eyes again, looking down at him as he stares up at you questioningly. “The scar. It’s from an iron.”

He looks back at the mark that he was kissing only moments ago, his fingers touching it softly as if he was worried he would hurt it. “Oh.”

You swallow, fingers flexing nervously against your tummy as he waits for you to say more, unsure if that is as far as you will go.

“It happened when I was little,” you clear your throat, staring down at the mark with disdain.

“My brother…” you feel his grip tighten just a little, before he relaxes. “He wanted… erm… I was ironing and he was-he just-” you can’t bring yourself to say the words again, but he understands, you can see it in his eyes, so you just continue.

“My dad came home and I was scared he would see, he-he was scary, he would’ve hurt Caleb I just know it. So I jumped up really fast and I knocked the iron over and it fell on my leg. And he just- he just put his hand over my mouth because I was crying so much and-” you can feel your resolve cracking, tears filling your eyes and you’re upset because you’ve ruined the mood- you can just feel it- and you feel a mix of guilt and disgust with yourself

But Alex says nothing to make you feel that way as he moves from his spot between your legs, shushing you gently while you begin to cry. You regret saying anything at all. Your hands cover your face, but you can feel him hovering above you, his voice soft as he promises you that everything will be okay.

He gently pulls your hands away from where they are covering your eyes, and you look up at him tearfully, letting your eyes flutter close as he wipes the tears away. He leans closer, so his chest is against yours, but is keeping most of his weight on his arms so you don’t feel crushed, and you feel more tears coming to your eyes at the gentleness of it all.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer, sighing in relief as your face rests in the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and he hums questioningly. “I’ve ruined the mood. I know you don’t want me right now.”

“Norma,” he murmurs in a sort of scolding tone, but you shake your head.

“It’s okay, I understand.”

“Stop,” he sighs. “You haven’t ruined the mood.”

“Yes I h-” you gasp as his fingers press against your clit, rubbing soft circles. “Oh.”

Your head falls back against the pillows, eyes fluttering close as he kisses your lips sweetly. “You haven’t ruined anything. Do you want me to keep going?”

You nod frantically, and although the weight of your revelation still hangs in the air, your arousal is too heavy to ignore. His fingers slide into you and he moves down your body, probably wanting to finish what he had begun before you had told him everything, but you stop him. You cannot wait any longer.

“No, I-” you shudder against his fingers, feeling yourself getting close. “I want you inside me.”

He groans at your words, and you quickly reach down to undo the button on his jeans, frantically pushing them off of his legs, along with his boxers, in one quick motion. His movements are slow and gentle as he pushes inside you, and although you pull him closer and try to make him go faster, he holds off, as if he’s afraid to be too rough and hurt you. And he continues those slow movements as he thrusts in and out of you, his fingers dancing ever so gently, almost teasingly against your clit and it's agonizing.

“Alex,” you whimper, pulling him closer against you. “Harder please, I need you.”

He shakes above you, but gives in to your demand. You can feel yourself beginning to come undone as he thrusts into you harder and faster, and you are gasping, gripping at him, at the sheets, unsure what to hold onto to keep yourself grounded.

He holds you, tighter than you’ve ever been held before, but it feels safe. You are not frightened by it. And he whispers your name into the night, as he presses you into the mattress, his firm hands caressing your body in ways that make you feel on fire. It’s a burn that you welcome; you are willing to be engulfed by the flames.

“Norma, Norma, Norma.”

Repeated like a mantra as he gasps and moans, and shakes above you, willing himself to hold back until you’ve crashed over the edge. It’s entirely different from anything you’ve ever experienced before, no man has ever wanted you like this. No man has ever touched you like this. No man has ever seen you like this.

It’s freeing, but scary all the same, because you’ve never been this vulnerable or exposed. No one had ever known your darkest secrets or deepest flaws, because you were sure that no one could handle it. The monsters under your bed are much too frightening for anyone to fight, but he fights them for you. He goes into the thicket of the woods that are your fears, like a knight in shining armor, armed with nothing but his love for you and he fights all those monsters that bring you harm. He wants to destroy them, and maybe someday he will, but for now they remain. It doesn’t matter though, it’s enough for you to know that you have someone fighting for you. You are not alone anymore.

[raindropsduringthesunset]

Bubble Baths and Sweet Snacks (TSS Fateful Fae AU)

Ao3 ~~~ Wattpad

First Part, Last Part, Next Part

Characters: Patton, Virgil, Janus, Logan, Roman, Remus

Relationships: Moxiety (Platonic), Moxiety (Eventual Romantic), LAMPDR (Background, Platonic)

TW: Mention of Past Injury, Scars, Brief Implications of Pain, Panic, Knives, Violence (Playful),

cw: Bathing Together, Possessiveness, Fire, Food, Remus (Sympathetic- Mentioned), Janus (Sympathetic), Patton (Sympathetic), Crying (Brief), Embarrassment (Brief), Cursing

Enjoy!

~~~

Patton maybe shouldn’t care for a mortal so much. He didn’t even have dibs on him- J had called it far earlier than any of them, whether he’d admit it or not. It was clear he’d claimed V after they had first met. Now that Patton had taken the time- though he genuinely could say it felt more like it was gifted to them- to learn more about the mortal, he fully understood.

V was just too precious. Though he tried to act tough and walled off, his walls seemed to crumble at the smallest expression of affection. Trained stale looks quickly melted away into soft expressions when Patton ruffled his hair or rubbed his back while passing by. A simple praise seemed enough to make him weak at the knees.

Patton definitely didn’t underestimate V’s ability though. V could take care of himself- as he’d expressed constantly at the endless care that the chorus of fae had to give. V would cook on his own in the dead of night, go foraging, go on walks. Even when V had first arrived, he was fierce and careful to read deeply into what others were saying, searching for hidden meanings behind words that they would say. It took weeks for V to finally allow the others to be gentle with him- a little longer for him to allow the Duke to come anywhere near him.

Duke whined about it every day when he’d find V sitting by one of the others or sharing a tender moment. His whining only earned him a smack upside the head by J and a hearty laugh from Princey.

Patton learned quickly and took note of everything V enjoyed. His favorite drink was a hot chocolate with a small amount of spiced rum. His favorite food was pasta with just a ladle worth of sweet tomato sauce. His favorite smell was lavender and vanilla with just a hint of juniper.

Patton adored how particular V was and was always determined to find out more of his favorite things, find out what he loved, find out what he hated; the faeries actually shared a list of things that V hated as a precaution- none of them wished to make him unhappy. And how could they?

V was their everything. The fun they’d been searching for hundreds of years. The random factor, a common cause for them to come together. The final piece that they always felt was missing but just couldn’t find until now. They would recreate reality just for him; rewrite every story, spin and weave the world until it was perfect for V.

V was theirs and Patton was eternally grateful to the universe for it.

Timeskip

V sighed happily, pushing his head against Patton's hands and he lathered V’s hair. Fingers scratched pleasantly against his scalp as he was washed. His eyes had fallen shut a long time ago, his long lashes fluttering every few moments. Patton smiled gently at the mortal, warmth filling his chest as the boy practically melted under his touch.

“Do you like that little one?” Patton hummed, chuckling slightly when V sighed blearily back and leaned more and more against his hands and the tub. White suds shimmered from the candlelight nearby, the warm glow of the fire making V’s skin glow.

“Lean your head back a bit kiddo, I don’t want to irritate your eyes.” Patton warned, muttering a soft praise when he tilted his head. The fae frowned at the sight of bruises covering V’s neck. Words caught in his throat; it pained him to ignore the possibility that V was in danger, but he also tried so hard to rationalize it. Before he could get too deep into his own head, he realized that V was looking up at him through cloudy eyes.

“Are you tired, little one?” V nodded absentmindedly, blinking slowly with a sleepy smile across his face. Patton ran a hand through his hair and rested another hand on his back, gently leading him to lay back in the water so that he could wash out the soap.

V hummed happily at the feeling of warm water against his scalp and Patton's hands in his hair. Patton scratched the place behind his ear carefully, holding back a cooing sound when V closed his eyes again and leaned into the touch.

“You only have to do this, then you can do whatever you want. Oh! L told me to tell you that you should go stargazing with him tonight. You don't have to if you don't want to though,” Patton pushed some soap away from V’s forehead, “We understand if you’re tired.” V whined sadly when Patton pushed him out of the water.

“Hold on kiddo,” Patton laughed, keeping a hand on his back, “I need to wash you.” V’s eyes opened abruptly, making Patton freeze. A panicked sheen made his eyes shine as he began to bring his hands up to cover his body.

“Would you be more comfortable if I left the room while you washed and I just did your back?” He asked, rubbing his back slowly. V shook his head and stared off for a moment. He brought his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, leaning over to let Patton see his back.

Patton grimaced at the sight of scarring down V’s lower back. Scratching and rashes rested on his hip bone. V winced as Patton poured water down his back and gently rubbed the spots that were still scarring over, cleaning wounds from while muttering little apologies under his breath. Patton froze as V sucked in a sharp breath, freezing where he was sitting.

“Kiddo?” He asked cautiously. V shivered and rubbed at his arms. Patton frowned and ran a hand through V’s hair.

“Does it hurt? Are you cold?” He didn’t respond. Patton let out a sigh and took one of his hands.

“Little one, you have to tell me if it hurts okay? I don’t want you hurting. And if it’s too cold I can heat up the water.” V pursed his lips.

“Doesn’t that take time though?”

“V, sweetheart, I’m a fae. Heating up water is possible in a blink of an eye. I promise it’s fine with me.” Patton rubbed gently at V’s shoulder. “... Yeah, it’s cold. It’s makin’ ‘m sting,” V mumbled, looking away. Patton nodded and dipped a hand in the water stirring with small shimmers of his magic swimming past the bubbles until V nodded that the temperature was good. Carefully, Patton went back to cleaning V’s shoulders.

Patton scratched gently at his back, the pit in his stomach fading away as V began to relax again. Soap gathered and covered his back, the potent smell of lavender filling the small room. V slumped forward slightly, bringing his shoulders up to help Patton reach more.

Gods, Patton loved this boy. He honestly couldn’t tell if he loved him romantically or platonically at this point, but it didn’t really matter to him. The point was that he would tear the world apart for the boy in front of him. He could do no wrong, say no wrong. Patton would barely hesitate to say he was a gift from the gods themselves.

Oh dear, Patton really had fallen far for him. J had warned him and he hadn’t listened. Though, looking at the way V’s eyes closed gently at the feeling of warm hands on his back… He couldn't say he was mad about it.

Timeskip

“Do you know where V is?” Patton asked L the next day.

“Unfortunately I do not. He did not join me last night for stargazing. I imagine he is in his room.” L said, not looking up from his book. Patton frowned and ran a hand through his hair.

“V wasn’t in his room when I checked in on him this morning.”

“Could he possibly be on a morning stroll?”

“After a bath?”

“Hm,” L closed his book, pursing his lips, “Maybe check on the Prince. I overheard that he was planning to spend a day with V sometime.” Patton sighed and looked to the side. He really wanted to spend the day baking with V. L stared blankly at Patton before pushing himself up and gently clasping a hand against his arm.

“I’m sure the Prince would let you spend the day with V if you asked. He may not be too happy or quick to agree but that’s just how he is,” L said with the ghost of smile, “I could accompany you if you would like. I have been meaning to speak to the prince about… something anyway. Patton smiled and sent a knowing look to L.

“Is it about your jam or about V?”

“About V, why would it be about my jam?” Patton’s eyes widened as he cleared his throat.

“Uhh, just forget I said anything.” L squinted and pursed his lips before sighing and relaxing his features,

“I’ll ask him later. Shall we?” L extended an arm to Patton who smiled and looped his arm around.

“We shall.”

Timeskip

When the two had finally arrived in the fae forest, the Prince was sitting on a log with J, the two watching V who was crouched down by the lake playing with one of the fish. Patton had no doubt that the Duke was nearby- most likely in the lake. Pat carefully untangled L and his arms before the two walked forward to their respective people.

“Hey kiddo, whatcha’ up to?” Patton asked, bending down and tilting his head slightly. V looked up at him, slightly dazed, and blinked for a few moments.

“I’m…“ He paused, his brain taking a moment to catch up, “I’m just… relaxing for a bit.” Patton smiled and brought a hand up, scratching Virgil’s head.

“Would you be interested in maybe baking with me? I wanna make angel food cake and I think you might have fun.” V leaned into the touch, slowly closing his eyes while nodding. Pat carefully moved his hand away standing up and offering him a hand.

“Hey, where are you two going?” Prince protested, standing up with a slight form on his face. J also looked upset when V stood up and held Patton’s hand tightly.

“I’m borrowing V to go bake.” Patton explained, looking down and smiling gently at V when he nuzzled into his side. “Did you ask before just taking him?” J hissed with no real bite.

“I asked V, he said he’s fine with it.”

“I didn’t mean V.” Janus rolled his eyes, standing up and fixing his hair to the side before crossing his arms. Pat laughed a bit and moved a hand to start rubbing V’s back.

“V isn’t just a prize for us to pass around, you know that right?” He teased. The Prince huffed and toed at the ground.

“Yes but it’s our turn with him. You got to play with him all night yesterday!” He whined, gesturing lightly to V.

“V and I only took a bath then I sent him to bed, you can play with him tomorrow,” Pat looked at L who was tapping his foot impatiently, “Also, I’m afraid I may have spilled the beans to L about your little… incident.” A bit of panic flashed in the Prince’s eyes as he looked over to L who appeared to be very mad.

“Oh, so you did do something to my jam?” J covered his mouth and looked away, hiding his smile. Patton rolled his eyes and squeezed V’s hand, gently tugging it towards him before walking forward.

“If you need us, we’ll be in the kitchen.” V waved a small goodbye before leaning into Patton’s side.

“The fuck is goin on up here?”

“Go away Duke!”

Timeskip

The kitchen door creaked as Patton pushed it open. He snapped his fingers, the candles in the room imminently being set aflame- their light being a little brighter than normal. V cautiously walks in behind him, stealthily pushing the stool he had forgotten to put back in it’s spot the night before.

“Do you want to stand and help cook or sit and help stir?” Pat asked, opening his recipe book and getting down the ingredients he needed with ease.

“I can do whatever.” V said, attempting to act indifferent. Patton looked through the recipe another time before turning to V.

“Would you be okay chopping the strawberries while I make the honey caramel?” V nodded and opened a lower cabinet, taking out a cutting board. Patton tilted his head slightly before shaking his head and opening the cutlery drawer- all made out of bronze of course. He carefully took out a knife and placed it on the cutting board.

“Be careful, we wouldn’t want you getting hurt now, would we?” Patton teased.

“I can handle myself, Pat.” For some reason, he wanted to disagree. Patton held his tongue in favor of just smiling and shaking his head fondly. Patton opened his

A few minutes passed, the quiet tapping of the knife against the cutting board and soft clinking of Patton’s spoon hitting the side of his pot. Every few moments V would slide the knife across the board and push the excess strawberry pieces into the trash.

The first week V was here, Patton had invited him to cook with him. It was just something simple; a soup with various cheeses and broccoli. What made it unusual was V’s reaction to Patton telling him to throw away the end of the broccoli.

Flashback

“Don’t we need it?” V asked, genuine confusion crossing his face. Patton looked up from where he was grating cheese and smiled.

“Nope! That part’s bitter anyway, too tough for J to eat. The Duke likes it though so if you really want to put it to use. Though, I do think the Duke said he doesn’t like it as much anymore,” Pat paused, “Never mind, just throw it away. It’s no big deal.” V’s eyes were wide. He looked like he wanted to say something but was holding his words back.

He still hadn’t moved to throw it out.

“But… isn’t that wasting food? It’s- it’s still edible, right?” V asked, looking at the bottom, “It’s just a bit tough, can’t we just cook it extra long?”

“No no, it’s fine, it’s just food. We’re eating most of it anyway. No one here likes the bottom-” Patton stopped, raising an eyebrow, “Do you like the bottom? If you do, we can cook it, it'll just take a little extra time.”

“NO!” The two of them flinched, V looking back at the vegetable, panicking slightly.

“I mean- no, I’m fine. S- I regret starting this argument.” V mumbled.

“Oh little one, this wasn’t an argument, it’s fine really,” Pat tried to read V’s face from the side, “Little one, I promise I’m not angry.”

“... You’re not?” Chills ran up Patton’s back as he heard V whisper softly, so scared, so vulnerable. He almost wanted to cry.

“I promise. I don’t think I could ever be mad at you.” Patton reassured. He smiled when V nodded softly, going back to cutting the vegetables.

A pit still sat in his stomach at the realization that V was still tense as can be. He wanted to reach out and hold him when V winced slightly at the knife got a little too close to his hand. Patton just had him stir the pot for him instead.

End Of Flashback

“Okay, now just put it in the box.” Patton explained, helping V move the strawberries.

“Won’t the juice seep into the wood?” He tilted his head, hesitating slightly. “Nope! The container is made out of copper, the Prince just painted it to look like wood. Come here, run a finger down the side.” Pat extended a hand, smiling when V carefully moved to put his hand on his palm. Slowly, Patton moved their hands and rubbed the back of V’s hand on the container, laughing a bit when V’s eyes widened in wonder.

“This- looks really realistic. How?”

“The Prince has been painting for decades, he’s picked up the skill very easily. If you would like, I’m sure he would love to teach you one day.” Patton said. V paused before nodding, moving his hand back to start pushing the strawberries into the jar.

“Why-”

“... What’s wrong?”

“Never mind. I shouldn’t be asking so many questions. So-” V sighed, taking a long blink, “Please excuse me for-”

“Little one, you don’t need to apologize for having questions. It’s good to be curious. Honestly, I’m happy that you’re comfortable enough to ask.” Patton reassured. V finished putting in the strawberries and set the cutting board down.

“Really?”

“Really,” Pat set a gentle gaze oh V, “You can ask any of us anything. If one of us doesn’t know something, another is sure to. If you have any questions that you think are… more complicated, you can go to L. He’s a lot smarter than I am. J is also good for answering questions about the realm if you ever get confused by how something works.”

“... Why are we putting the strawberries in here if we’re just putting them on the cake?”

“We have to macerate them first so that they don’t taste bitter. Do you want to help me with it or do you just want to watch?” Patton got the sugar down and opened the top of the jar. “Could… could you walk me through it while I help?” V asked. Patton almost miss the small whisper of “I don’t want to be useless” but refrained from mentioning anything.

“Of course. Come, stand here for me.” Patton stepped back, smiling as V stood in front of him, “Good,now, take the measuring cup- yes just like that- and get a big scoop of sugar… Great job, now just drop it onto the strawberries.” They repeated the steps a few more times, V growing lightly tense as more and more sugar was added.

“What if we add too much.”

“There’s never enough sugar- plus some of it will burn away and caramelize inside of the cake when it cooks.”

“But what if it doesn’t?”

“I promise it will, and if it doesn’t, what’s the harm in a little more sugar?”

“Okay, that should be enough, no hold on just a moment.” Patton reached carefully around V and took the jar. V watched curiously as Pat stepped away, walking a few feet before stopping.

“Be careful, this is where the workout comes in. If you want, you can start on the cake, the recipe is right on the counter.”

Patton waited for V to turn around to start to shake the jar, his face scrunching up in concentration. After about a minute, he stopped, opening the jar and nodding before moving the jar to the ice box. When he looked back up, V was still reading the recipe, his shoulders tense.

“Are you alright?” Patton asked, walking up and frowning at V’s tear-glazed eyes, “hey, hey, what’s wrong? Come on little one, talk to me.”

V’s shoulders shook, tears starting to fall down his face. He raised his hands to wipe them away angrily, frustration covering his features. Patton slowly reached up, giving V enough time to pull away before he too his hands.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Take a deep breath for me, yeah? Come on, breath in, yes, good. Now breathe out- wonderful. You’re doing perfectly.” Patton rubbed at V’s hands, gently kneading them to keep him grounded, “Are you okay? You can tell me what’s wrong.”

“I- I can’t… fuck…” Patton slowly brought V into a gentle hug.

“Take your time little one, it’s okay. Shhh, shhh, breathe sweetheart.”

V’s tears slowed but he was still hiccuping every few moments. Patton gently rubbed his back, hushing him and murmuring soft reassurances into his ear. The two slowly ricked from side to side, V relishing in the warmth of Patton’s arms.

“I don’t know.” V spoke into Patton’s sweater, causing him to look down.

“You don’t know what little one?”

“I don’t know how to…” V paused and flushed red, attempting to bury himself in Pat’s arms. He thought for a moment, recalling the past few minutes before it clicked.

“You don’t know how to read?”

“No, no, I- I can read it’s just…” V sighed, “It’s hard to read this. The letters don’t look right and I keep- I keep flipping words around.”

Ah, okay.

“Would it be easier for you if I helped and read it out for you?” Patton asked, smiling when V nodded into his chest. “Okay, let’s try this again.”

Timeskip

Later that night at dinner time, all the fae gathered at the pond smiling when V and Patton arrived with two picnic baskets. The twins had set up candles and called for fireflies to light their night time picnic. L had laid out a few blankets and lit a lemon and wood candle to keep bugs away. J had… done nothing really. What? He was working on the gateway that evening, he deserved a break.

That didn’t stop the others from making him have to take food last.

“This is delicious, thank you.”

“Absolutely divine.”

“Thank you darlings, this is wonderful.”

“Holy fuck this is good.”Patton laughed and shook his head, looking over to V who was happily eating a sandwich and snacking on strawberries.

“Do you like it sweetheart?” V nodded happily and bit into another strawberries. Patton smiled. He found V’s favorite fruit.

[vesperstalksclones]

Cody x Reader

(18+)

Some smutty angsty sexyness that is Cody. My FIRST EVER fic written down properly and posted for the world to see. A story of a gal who was hurt by one man, but will be healed by another.

○○○

"Umf!"

My breath rushed out of my chest as he pushed me down on to the bed. 

He loomed over me, predatory, menacing,... eyes of hard amber perusing my naked flesh, like a great beast considering the first bite of of his meal.

How I wanted him.

Cody.

He prowled up my form, muscles rolling under the bronzed skin. Spreading a scarred paw across my abdomen, he skidded it firmly upwards, the drag of the calloused fingers trailing tingles of delight in their wake. Upon my sternum. Between my breasts. He pressed his weight there upon my collarbone, while the his other hand dragged my knee to the wayside. Spreading my intimacy wide open before him he squirmed his thighs under mine, and flexed his hips outward. The result sent my insides fluttering like a caged bird, as his pelvis pressed forcefully against mine, crushing his solid member against my already eager sex.

My shuddering breath caught in my throat, and instead escaped as a groan so wanton in its tones it could've made his chaste monk of a general go scrambling for a clean pair of trousers.

He grinned, obviously pleased with my reaction.

"Is that so, Ad'ika?" The oppressive hand left my chest and slunk up across my neck. "You want me rough and angry?" 

His lilting baritone voice caressed my ears. Tantalizing is its veiled meaning. 

His hand darted under the nape of my neck, filled itself with my loose tresses, twisted and hauled at me firmly. I couldn't help but obey his touch, my body arching under his.

"I am not a gentle man…"

My hands groped at his skin, searching the sinews of his neck and then the muscles of his shoulders and back, seeking a sturdy hold I could use to pull him closer to me, whimpering all the while with my eagerness. 

Cody took the opportunity to thrust an arm underneath me to maintain the curving slope I had offered him. Dipping his head he tasted my lips, and neck, licking and biting his way southward. 

As I wriggled against him, my heart raced, hammering against my ribs. He was fierce and dangerous and I was utterly at his mercy.

Cody was soldier born and bred. Diplomacy was not his strong suit, and thusly force and violence had been taught to him as the appropriate solution for every situation. It showed through in his attentions.

He was an alpha male. 

Proud. Regal. Dominant. 

He had watched me for so long, perfectly posed during briefings and meetings, so serene and dignified. But his eyes. They would occasionally meet mine across a holo display, and my insides would clench violently. Those golden gems positively dripped with a primal desire, whether to mate or to feed I wasnt ever sure, but he distinctly reminded me of a monstrous lion-cat I had seen caged at the grand zoo on Couresant. The great male had regarded me as a snack, protected by the durasteel bars. Knowing I was beyond his reach, he had silently paced and imagined the taste of my flesh. And thus was the Commander of the 212th. Pacing safely behind his bars of self discipline. 

Wanting.

Hungering. 

It had haunted me until I couldn't function at my duties knowing he was nearby. And then couldn't sleep when the honey eyed fantasies besieged me. And THEN further struggled at work for the exhausted hangover that resulted. Damn him and his fucking beautiful eyes and the fucking cycle of self torment they set in motion.

His mouth had reached my breasts. He paused and buried his face there, rubbing his cheeks in to their fullness and drawing in deeply of my scent, his exhale fanning a hot breeze across the soft skin and tickling at the dusky pebbles waiting there. He  nibbled his way to the treat, groaning with approval. He captured the firmness of my nipple with his teeth, giving a few experimental tugs before pinching hard. I jumped against him and yelped. Cody answered my bucking by grinding himself against me, his rigid cock finding its way between my slick folds and nudging the most delicious friction against the bundle of nerves hidden there.

"Codeeee..." I pleaded for nothing in particular. I watched as he mouthed at my breast, then took as much as he could in to his maw, sucking hard and lathing his tongue against the firm bud as if he sought to erase it from existence.  I gasped out praises as I raked my nails over his scalp and gripped at his thick dark hair. 

His hand crept between us, and he lifted away from my belly, fisting his member. A few eager strokes smeared my wetness along his length and, satisfied with the preparation, he pressed its throbbing head against my entrance. I sucked in a shaky breath as he began to sink in to me, relishing the stretch of my muscles around his thickness. Without warning he slammed against me, burying his entire length inside as his hips met flush with my thighs. I twisted with a shriek of surprise at the sudden invasion, pulling free of his mouth, the cool air causing goosebumps to rise on my wet flesh. 

Without pause, the Commander withdrew and surged in to me again, and again, bracing his arms by my ribs, setting a grueling pace as rough and as angry as he had offered. My fingers kneeded at this forearms, scrabbling for purchase on the satin wrapped stone pillars, mewling and calling to him with every bone shaking thrust. 

"Fucking hell woman!" Cody snarled from his chest, his rasping breath giving his deep voice a gritty edge infused with sticky, heady lust. "I've to fight to get inside you, you're so tight!" The best answer I could manage was strangled croon as I reached for his face.

His big hands snatched my arms away, strong fingers shackeling around my wrists and pinning them beside my head. He dropped his sweat soaked forehead to my shoulder and rammed in to me with every ounce of his body behind it. My muscles clenched at him like a greedy fist and he pushed back against them, uttering a deep animalistic grunt in my ear.

That noise proved my undoing. It ricochetted around in my mind and knocked loose something long ignored. A memory tucked away in the darkest recesses, and for a moment the world warped. Another man was on top of me, pinning my arms, his body heaving against mine. He had pressed his face to my neck, unwilling to look me in the eyes. He made no noise except for his grunts of exertion. And I had silently cried.

Cold fear began to seep through my gut, electric tingles of anxiety spreading out from my navel. 

"Co…. Cody…"

Please, let me see your eyes. I need to know your here with me. His teeth scraped my neck in response.

"Cody…." I pleaded.

Look at me. Answer me. Please… anything! Just chase that fucking image away!

"CODY! CODY STOP!" 

Cody froze, every muscle taunt and straining. His head snapped up, eyes wide. 

"What?! What's… Ad'ika, why do you look at me that way?? Have I hurt you?"

His brow knit with worry. And then, after a moments thought, in to his eyes… those magnificent honey colored pools… seeped horror. He pushed up off of me, shame washing over his features. 

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry cyare! I thought that.. this is … is what… you.." he stammered. He was shaking from head to toe. 

"No Cody! Don't think that!" 

It was what I wanted. He was what I wanted. I had led him to my bed by my own hand. I knew Cody wasn't a cruel man. Tough and hard yes. Severe, sometimes. But abusive? Not for a hot second. I couldn't let him even entertain the thought that he had done wrong by mounting me. He slid further away and I lunged for him, catching his shoulders in a death grip. 

"I got inside my own head for a moment.. And I frightened myself. I just needed to see your face and put it back where it belongs. Please don't think like that..." I pressed my forehead to his, our eyes almost close enough that the lashes could have tangled.

"...ever!" I kissed him gently, very aware that I had frightened him far more than I had myself.

Cody settled on his knees, searching my face. His own was still etched with worry: his forehead wrinkled, contorting the scar that twisted around his left eye. His full lips curved in to frown.

"What are you afraid of, cyar'ika?" He whispered. I lowered my eyes, afraid that he might see the truth festering there. "What's been done to you? Tell me."

I shook my head and wrapped my arms around his neck. Pulling myself against his thick chest, I sighed. 

"I won't tell you, Cody, not right now. Especially not while you are trying to make love to me… and I've emotionally kicked you in the nuts." 

Maybe not ever. I don't want him to know. I dont want whatever he and I might have to be tainted by such a shadow. Especially one that I had thought had been put to bed.

He framed my face with his hands and tilted it to his. 

"What do you need from me?" He whispered softly against me. At least the fear had abated, and now he wore concern, and tenderness. Such a juxtaposition from the man who had raged on top of me only minutes ago. 

"Just talk to me, love. Let me see your face so I can watch you enjoy me." I was relieved that he accepted my silence about the matter.

He regarded me for a moment.

"You still want me to touch you?"

"Umh" I nodded.

"You're not frightened of me?"

"No."

He sighed with relief, pressing a kiss to my forehead, and pulling me in to a tight embrace. He tipped forward with me, supporting some of his weight, but laying most of it on top of me. 

We stayed like that for a while, kissing and whispering about nonsense. I marveled at his heft upon me. It could have been oppressive, but instead I felt safe. Protected. Anchored to something real.

It was when Cody began nuzzling at my neck that I noticed he was hardening against my thigh. Lifting his hips, he made room for his fingers to creep between my legs, praising my softness and promising to thoroughly wear me out. 

He pleaded for my readiness as he caressed my clit, demanding for me to be wet and eager so that his cock wouldn't bruise me.

When his thick fingers delved inside of me, his thick knuckles flexed against my opening, and the rough pads searched for the bit of flesh within me that bit like lightning when caressed properly. 

He watched my face, just like I had asked, admiring every blush and wince as I rolled my hips in time with the rhythm of his hand. 

I begged him to enter me, to thrust deeply and hard enough to split me in two. To mark me, and claim me for himself. 

 Scrambling to his knees, he hauled me up against his chest, palmed my ass with his hands and lifted me above his waist. Positioning me above his twitching member, he lowered me slowly, allowing my body weight to impale me upon his rod. I groaned as his hard flesh parted me, feeling the ridge around his head slip inside, followed by the shaft of his raging erection. He filled me to bursting, connecting us in the most primitive and visceral way. 

"Cyar'ika, that is my cock that sits inside you. You were made perfectly for me," Cody gasped against my mouth. "and I will fill every space within you so that there will never be room for anyone else!"

His arms wrapped around my waist with a steel grip. Arching his back and flexing his hips he raised me off of his lap, and hesitated only a breath before slamming me down, seating himself fully within me. I kissed him again and again until his thrusts became to vigorous to manage. All I could do was simply hang on, and loose myself in the feeling of his hard body. 

"Who fills you, woman?" he growled, "Who will you think about in the night?"

"Ah! Cody!" I sobbed, quickly loosing the ability to form proper thoughts. He growled deep in his chest, rapidly giving in to his hunger, staring in to my eyes as he bared his teeth, unwilling to hide his grunts and groans as he did before. 

My body was becoming frantic, begging for this male to push me over the edge and snap the tight knot that was building below my navel. I felt myself sinking under, drowning in the sensations he was driving between my thighs. 

"I'm close Cody!" 

He fought to keep his eyes focused on mine as he hammered his cock in to me. 

"Come for me, ad'ika!" He roared, half commanding half pleading. He rammed himself in viciously enough to make my head whip back. Liquid gold flooded through my veins as my climax spilled around his member. The edges of my vision darkened and stars exploded in front of my eyes. I had the feeling of falling, of the room spinning around me even as Cody's strong arms held me in place. 

Cody thrust within me again with equal strength. Another. And on the third he dug his fingers in to my hips painfully, an oath to some long forgotten god torn from his lips, snarling like a mating loth-wolf as he emptied himself in to me.

In the shadow of his release, Cody's strength waned. He slowly sunk forward, heaving ragged breaths so hard he almost seemed to be sobbing. I combed gentle fingers through his hair, enjoying the cool kiss of the night air on my skin as it swirled around us, lulling us two poor broken fools in to oblivion.

○○○

We had awoken in the early hours, Cody needing to return to his barracks to prepare for the coming day. He dressed and kissed me sweetly, apologizing for his duties that pulled him away. As the door closed I pressed my face in to the pillows where we had slept. They were spiced with the scent of the Marshall Commander, mingled with the salty aroma of sex. I wished for him to be there when I woke up. That he didn't have to be a soldier. That he didn't have to risk his life in another man's war.

○○○

I became aware of daylight on my eyelids.. My mind was foggy and slow, as if it was trying to swim through mud. There was something going on that was strangely out of place in my comfy bed, and disrupting my slumber. As I crossed the threshold in to wakefulness a moan escaped my throat and my jaw fell open. I tried to make sense of the smartly groomed head nosing between my legs as a tongue firmly scrubbed across my already alert clit. 

"Good morning love…." he emphasized the pet name I had used the night before,, grumbling in to my over eager besh & winking one of those gorgeous golden eyes. "Good news…. I've the day off…" 

~Fin~

[lunarthedragon]

Demon!Jaskier Part 2

Part 1: here

+++

He had been so many things in his past. So many iterations and forms. So many bodies and lives.

A boy with bones so fragile he needs braces to walk, but who never dies. Never dies. Never dies. His smile bringing joy to his small village.

A girl, deaf, who is shunned by her family but taken in by the sirens that cannot sway her with their songs. She is vengeance on the tide, her hands louder than her tongue.

A man filled with anger - at the world, people, himself - who sets into motion some of the most gruesome wars known to man.

A woman with thunder in her steps, mighty and heroic, wearing armor forged by poor workers and wielding a damaged sword she found lodged in her father’s ribcage.

An elf who slips along the blood-drenched fields, washed with the screams of his people, delivering mercy upon the suffering and as his tears mix with the blood.

So many lives. So many timelines. So many worlds.

Nothing ever looks the same, feels the same, but it is always him-her-they. Returning and returning, wanting to live and learn and grow in a way his brethren refuse to. 

He will be better.

+++

Sometimes, when people want to get at Geralt, they choose the cowardly method of going after his bard. They believe him to be an easier target and hope for an easy prize.

Geralt always worries, even though he never says it. Jaskier can feel it, wafting off of him as he charges into the temporary prison and sees the dead bandits-mercenaries-fools already strewn across the ground.

Over the years the Witcher has learned and accepted that Jaskier has a profound talent for getting into trouble, but also getting out of it.

Still he worries.

Even when he knows of Jaskier’s true nature.

A group of bandits abscond with him to their camp, set to bribe the Witcher.

The night has barely fallen when Jaskier runs into Geralt on his way out of the bandit camp, blood smeared over his hands and face, yet his clothes miraculously untouched.

“Are you okay?” Geralt still demands, reeking of concern.

“They tore one of the buttons out of my doublet. How do you think I am doing?” Jaskier grumbles, ignoring the concern, even though it makes him feel all warm inside. Like the shadows are stretching with a brighter sun. Like some of the darkness boils back.

It is a good warm.

He does not need worrying, though. He does not need rescuing. He has been a damsel before, but he has never been in distress. 

Still... it can be a little nice... on occasion.

+++

Jaskier tells Geralt some of his own stories.

His words have been prettied and empty for so many years, the occasional story bracketed from when “Jaskier” began and the present. 

Now, he tells Geralt anything and everything. Of worlds far beyond his own. Places hidden away unless you know where to look. History long forgotten.

Geralt pretends not to listen, but his awareness is firmly planted on Jaskier when he talks of these things. It appears these stories can even intrigue a grumpy, old Witcher.

“The monsters in your song,” Geralt suddenly cuts in one night when Jaskier is recounting his life as Damalt, a “Wastelander” from far, far away many years ago, where he hunted monsters not unlike a Witcher. “I said they didn’t exist, but...”

The Witcher looked deep in thought and it takes Jaskier a moment to realize he is talking about when they first met. “You were not incorrect,” he assures, smiling, “They do not exist... in this world. Alas, I occasionally get my histories jumbled up when high on adrenaline. Terrible habit, that.”

“It must happen often, then,” Geralt huffs. His pride is wounded. He is meant to be the monster expert, and yet...

“I often call out the wrong name in bed,” Jaskier replies with a shrug.

“That’s hardly terrible,” Geralt’s lips twist and a brow arches.

Jaskier shrugs. “Sure, unless you say it like, ‘G̸͙̅̀Ŕ̸̠̖ḥ̶̀͋h̸̘́K̸̥̇͒̐͛͋͗̏b̶̥͕̠̪͉͛̆ą̶̘͈̟̼̰̟̓̌̀̐T̶̝̠̙̍̽̈́̄̈́C̶̥̫̝͐̄͋́̏̀ḧ̶͍̟̟̠̫̎́̇̈́h̸̬̅́Á̸̬̱͎̗̓̃͂̇͊͠L̴͕̗͛̀̓̔̾̂̈́ͅ.’”

Geralt has leant back as if smacked, his eyes so wide the whites are visible all around his irises, and his mouth is hanging open.

It makes Jaskier laugh for five minutes straight.

+++

He cannot eat salt. It will not kill him, but it causes the closest thing to an allergic reaction in him that he could ever have.

It burns where it touches tongue or skin or organs or bone. He feels it deeper than the flesh, the body, and he writhes, like a black, foaming slug. It makes him screech but no one hears, air running cold until icicles form but no one shivers, a chittering vibration that sets ears bleeding but no one cares.

He cannot eat salt.

+++

The thing in the mansion is ancient. Almost as ancient as him. He can hear it long before the mansion - dilapidated, abandoned, hopeless, taken back by nature - comes into view.

Geralt doesn’t hear it. He keeps walking, looking out for the monster on the contract.

The monster is gone, if it was ever here to begin with. Dead, dead, dead. Like the air and the earth and the sea. Dead but ancient and crawling without moving.

And Geralt doesn’t hear it.

“We shouldn’t go closer,” Jaskier finally says - voice not-quite-right at the edges, like a burning photo - because Geralt knows. Knows what he is. Accepted what he is. It is fine to speak up and protect that which he holds dear. That which he cares for more than he should.

Geralt is looking at him now, confusion in his eyes, and he wishes he could put into words that they need to stay away from that mansion because the thing inside will be the Witcher’s undoing.

He can move on, find a new body, find a new life, but the flesh bodies with the fleshier souls of mortals do not have that privilege. And he quite likes this particular mortal.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asks, voice low, stepping towards Jaskier as if to protect.

“E̴v̵e̶r̴y̷t̵h̷i̶n̴g̸,” his voice twitches around something too big and forces it back down. “It will kill you. You need to get away.”

“Is it a spirit of some kind?” Geralt asks, his face set in concern. Jaskier offers a nod. “Is it like you?” Jaskier opens his mouth to reply and it rushes out.

“Me but not - screaming where I whisper - the fly in your soup the fly on a corpse - bear trap on your leg gnaw it off gnaw it off - viscera from an eye split in half - war as bloody as birth - ”

Geralt grabs ahold of his arms and drags him away, sprinting in the opposite direction as the mansion, and Jaskier has never sensed fear on the Witcher like he does in that moment.

They don’t return to the town they came from. They never completed the contract. There was no monster to kill.

Instead, in complete silence, they make camp and Jaskier curls up tight to Geralt’s side under a thick fur. If he shakes a little, drained from a battle that never happened, Geralt doesn’t say a word and only holds him closer.

+++

Djinn are an ancient spirit as much as Jaskier is. Not horrors, but rather entities. Embodiments. Powerful and feared and unable to flee from the imprisonments of man.

They hate the things that Jaskier is. Envious of him and his brethren. They are not as ancient as he, but they possess powers long forgotten.

Jaskier should have stopped things sooner. “I can’t sleep,” Geralt had said as he fished for a djinn. Jaskier had seen the problem, seen the issue, knew the outcome, and he should have just stepped in forced a stop.

Instead, he tried to talk Geralt down. Claim a lovely cup of chamomile tea with honey and whiskey would do the trick! Perhaps a back rub to sweeten the deal? Just please get away from the water. Please.

It doesn’t work and the jug in Geralt’s hands sends Jaskier into a panic, shooting out to grab ahold of it and tugging. Geralt doesn’t let go. Just glares at him.

“Seriously, Geralt, you’re being ridiculous! This isn’t going to help you. They’ll trick you and put you to sleep for good, never to rise again. How can you not see--”

The jug opens with a “pop!” The engraved lid in Geralt’s hand, jug in Jaskier's, and he can FEEL the energies around them shift. Compress. Tug and squeeze until it is hard for him to breathe.

“Nothing happened,” Geralt growls to himself, looking around, growing more and more frustrated, but Jaskier’s attention is glued to the surface of the lake. There is a shadow there that hasn’t taken form. Watching without eyes. Laughing without lips.

A djinn’s aura is not a scream or a cry. It is a vibration. A roll of thunder and the long, belting roar of a giant.

They stare at each other, through eyes beyond this plain. Eyes that see each other for what they truly are. Wind is picking up, actual wind, the sky darkening, and with the first bolt of lightning the djinn attacks.

He screeches, unholy and enraged, as claws-talons-teeth, dig into the parts of him that go unseen. Black veins form on his body, growing and growing and growing, hands and eyes pitch black as he lashes back. A piece of him catches on a piece of them, rendering-cutting-ripping, until lightning flashes above like a scream. Like a scar.

Black oozes from his mouth with the next clash, veins surging along his face, his stomach, his legs, everywhere. His hands are grasping without moving - so many hands, too many hands - and he tears the djinn in two, flinging it away, but a bolt of lightning like a blade severs an arm. A leg. There’s a hole in his chest that bleeds black.

He hears a voice, deep and frantic in a way he isn’t used to. Terrified. He’s not meant to be terrified. Not for Jaskier. He...

“Stop!” Geralt yells out, loud as the storm, and time holds still. The djinn is still there, present, hovering, deliberating, before it pulls back and away with a thin smile despite having no lips.

Ah. Geralt has the wishes.

Isn’t that lovely?

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, sounding desperate and too close and Jaskier looks to his side to find he is laying on his back and Geralt is kneeling beside him. He looks horrified, his emotions apparently so sudden and strong he is unable to hold them in.

“Hi,” he says, black blood gurgling out with the word, smiling in such a way his dark eyes crinkle. He doesn’t think it puts Geralt at ease, though, with the way he seems to flicker. Stutter. Then lurch forward like he wants to hold Jaskier but stops himself short.

“You’re... you...” Geralt isn’t one for words, but when he does talk he doesn’t usually stutter. Jaskier doesn’t like this.

“Djinn and demons like me do not get along,” he offers. He feels tight in his skin, too much wanting to leak out. To crack more of his skin and ooze free. Fill the air. Fill the world. Fill everything.

He holds it in, but he can feel more of his body turning dark with more and more veins. The hole in his chest hurts.

“Could you pass me my arm and leg, please?” he asks kindly and, apparently too shocked to argue or question, the Witcher lurches sideways to scoop up the severed limbs. He hands them over and Jaskier takes them gratefully, before setting his arm to the bleeding stump.

It stinks, like rotten eggs, and Geralt’s nose wrinkles up but he doesn’t move away. Jaskier wonders if he’s in shock.

The limb knits back onto his body, slower than usual, but not unexpected for a wound like this. He does the same to his leg, pleased to have all four limbs back, less of himself wanting to leak out. He is still covered in black veins, though, with dark eyes.

Still, he turns to Geralt, who looks lost. He reaches out to lay a hand against Geralt’s cheek, the Witcher flinching but then pressing back into his palm. “See? I am fine. Death means very little to me,” he assures, his voice still full, like he has too many teeth-tongues-throats, but far more normal than it once was.

“You have a hole in your chest,” Geralt says lowly, seeming unable to speak much higher. Jaskier tries to think about what this must be like from Geralt’s perspective. His only friend, a demon of unknown power, changing horrifically  and having a fight with an invisible force. Then, being torn apart before his very eyes...

Yes, perhaps this response was a bit more understanding...

“It will heal,” he says, but looks down at the hole, black blood gushing from it still, coating his front and back. He hadn’t gotten that from a bolt of lightning. This was a cursed wound.

Not enough to kill something like him, but enough to be a nuisance.

“I may abandon this body,” he considers aloud, “Find a new host. This will take years to heal.”

“No,” Geralt says suddenly, moving forward and grabbing Jaskier’s shoulders. “No. Tell me how to help. This is my doing--”

“This is not your doing,” Jaskier says, head tilting.

“I should have listened.”

“You should have,” he agrees, “But this is still not your doing.”

“Just...” Geralt looks down and away, avoiding eye contact. Jaskier still tries to catch his gaze anyway. “Tell me what I can do...”

“It is a magical wound,” he begins and brings a hand up to run his knuckles over Geralt’s jaw. It is so close and vulnerable, he can’t help it. “It needs magical treatment so that I might do the rest. I sense a sorceress in Rinde, the next town over. Powerful.”

Geralt looks up, listening intently. His face is set again, under control as it usually is, and his eyes are determined. He nods. “To Rinde,” he says as he stands and carefully urges Jaskier up, too.

There is a sense of vertigo upon standing and the black veins flair, spreading then receding. He feels disoriented, deep to the core. Perhaps the cursed wound was doing more to him than he thought.

“I think...” he begins slowly as Geralt leads him towards Roach, who is far enough away not to be spooked by the fight, but close enough to still be within sight. Geralt has a firm hand on his closest arm and the other arm wrapped around Jaskier’s shoulders, trying to support him.

“I think I need to pass out, now.” And he goes down to the sound of Geralt’s worried exclamation, the world blurring until it is void. It is nothing. It is all.

+++

Definitely gonna make a part 3! Also likely to put them all together, eventually, and put them on Ao3 later! Tell me what y’all think!!

Tagged users that commented on part one: @meody90 @zoeyszone @patrycjami-chan @emthegiantnerd @onelonelyforgottenbiscuit 

[ashtheshortstack]

take my scars & make them stars - ch 6

Rating: M Ship: Kristoff/Anna Chapter Six

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Sick Fic, Cancer Fic, Chronic Illness, Chemotherapy, Modern AU, Coffee Shop AU, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Angst with a happy ending, Mutual Pining, Mentions of Character Death

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It’d been two weeks since she kissed Kristoff. Their snapchatting habits became even more frequent, Anna popped by the coffee shop more often than before, and they began calling one another often. Despite Anna’s disdain for putting a label on them, it was definitely a relationship. And it was clearly exclusive. Neither of them were dating anyone else. 

But still… there was something still nagging at her. Even though her treatments were finishing up, Anna still couldn’t find it in her to officially call Kristoff her “boyfriend.” Maybe, it just felt too soon after breaking off her engagement. Especially after the incident at the coffee shop. There were no doubts in her mind regarding her feelings for Kristoff, nor doubts in his feelings for her. However, part of her knew there was still more beneath the surface. There was something Kristoff was holding inside. 

They’d decided to take another visit to the park together. This time, Kristoff brought Sven along much to Anna’s excitement. The bouncing hound was always a welcomed member to their party. How Kristoff kept the large dog under control was a miracle to her. Knowing if she even attempted to take hold of Sven’s leash, he’d take off with her attached in a heartbeat. It didn’t help that Anna’s body was so weak anyway. 

“These flowers are beautiful,” she mused as they walked through the gardened area. 

Kristoff hummed in agreement. “Yeah, sunflowers are really pretty.” 

“They’re my favorite.” 

Chuckling, he nodded. “It suits you.” 

She gazed up at him with a smile. “Oh, really? You think I’m a sunflower kinda girl?” 

“Oh, definitely.” 

Anna giggled at that, watching in amusement as Sven caught his nose on a particular scent, tugging on the leash. Kristoff kept him in control easily. Which thoroughly impressed her. She had to push thoughts out of her mind regarding such muscles. It was not the time to try to check him out. Or imagine him shirtless. 

Nope. Nope nope nope. 

They continued their idle chatter until they reached a stone bench. Anna felt herself draining. Her energy was taking a tank from their strolling. With a sigh, she sat down for a moment. 

Kristoff paused, concern etched along his features. “You alright?” 

Waving a hand, she nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I just need a break for a moment?” 

“Sure,” he said before taking a seat next to her. 

Sven didn’t seem too thrilled with stopping, but when the blond gave the dog a look, his attitude suddenly changed. With a small whine, Sven flopped down at Kristoff’s feet. 

“He understands too,” Kristoff added with a reassuring smile. 

Anna laughed, nodding slightly. “Uh huh.” 

Scooting closer, she found herself pressed against him. Their thighs touched as Anna let her head rest against his shoulder. It was exhausting to try to act normal for Elsa. But with Kristoff she could just be tired. She could let cancer get the best of her just sometimes. When she was with Elsa, she wanted to be strong. Wanted to show her sister there was no reason to fret over her. No reason to treat her like a child or hide her away as their parents had done to her elder sister all those years ago. They meant well, Anna knew. And while they may have protected Elsa, they failed Anna in so many ways. 

Feeling tears prick her eyes, Anna quickly wiped them away before Kristoff could notice. But it was Kristoff… and he was the most observant person she’d ever met. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” 

She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I was--I was just thinking about my parents.” 

“Your parents?” 

Sighing, she slumped against him. “Yeah. Just… how everything went so wrong.” 

Kristoff’s hand suddenly perched on her knee with a comforting squeeze. “What do you mean?” 

“Just… you know. How they spent so much time taking care of Elsa that they forgot about me. My parents struggled to have children, but then they had Elsa and she had all these health problems they hadn’t planned on having another kid. But I came along anyway. I was a miracle baby. I wasn’t supposed to be born even more than Elsa. And sometimes… I wished I hadn’t been.” 

She felt Kristoff stiffen beneath her. “Anna…” 

“I know, I know. I sound super ungrateful. I was raised mostly by Gerda in a huge mansion. I never wanted any toy or book or anything. They bought everything I asked for. I guess they thought that was enough to show their affection?” 

“That’s not how your parents should have shown you love, Anna,” he murmured, his lips pressing against her crown as he spoke. 

Sniffling, Anna couldn’t hold the water works in. “A-And now, Elsa tries to treat me the way they treated her. B-But sometimes I just want space . Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to finally have a relationship with Elsa. She was basically banned from making any type of contact with me for the longest time. I was pulled out of school for her sake. To make sure Elsa wouldn’t come in contact with any type of contamination.” 

“You resent her…” 

Anna sat straight up. “No, no! Of course not! I love Elsa. More than anyone! Or anything!” 

He smiled, shaking his head. “That doesn’t mean you have a little bit of ill feelings towards her because of it. Look, what you went through wasn’t yours or Elsa’s fault, but that doesn’t mean that sometimes you wished she wasn’t the way she was.” 

The guilt that washed over her was sour in her throat. It made her stomach churn that her inner most thoughts were on display. It was something she’d never admit out loud. 

“I… I always wondered why her? Sometimes… I wanted to be sick. I wanted to be the one who got their attention,” she laughed bitterly looking at her frail, pale hands. “Be careful what you wish for, right?” 

Kristoff wound his arm around her, giving her a one armed hug the best he could in their position. “Anna, listen. You deserve the world. Elsa knows that. She knows what you’ve been through, and I can guarantee that’s why you feel she’s smothering you. It’s not that she’s treating you like your parents, it’s that she’s trying to make up for it.” 

“You really think so?” 

“Of course. Elsa loves you. That’s easy for anyone to see.” 

“Thank you, Kristoff. You always know what to say.” 

                                                       o~o~o~o

  Anna hadn’t started her day intending on being in Kristoff’s apartment. Especially didn’t intend on being pulled into his lap as her lips melded against his own. 

Kissing Kristoff was so new and exciting. It was nothing like any kisses she’d shared in her prior relationship. When her lips touched his, her heart soared. Breath being caught in her throat. It left her swooning, insides swirling. Ever since chemo started, her libido was practically non-existent. And the only exception to it was when she was with Kristoff. He was the only one who sent her mind flying into the gutter with sinful thoughts she knew she shouldn’t be having. 

Her arms wound around his neck as his hands went to her waist. Their kisses were endless. Addictive. Anna couldn’t get enough of him. When they detached for air, Kristoff’s breath fanned her face. His honey-brown eyes were half-lidded as he gazed at her. She was stunned when he reached up, taking her pink beanie from her head. 

Gaping at him, she tried to catch her breath. Her brows furrowed in confusion as Kristoff sat her hat to the side. Anna found herself a bit stunned when his large palm encased her scalp. His touch was so gentle as he stroked the auburn peach fuzz that had slowly started growing back. 

With a giggle, she bumped her nose to his. “I knew you just had a thing for bald girls.” 

He snorted. “You got me.” 

They shared another laugh as Anna slowly steadied her breathing. The last thing she wanted to do was get too out of breath and overwhelmed and pass out on him right then and there. That wouldn’t be very romantic, to say the least. 

She caught his lips again. Kisses grew more and more heated with each pass of his tongue along hers. There was a heat swirling inside her. But Anna knew she couldn’t. She wasn’t ready for this…

Gingerly, she broke away. Anna gazed over him with sad eyes, guilt swirling in her irses. “I-I can’t, Kristoff, not until we’re--you know.” 

With a small tilt of his head, Kristoff gave a gentle smile. “I know. I understand.” 

“I-It’s not that I don’t want you! Because I do! I really , really do. But right now this is hard for me. And I don’t want to over-exert myself or take this step until we’re both ready.” 

“Anna, I wasn’t expecting anything.” 

She blinked. “You weren’t?” 

“No, why? Did you think I was trying to pressure you? I didn’t mean to come across that way.” 

Anna bauked at the mere suggestion that Kristoff thought he was capable of pushing her in that way. “What? No, of course not. I just--I didn’t know what you were expecting, I guess.” 

“Nothing. I don’t expect anything from you. Making out is a-okay with me.” 

Laughing at that, she nodded and cupped his cheeks before tugging him in for another round of smooches. If he was fine with leaving things as they were then so was she. Anna had no qualms with kissing him senseless if he was on board. And he didn’t even make her feel like he was settling for less by keeping above the belt. Above the clothes, even. 

Though, Anna had to admit that she couldn’t wait to run her hands along those biceps and chest muscles some day. 

Their make-out session finally ended with Sven whined loudly and scratched at his bowl. Kristoff rolled his eyes dramatically before smirking at her. Anna returned the gesture, grinning as she took in his flushed cheeks and swollen lips. Yeah, she could get used to seeing him like that. 

When he left to take care of Sven, Anna stood and began to wander around the living room once Kristoff was out of sight. It was a lovely place he had. It was small and quaint. Nothing like what Anna was used to. Her home had so many empty rooms and halls just begging for people to need them. When she approached the mantle, she noticed an array of family photos. 

Kristoff had told her long ago that he was adopted, so when she saw the two adults with smooth dark skin holding a very young blonde boy, it wasn’t jarring at all. The sight of little Kristoff with a snaggle toothed grin made her lips twitch into a smile. There was a sense of longing when she looked at them. How happy they were… Her chest tightened at the thought that maybe she could’ve had that with her own parents if life had been different. 

There was a long photo next to it. Jeez, Kristoff had a lot of family. They were all bunched together, three rows of people. Kristoff definitely stuck out amongst the crowd. He was still young in that photo. No older than twelve or thirteen. 

Next Anna found herself smiling at the photo of Kristoff and Sven. Sven was just a puppy, and again, Kristoff looked pretty young himself. She idly wondered why he didn’t have any recent photos on this mantle. These all seemed to be from at least five or so years prior or more. 

When she slid to the next frame, she was shocked to find it wasn’t a photo, but rather… a drawing? A drawing from someone young it seemed. There were two stick figures holding hands. One was taller and blond, she assumed that was meant to be Kristoff, and the other was smaller with black curly hair and a blue triangle dress. The stick figures wore smiles as they stood in grass and flowers. But then Anna saw the signature stribbled in child-like handwriting… 

“To my big brother, Kris. Love, Pepper.”

Wait. What?

Anna felt her heart sink into her stomach. Who was Pepper? Who was Pepper?  

There was one last photo right next to the framed artwork. Anna’s eyes shot right to it. There stood a teenage Kristoff holding a little dark skinned girl in a hospital gown. She was waving to the camera, a small smile on her face. There was a head wrap across her scalp… no eyebrows… tubes coming from her nose. 

...This girl had cancer. 

Chest pounding, Anna felt her fingers tremble as she traced the frame of the photo. Was this what Kristoff had been hiding from her? Is this why he had always seemed to know so much about cancer? 

Had she only gotten his attention because he knew what it was like? 

“What’re you doing?” Kristoff asked, voice lower than she’d ever heard it. 

Anna let out a gasp as she turned around to face him. Swallowing, she tried to ignore the hurt in his eyes as she glanced idly back at the photos. “Who’s… Kristoff, who’s Pepper?” 

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he sunk slowly down onto the couch. “My sister.” 

“I… I thought your parents couldn’t have children.” 

Kristoff shook his head. “They couldn’t for eighteen years. About three years after they adopted me, they were able to conceive. On accident.” 

Gripping her sleeves, Anna hugged herself tightly.  “She got cancer?” 

“Yeah,” he said, looking away. His honey-brown eyes remained downcast, never making contact with hers. “Leukemia.” 

Anna felt her shoulders sink. “She… She didn’t make it, did she?” 

He sniffed. “No, she passed five years ago.” 

There were so many emotions swirling inside her. Pity, sadness, hurt… but mostly anger. Her anger was bubbling to the surface more than anything. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He looked at her then. “I was going to. I-It just wasn’t the right time.” 

Huffing, she crossed her arms. “Yeah? When was the right time? I told you everything about my family. Not once did it cross your mind to mention you had a sister?” 

Kristoff stood, tossing an arm out to the side. “Oh, jeez, I don’t know, Anna. When was the right time to tell me you had an ex-fiance, huh? May have been nice to know before he just shows up at my coffee shop ready for a fight!” 

“I had already dumped a ton of shit on you, I didn’t think it was right to add more!” she argued. 

“Yeah, well I didn’t think it was the right time to tell a person who has cancer that my sister died from it! ” 

Anna recoiled just a bit, huffing a breath. “You lied to me!” 

Scoffing, Kristoff looked away. “I didn’t lie. Just omitted the truth. I was going to tell you after you’d recovered.” 

“My treatment will continue for months , Kristoff! I still have a long way to go before remission. And you thought it was okay to just keep this from me all this time!?” 

“I thought I was doing you a favor. Who wants to hear that someone dies from the very thing they’re fighting!” 

Anna stomped her foot. “Maybe, I do! Maybe, I wanted to hear about your life! You knew all of this about cancer and just led me to believe it was research when you’ve actually lived through it once. But you didn’t tell me! And it makes me question everything.” 

“Anna… C’mon…” 

There were tears in her eyes now. “Y-You told me I wasn’t a charity case. But what am I supposed to believe now? You told me that you saw me in the coffee shop and thought I was beautiful. But I only got your attention first because I had cancer. And you knew what it was like to see someone go through it and you… you didn’t tell me. You pitied me.” 

“No, Anna, I meant what I said I--” 

Holding up her hand, she shook her head. “I need to go.” 

Kristoff went to take a step, reaching for her hesitant before drawing back. “Anna, wait. Please, don’t.” 

“I just… need some time. And some space. Okay?” 

Anna didn’t look back as she went out the door. She started down the sidewalk to head towards town. Picking up her phone, she quickly rang her sister to pick her up. Elsa would know what to say… right? 

It hurt. Everything hurt. She didn’t know what to believe. There was a feeling of betrayal she knew she wasn’t entitled to, and yet it lingered in her mind like a sour taste in her mouth. He had to understand. She wanted him to understand. 

But Anna felt so lost. So unsure of what the next step was. Elsa had agreed to come pick her up. Told her to stay put. But Anna couldn’t listen. She just kept trudging forward. There was no going back right then. 

Not even to get her pink beanie she’d left sitting on his couch… 

[dracoqueen22]

[Critical Role] Coming Clean

Universe: Critical Role, Campaign Two, Set in the Xhorhouse Characters: Caleb Widogast/Caduceus Clay Rating: K+ Description: Caduceus only meant to help Caleb to relax. He hadn’t known it would lead to something surprising for the both of them.

It's not hard to coax Caleb out of his research room. One simply has to have the right timing. Such as late at night, when the rest of the Mighty Nein are asleep in their beds and not prone to being nosy. When Caleb has spent far too long awake, nose pressed to his books, determined to glean every last bit of information from every last page. When he's skipped dinner because he didn't want to lose his place, but mindlessly snacked from a plate Nott left by his elbow. He's predictable, their wizard is, and Caduceus finds there's a certain comfort in predictability.

Caduceus hums as he fixes up a tray, placing a pot of tea and two cups upon it, along with a plate of heartier snacks. The tea is a special blend -- the Temis' he thinks -- one that tastes better once it's cooled, which means it'll be perfect for an afterbath meal. Caleb works hard, far too hard, and doesn't care for himself in the manner he should. Caduceus understands that there are reasons, things which weigh heavily on Caleb's heart and conscience. But Caleb lets those things swallow him up, inform too many of his decisions, and he wallows like a pig in the sty. He needs to get out of his own head, and Caduceus means to help him do just that. He picks up the tray, and at the last minute, adds a small vase with a few cut flowers from his personal garden, just to give it a splash of color. Caleb will appreciate that, he thinks. Caleb is one to notice the little things. The Xhorhouse is still and quiet. Nott and Yeza retired early, and Caduceus is no longer so naive as to be confused why, he's simply glad for them. Yasha is on her balcony, sword balanced across her knees, staring into the night sky, perhaps hoping for a storm. Jester and Beau are both asleep; Caduceus had paused outside their room, heard Beau's telltale snoring, and Jester's quiet murmur of sleep-talking. Fjord's asleep in the common room, knocked out on a couch, one arm dangling off the side. He’d had a book on his chest, but Caduceus had gently extracted it, saved Fjord's place, and covered the half-orc with a blanket. Lastly, Caleb is in his research room, burning the past midnight oil, and in need of a break and relaxation and some stress relief. The trick will be to convince Caleb he is in need of them as well. Caduceus shifts the tray to one hand and raps his knuckles against the door. There's a moment of startled pause before Caleb's voice comes through the wood. "Yes?" "Pardon the intrusion, Mr. Caleb," Caduceus says as he slips inside, balancing the tray with care. "I thought I might convince you to take a break and join me in the bath. I think it'll do you some good." Caleb rises from behind his desk, sleeves pushed up to reveal the scars on his arms, coat shucked aside, hair loose around his face, dark circles under his eyes. "No matter what Jester tells you, I bathe on the regular now, Mr. Clay." Caduceus chuckles and rests the tray on the desk, hoping the enticing aroma will waft Caleb's direction. "I meant a soak will relax you, not that you are dirty." "Oh. I see." Caleb's gaze slants toward the tray. "You brought this for me?" "For us to share." Caduceus holds up a hand. "But only after a soak. They are best eaten when one is at ease." Caleb chuckles, quiet and dry, and it's such a rare sound Caduceus' chest blooms with a delighted heat. "Very well. If you're going to bribe me, then I suppose I have no choice." Caleb casts a glance at his work before purposefully moving around the desk, rolling his sleeves back over his arms. "To the bath then." Caduceus grins widely. He picks up the tray once more and follows Caleb through the Xhorhouse, to the bath they've installed for their own use. There's something to be said about a private bath. It's always clean and fragrant and only needs a touch of magic to be the perfect temperature. The privacy is also nice, though Caduceus has never bothered much with modesty. A body is a body, what's there to be concerned over? He sets the tray on a shelf and starts to disrobe, throwing his clothes over a nearby chair. Caleb is much more neat about it, removing each article and folding it. He's lean and pale, arms striped in scars, and others across his body. There's a knotted one on his chest which looks as though he's been impaled, and countless signs of battle. His skin is a landscape of struggle, and Caduceus finds himself curious of the stories behind each one. He looks down at himself. He'd been pristine once. Unmarked. Now the evidence of an adventuring life has started spreading across his own skin. The pucker of burns from Nott's exploding arrow. The long, thin lines of claw marks. Little knots where contusions have left permanent bumps. The only injuries which haven't left visible scars are the times of near-drowning. Those scars he feels in a thick smoke or when panting from exertion, when his lungs threaten to seize, and he’s taken by a coughing fit. His ear twitches at a faint splash. Caduceus looks up in time to catch Caleb sinking beneath the water, until it laps at his shoulders. His face reddens from the heat, his freckles standing out in sharp relief. He emits a soft sigh, the lines of stress in his face and across his shoulders starting to loosen. "You were right, Mr. Clay. Sometimes a break is necessary." Caleb splashes his face with water, scrubbing around his nose and brow and chin especially, where new growth peppers his jawline. Caduceus smiles and grabs a bar of soap before he joins Caleb in the water. "I find a calm mind often opens new avenues we may not have seen before." "Very true, though a calm mind is something I rarely have." Darkness shades Caleb's face for a moment. He ducks his head under the water, soaking his hair, before he rises again, pushing it up and out of his face. Caduceus hums and rubs his fingers over the soap. "You just need to learn to relax," he says, and he tilts his head. "I could help, if you want." Caleb blinks at him, and red paints the bridge of his nose and the top of his cheeks. "Eh, help? I don't... um... " "I could wash your hair," Caduceus clarifies, gesturing with the soap. Sometimes, he thinks every member of the Mighty Nein doesn't get enough physical intimacy, something he himself has been missing since the last of his family left. "My sister says I give great scalp massages." "Oh. Yes. That makes sense." Caleb coughs into his hand, and the tips of his ears turn a bright red. Perhaps the water is too hot. He stands, the water swirling just above his hipbones, and comes closer to Caduceus before turning to present his back, and a new array of scars and bruises. He heals so slowly, despite the magic they pump into him. He’s the squishiest member of the Mighty Nein, according to the others, and times like these, Caduceus agrees. Though he is not by far the weakest. Truthfully, Caduceus does not see any member as a weak link. They all have their skills and talents most useful in particular situations. Just as they all have their weaknesses where they must rely on one another to overcome them.. “Let me know if I hurt you,” Caduceus says as he lathers up the soap and threads sudsy fingers through Caleb’s hair. Standing, he’s a good two heads taller than Caleb, so it’s no trouble to work a good lather into the ginger strands. A low groan is Caleb’s response, but it’s not one of pain so Caduceus grins and rubs his blunt fingernails over Caleb’s scalp. A shiver runs across Caleb’s skin, but it can’t be because of the water’s temperature. Low curls of steam rise from the surface, bringing with them the fragrance of the oils Jester keeps dumping into the water. “This is far from pain, mein freund.” Caduceus chuckles as Caleb leans back toward him, body going visibly limp. “That’s what I want to hear.” Caleb hums, a sound not unlike Frumpkin’s purring, and tilts his head into Caduceus’ fingers. He lapses into silence, a companionable one, occasionally sighing with satisfaction as Caduceus finds a particularly troublesome spot. He scrubs his fingers lower, scratching through the finer hairs beneath the longer strands, and Caleb’s head tilts forward, exposing his nape. There are more scars here, hidden behind Caleb’s hair. Whisper-thin lines. What could have caused these, Caduceus wonders. He doesn’t dare ask. He’s worked too hard to encourage Caleb to relax. Queries about scars turn into reminders about the pain which caused them, and might cause Caleb to tense all over again. Caduceus files them away for another day. “Still okay?” Caduceus asks. Caleb groans, soft and quiet. “Your sister was right.” Caduceus laughs and his fingers drift lower, massaging at Caleb’s nape before fluttering out across the top of his shoulders, thumbs digging into knotted muscle. Caleb turns to jelly beneath him, and Caduceus chuckles again, pausing and resting his hands on Caleb’s shoulders. “Careful now. Wouldn’t want you to sink into the water and drown.” Caduceus takes a step back, finds the underwater shelf and sits, his tail flicking to drape across his thigh. He pulls Caleb back another step, between his knees, and resumes massaging the tense upper shoulders. They are of a height with Caduceus seated, and sudsy water dribbles from Caleb’s soapy hair. “I may fall asleep like this, Mr. Clay,” Caleb murmurs, and there’s a sleepy, unguarded quality to his voice that fills Caduceus with pride. “Then I’m doing my job right.” Caduceus finds a particularly stubborn knot and digs the heel of his thumb into it, until it unfurls beneath him and tension melts out of Caleb’s body. “Schiesse, that hurts,” Caleb says, and he grabs Caduceus’ knees under the water, fingers digging in as if to hold himself upright. “A good kind of hurt though, right?” Caleb sways back toward him. “Ja, it is.” Caduceus grins and grabs his shoulders, holding him in place. “Might wanna dip down real quick, Mr. Caleb, before that soap gets in your eyes.” “Yes. Of course.” Caleb hums to himself as he sinks below the surface for a moment, and then rises again, water cascading across his bare skin in a bubbly fall. It’s fascinating, to watch the various trails the water takes, before Caduceus shakes himself out of distraction and gets back to work. He gets lost in his own head sometimes. Less so, now that he has people to speak to rather than himself, but every once in a while, old habits rise up. Caduceus buries his fingers in Caleb’s hair, working the soap from the silky strands, fingers dragging behind Caleb’s ear to get a few stubborn soap-slicks. “One more time,” Caduceus says. Caleb nods and dips down, long enough for Caduceus to help him rinse the last of the soap free, before he stands again. He wobbles briefly, catching himself once more on Caduceus’ knees, until he catches his balance. “Better?” Caduceus asks. “Much.” Caleb drags his fingers through his own hair, scraping it back from his face, behind his ears. He draws in a long, steadying breath, and the air around him lacks the distinct tension he tends to carry like a physical weight. He looks younger, less burdened by the pain he carries. Caleb is a handsome human on his own, but relaxed and soft like this seems to make him seem even more so. “Good.” Caduceus sweeps up his own hair, pulling it over his shoulder, finger-combing it in preparation for washing. “You have my thanks,” Caleb says as he turns to face Caduceus, his lips pulled into a gentle smile, mouth still framed by a shadow of scruff. “And you were right. I did need this. You always seem to know these kinds of things.” “People’s needs aren’t all that complicated. It’s not hard to guess,” Caduceus says, reaching for the soap, but Caleb’s hand closes gently over his, warm from the bath, a few scars roughing the skin of his fingers. “Allow me,” Caleb says, slipping the soap out of reach. “It’s only fair.” “If you insist.” Caduceus leans forward, so that it is easier for Caleb to reach, and hums when a cupful of water splashes over his head and hair, trickling down the sides of his face. There’s something soothing about the slide of water over skin, something meditative. Caleb's hands then sink into his hair, and Caduceus melts, a groan rising in his chest. Caleb is gentle as he scrubs around the base of Caduceus' ears, but firm when he drags his blunt fingernails against Caduceus' scalp. He works a fine lather, the floral scent of lilac and berry filling the air around them, mingling with the oils of the bath. Caduceus hums a satisfied noise as Caleb breathes a laugh, smoothing the pads of his fingers into the base of Caduceus' head before dragging them up again. "It seems I am not unskilled myself," Caleb says. Caduceus smiles though Caleb can't see it behind the curtain of pink hair. "You have very talented hands," he agrees, and sinks a little further, surrendering to the relaxing scrub of Caleb's fingers, especially as they scratch through his undercut. "It is good to know they are useful for more than burning things," Caleb says, his tone light and offhand, but an edge of self-deprecation beneath. "We are the sum of our parts," Caduceus says slowly, taking care to choose his words, lest Caleb flee and shatter the moment. "And we're all capable of great deeds as well as terrible ones." "Yes. This is true." Caleb's hands wander around the base of Caduceus' ears, ever so gently, and Caduceus sighs happily. There's nothing quite like the soft touch of another in such a delicate spot. It never produces the same result as scratching them himself. "This is a good spot then, ja?" "Yeah." Caduceus' head sinks a little further, baring his nape entirely. Caleb hums a laugh. "Good to know." He gives the ears another gentle rub before his hands remove themselves. "Close your eyes, Mr. Clay. Time to rinse." He obeys and focuses on sensation as warm water courses over his head and hair, dripping down with suds, splashing into the water beneath him. Caleb works each cupful through his hair, until there's not a trace of soap remaining. By Melora, Caduceus shall sleep well tonight. "There. I think I've got it all." Caleb gathers up Caduceus' hair, twisting it into a loose braid off to the side. Caduceus waits for the last few drips to leave his brow before he opens his eyes and straightens, Caleb's fingers tucking the last of the braid in place. "If not, a little soap never hurt anyone," Caduceus says. Caleb chuckles. "Yes, so Jester tells me. Frequently." He cards fingers through his own hair, no longer slicked down to his head, and he gives Caduceus a suddenly keen look. "Mr. Clay, I am going to do something, and if it's not... eh... acceptable, please tell me." Caduceus tilts his head to the side a bit, the braid slipping over his shoulder. "All right." Caleb nods, as if to himself, and his tongue flicks over his bottom lip. He brushes a strand of hair from Caduceus' forehead -- escaped from the braid -- and he leans in. It takes a moment for Caduceus to connect the dots, to read Caleb's intent, before their mouths collide, and Caleb kisses him, his lips chapped and warm. He rests one hand on Caduceus' knee, the other on his shoulder, to brace himself. The kiss is gentle at first, a bare brush of lips, but when Caduceus doesn't immediately pull away, Caleb returns with a firmer pressure, a flick of his tongue to the seam of Caduceus' lips. It’s brief and testing and over far too soon. Caleb pulls back. There is wariness in his eyes, and the red flush has reappeared on his nose and cheeks and the tips of his ears. Caduceus licks his lips, which seem to tingle in the aftermath, echoing with the slight scrape of Caleb's mouth against his. "Was that all right?" Caleb asks. Caduceus examines the warmth flooding his belly, the flush of joy and satisfaction spreading out from his thumping heart. "Yeah," he says, and he smiles. "That was nice." "Nice?" "Well, to be honest Mr. Caleb, I don't have many points of comparison," Caduceus admits, though his inexperience isn’t something to be ashamed of. He's aware, however, that it might provide some clarification. "I did enjoy it." Caleb blinks, and then laughs, quiet and genuine. He briefly knocks their foreheads together. "I suppose as long as I haven't offended, then I'm okay with 'nice'." "No offense," Caduceus reassures, and the wariness in Caleb's eyes still concerns him. "But you know, Mr. Caleb, you don't have to -- I mean, I offered this because I care for your well-being. Don't think you owe me anything in return." Caleb squints, his brow furrowing. "You think I kissed you out of no real desire?" Again, his inexperience betrays him. Caduceus steadies himself with a long, slow breath. "I don't know. I'm not very good at this." "I've noticed." Caleb squeezes the back of his own neck, a touch of tension returning to him, ruining all of Caduceus’ hard work. "To be fair, neither am I. It's been a long time since I've allowed myself to have interest and express it. It's no secret that I'm a mess and I probably shouldn't, but..." He trails off, shakes his head, and his weight shifts away from Caduceus. He captures Caleb's hand before the wizard can fully turn, threading their fingers together. "We're all a mess," Caduceus says, because it's true. The Mighty Nein is composed of broken people, but all their edges fit together and make a functional whole. "You don't know the things I've done," Caleb murmurs, and there's something aching in his voice, something dark in his eyes. Caduceus needn’t even feel the hum of warmth at the nape of his neck, the whispered caution Melora offers him, because he’s well aware. "True. But I know the things you're doing, and some of the things you're trying to do, and that's good enough for me." He brushes his lips over Calebs knuckles, tastes the spiderweb thin scars. "I can't fix you. Only you can do that. But I can hold your hand if you'd like." Caleb sighs. "You are too good for us, Caduceus." The sound of his name on Caleb's lips makes a quiet joy bubble in his heart. "I don't think there's such a thing." Caduceus kisses Caleb's knuckles again before laying his other hand over it, sandwiching Caleb's between his. "Now we should enjoy the tea and snacks." As if hearing Caduceus and wishing to agree, Caleb's stomach audibly growls. He covers his face behind his palm. Caduceus chuckles. "Or maybe something more substantial." "No, no. I'm sure what we have here is fine." Caleb backs away, untangles his fingers, and clambers out of the bath, water streaming behind him. Caduceus averts his gaze, because it seems the thing to do, until the swish of a robe settles around Caleb's body. Only then does Caduceus climb out as well, twitching his tail to flick away excess moisture. Caleb, he notices, stares boldly at him. Not that it dissuades Caduceus in the least. He stands there dripping, letting Caleb look his fill, before the wizard fumbles for a robe and thrusts it Caduceus' direction. "You never cease to surprise," Caleb says. Caduceus laughs. "Are you referring to my behavior or my physique?" "Both." Caleb's voice has a ring of humor to it, teasing. He’s not filling the air with self-deprecation, so Caduceus considers that a win. Caleb sweeps up the tray before Caduceus can, pot and cups and plate rattling upon it. “What do you think? To the kitchen? The dining room? The--” He pauses to wrinkle his nose in an adorable expression which cuts years off his face. “--happy room?” Caduceus chuckles and squeezes the last of the water from his hair. He gathers up their clothes in each arm. “The kitchen. Easier to leave the dishes in the sink when we’re done.” “I’ve never known you to leave the dishes in the sink.” “Why save for tomorrow what I can do today?” Caleb tosses a smile over his shoulder, and something flutters warm and happy in Caduceus’ belly. “That sounds exactly like something you’d say.” “Well, I did just say it.” Caleb laughs, and it’s irrepressibly charming. They set up in the kitchen, around the small table that is really only sized for two as they tend to take their meals in the dining room. It’s quiet and intimate, and Caduceus soaks up the companionship as he sips his tea and leaves the snacks for Caleb. “You know, Mr. Caleb,” Caduceus says as savors the sweetness of the tea, “It doesn’t have to be anything more than this, if you’re worried. I’m not in any hurry, and we’ve got a lot of things on our plate to add complications.” Caleb wipes a crumb from the corner of his mouth and fiddles with the handle of his tea cup. “It would not bother you?” “It is what it is, not a burden or a stress, but a source of comfort and joy without expectations,” Caduceus says as he lowers his tea to the table, resting his hands around the cup. Caleb is silent a moment, contemplating the shade of his tea perhaps, hiding behind the cup, before he nods as if confirming something to himself. “All right,” he says. “That is fair and reasonable.” He smiles and rakes hair out of his eyes. “Would you feel better if we had a contract?” Caduceus teases, and is delighted by the flush of pink spreading over Caleb’s face. He snorts a laugh and puts down his empty teacup, swiping the last cookie from the plate. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” Caleb stands and circles the table, leaning in toward Caduceus. “I do, however, think I should sleep now.” Caduceus lifts his chin, looks up at Caleb, and chuckles as a few crumbs hangs on the corner of Caleb’s mouth. He sweeps them away with the pad of his thumb. “Sleep well,” Caduceus says. “I think I will. For once.” Caleb leans in, brushing their lips together, and Caduceus hums into the kiss, the faint scent of tea and cookies flavoring it. “Goodnight,” Caleb murmurs with a parting kiss to Caduceus’ brow, and then he’s gone, munching on the last of the cookies as he leaves. Caduceus finishes his tea, gathers up the dishes, and sets them in the sink. He contemplates leaving them for a brief second before he realizes he can’t, and washes them first. He chuckles to himself, thinking of Caleb commenting on it, and touches his chest where a warm blossom of unexpected delight has taken up residence. This is not the way he expected his night to have gone, but he’s not disappointed either. Life is an unexpected, complicated series of little moments, and while he might not know where this one is heading, he has faith it will take him to wonderful things.

****

a/n: I’d love to know what everyone thinks! This is my first time writing this pairing. :)

[vergils-daughter]

Nero x Reader. “I’ll be watching you”

Because if she is too shy, she would rather spy on him

You are a wolf. You are a lone hunter, an arrow with soft feathers streaking silently through the night. Your goal is not important - only the path is. And the path leads through the ruins of the once beautiful city, ruthlessly desecrated by hordes of demons, and above their dead bodies. You do not remember when was the last time that your feet touched the ground. It is not safe to travel on the streets these days.

You are the silence. Your arrows – yes, even in these modern times you do use a bow, a magical artifact that you stole from the gods themselves – brings them death from out of the blue, fast and almost painless. Some of them can be used as a smoking screen, others could knock out cold a human - although these are not sufficient for these hard, spiky demon heads. For demons you have prepared some special ammunition.

You are the flame. There is the will of survival in you, although you do not remember who or what fired up that particular flame in you. The urge to keep forward ignites in you, but you do not know what becomes after. Or will there be any “after”. You just keep going and it is good. You keep killing, and it is good.

And you are quite lonely. You do not remember when was the last time you have seen a human being.

And one day you learned something new about yourself. That you are a very, very curious creature.

So you sit on a roof of an old church, well hidden behind a statue of a saint. You eat slowly, your gaze carefully sweeping the surroundings. You never ever loose your vigilance, not even by such prosaic activities like eating, not even on such a nice day.

Suddenly, something catches your attention – a spot of blue at the far end of the street, and then a flash. After that you hear distant shooting, multiplicated by echo. There is something going on. Someone is fighting. Demons do not use firearms. There must be a man involved.

A man.

That thought makes you freeze for a second or two. Then, you put that partly eaten candy bar into your bag and sling it over your arm. You take the bow that was laying on your lap. The arrow is already in your hand, you did not even have to think about drawing it. And you listen.

The shooting does not last long. You hear what might be a cry and then a roar. Afterwards, lots of roars. So, perhaps a single man is fighting a pack of demons. Heh. You give him a zero chance of wining. You do not know what was he seeking in these ruins, but certainly not his death. You can only hope it would be fast.

But to your surprise the fight extends, the cacophony of the shooting becomes more powerful - and suddenly it stops. You wait for a couple of minutes and carefully, without making any noise, move in that direction. You slip past the roofs, using paths only known to you, small bridges and ropes hanging over empty streets. You know most of the buildings here inside out and this particular alley has lately become sort of a territory for you.

When you reach your destination - a small square with a sad ruin of a fountain you see demons’ bodies already melting on the pavement. The creatures that lost their physical forms are coming back to their dimensions. Among all this carnage stands a bright haired boy with a huge sword in his left hand. His jacket was the spot of blue that caught your attention a moment ago. Now it is covered with blood, but, as far as you can see, that blood is not his. He stands still, as if contemplating what he has done, and does not seem wounded. You watch him with curiosity as he is cleaning his sword and then moves closer to the broken fountain, where some water is still flowing.

He takes off his jacket and tries to wash off the demons’ stains. You watch his bare arms and notice that the right one is artificial. He looks strong and resourceful, well armed. You smile subconsciously as it lightens your heart that he may survive in here.

Of course you can’t just walk down to meet him. The next few days you spend watching him from the safe distance. Spying on him is not hard at all – he is quite noisy, careless and does not even try to walk stealthily. He lashes out on the groups of demons with a loud cry, swinging his sword and firing the pistol attached to his artificial arm. You cheer on him silently and sometimes, only sometimes, help him a little with a well-aimed arrow. Most likely he has not noticed yet that someone is helping him. Or he may have, but is not showing that he has, even with those bloody arrows laying on the ground after the battle. You never go down to take them back, although you really should. You are too afraid that he would notice you.

One day you see him by a strange van. Its driver – a black haired girl. They talk a little -are you jealous?- and then he disappears in the vehicle. He leaves the van looking refreshed, with brand new prosthetic arms hanging from his belt. But apart from this single meeting, he travels alone.

One evening he sets up a camp within the wide hall of the museum. He prepares a small fireplace. You can see him well from a nearby building as the big windows of the museum were shattered some time ago. You yourself do not light a fire, as you do not need the light at all. You eat your food rations and wish him a good night. But somehow you know that the dream will not come too fast. The boy looks impatient, unable to stay in one place. He pokes at the fire with a stick, jiggles around as if something was upsetting him. He looks around as though he expects someone to join him. There is no chance. Within many kilometers there is only him and you, his silent guardian. Unless that van chick jumps in from thin air, no chance.

To your surprise, he unbuckles his pants with a sigh and takes his cock out. When you half expect him to piss on the fire, he grabs it firmly with his hand and starts to pump it rhythmically.

You hold your breath watching his parted lips and his closed eyes. In that one moment you distinctively feel his solitude and abandonment. You cannot avert your eyes from him. This act of self love in the middle of destroyed city moves something in you - something long forgotten. He sighs heavily and leans on one elbow. In complete silence you can hear his every motion. All your attention is focused on him, backlit by bustling fire, with hair so bright that they seem to burn...

This night you do not sleep.

And there comes the day that all your life turns upside down. When something goes terribly wrong. The fight is too quick for you to catch the moment when he was wounded. One of this nightmarish Sin Scissors must have attacked him from behind and stabbed him. Or one of lizard-like demons may have swung its tail and knocked him off his feet.

You don't know.

You don't know the moment when you failed to save him, even though you were shooting an arrow after arrow.

Not thinking much you fire a smoke arrow and, making best use of the cover, descend quickly using the gutter pipe. You remember where he fell. In the dark you find his leg and unceremoniously drag him out from the choking smoke. You put him under the wall and with a feeling of terror rising inside you, you notice the long streak of blood, leading straight to you two.

Demons feel it too. You just manage to notch an arrow when one of them crawls out of the cloud with its nose close to the ground and rushes straight to you. The arrowhead thrusts directly between his foul eyes, but one of the Scissors is already coming up. The first arrow disappears in the depths of its long robe, the second deflects from its scissors. You know there is no time to shoot the third, but you remain in place, guarding the boy with your own body.

The Sin Scissor rises her horrible blades ready to cut you in pieces when suddenly her head explodes. You cover your face with your arms, trying to shield it from the falling fragments of the demonic body. Then the Sin Scissor melts in the air, even before reaching the ground.

“At the last second, huh?”

You turn yourself and see the boy, supporting his body with his hand on the wall, his artificial arm risen high and gun still smoking from the recent discharge. He smiles at you unsteadily and suddenly his eyes roll back. He slowly slides down to the ground.

...

You do not remember when was the last time you were that close to another human being. All the activities related to taking care of him are like coming from the dark forest – the light brings out all the small things that normal people do not pay attention to. For example, how does it feel to touch someone else's skin, one with a different texture. Even the sound of rubbing it is interesting. His body wears the traces of former battles. The scars have different shapes, some thin and barely visible, others thick and palpable - and you touch every single one of them. When you wash his wounds you notice that his blood smells differently than yours. When you wrap his side with bandages you note that his chest is smooth and without a single hair, unlike his forearms and legs. His hair is not like yours, thinner, but the tone is similar – bright blonde. You have no idea how old he could be, as you lost the ability to determine another human's age. You call him a boy because of his rare facial hair, but he may be even older than you.

And how old are you exactly?

His lips are soft and thin. And very chapped. He needs to drink. You press the water flask to his mouth. He is barely conscious, but his lips immediately suck on the mouthpiece and he drinks greedily. A trickle of water goes down his chin, and you carefully wipe it with your hand.

You want to lick it up.

You take the dirty bandages out – later they need to be burned as the stench of blood could attract some unwanted attention from the demons. When you are back, his eyes are already open. You badly want to hide, to climb on the roof before he sees you, but it is too late. His blue eyes – you finally learn their color – look at you with growing amazement. His gaze stops above your shoulder - on the bow.

“You” - he says quietly. He tries to rise, but for that he is still too weak. “You are the archer”.

You come closer and kneel next to him. You pull up the blanket that slipped off from his shoulders. You say nothing, you do not know what and how. To tell the truth, you are not even certain how your voice sounds like.

"You saved me" - he says, raising his left arm towards you. "Thank you."

You try to move away, but despite his condition he is fast. He grabs you by the wrist. He is weak and you could easily free yourself. But you do not want to. You savor the push of his fingers on your skin and the warmth that spreads from it.

“Do you talk at all?” - He asks and there seems to be a bit of anxiety in his voice. “Is everything OK with you?”

You nod and smile. For some reason this soothes him. He releases your hand and lays back down. Resigned or relaxed, you cannot tell. You are not good at this stuff. You are not sure how to read someone’s face and voice. Only once have you seen him in a state when his emotions were pure and you had no doubt about them.

At the very thought of that moment you feel something familiar at the bottom of your belly. Suddenly you are out of air. He starts to say something – in fact, he is saying something for quite a time – but you do not hear him. You look at his moving lips and badly want to touch them.

And so you do it. But with your own, slightly parted lips, stopping him in mid-sentence. Then you move away a bit. For a few seconds you breath with his breath and focus on the sensation reported by your nostrils. On his scent. Then you move your tongue along his lips and this seems to switch something in him, as though a spark ran though his body. He inhales through his nose and embraces your waist, stronger than you would expect from him. His lips crush yours with a hard kiss.

You are not entirely sure what is happening or how you should proceed, but your body leads you and your own thoughts are pushed somewhere to the back of your head. You free yourself from his embrace and put away your bow and a quiver. You take your jacket off, followed by the blouse, then you pull off your boots and pants, gradually showing him your skinny, sinewy body, covered with scribbles.

These are not scribbles, these are ritual tattoos.

You put his blanket away and lay next to him. He is naked, too, as earlier you undressed him completely. The boy's eyes seem filled with some sort of a strong emotion when he moves you closer. You let out a loud sigh when his lips close around your nipple and suck it softly, while his hands stroke your sides. It is interesting how the artificial arm feels on your naked skin. You push his head closer to your breast. You hear a moan, and you realize that it is you who moans. Your voice is quite pleasant, even though it is a little inhuman.

He moves his lips higher, to your neck, and you try to hug him carefully, to avoid touching his recent wound – although considering his current behavior, he must regenerate quickly.

You stroke his neck and back and your hand goes all over his scars. Lower and lower, until you touch his buttocks.

Suddenly you feel him touching you between your legs, in the area from which the warmth spreads and which is already very wet. His biological hand slides over your labia, fingers gently learning their way, clasping the folds and pressing a little here and there. Your legs instinctively spread out, encouragingly, and your hips lift up a little. His fingers slip in easily, without any resistance, and his palm presses the knot of nerves a little higher, sending a shot of pleasure up your spine.

You arch your back and sink your fingers in his arms.

“I do not believe this is happening” - he murmurs, with his lips on your neck. His hand starts to move slowly, but you shake them off. You force him on his back and you sit on him astride. Before he manages to protest you put a finger on his mouth and shake your head.

How exactly you know what to do? The memories – no, the senses – are guiding you when you put his cock inside you and drop down on him with one smooth motion, until your hips connect. His eyes widen with ecstasy and his mouth barely catches the breath.

Try not to kill him.

You begin to ride him vigorously, your eyes still fixed on his face. He tilts his head backwards and closes his eyes, submitting to you, almost inert. His facial expression now resembles that which you saw when he was making self-love. The memory of this act brings out a low purr from your throat. You lean on his chest curling your fingers, pushing your fingernails deeper into his skin.

You feel something urgent, some hunger that does not allow you to keep the current rhythm. You want more, you want it harder and you want it right now. You clench your tights with all your strength. You move up and down, moaning every time his cock rubs your sensitive spot. You push yourself upwards from his chest, leaving streaks of red where your fingers where, and arch your back, changing the angle. You feel his hands on your hips when he supports you, rolling his lips and driving in harder.

Your bodies are wet, the light of the fire deepens the shadow and underlines smooth surfaces dewy with sweat, his upper body covered with scars and your back and legs incrusted with strange symbols. The boy is looking at your small breasts that bounce in the rhythm of your movements, then on your neck and your long hair. His eyes are blurry, insentient and full of delight.

Your breath becomes erratic and a shiver runs through your body, the walls of your vagina start to clench around him. You put your hands on his and hold firmly as if you needed something stable, that would not let the great incoming wave to wash you off the cliff. Something impossibly pleasant takes over you, and yet somehow you manage to ride him even faster. You bite your lips so hard that they start to bleed. You hear a groan and some sort of warmth spreads inside you, but it does not stop you. Your long moan turns into a cry when you reach your own climax, and it enervates you, deafens and blinds you completely.

You open your eyes to the sudden silence. You feel a fragile wind, blowing in through the broken windows, cooling your wet skin and causing you to shiver. You look down at your bodies, still connected. It looks like the boy has just drifted away. Well, to be honest, you did not let him to rest, didn’t you? At least he still seems alive.

You slide off him and put a blanket on him. When you reach for your clothes, you hear his voice.

“But you wont leave me now, will you?”

You shake your head.

“I do not want it to be a dream. Do not go away, please.”

You smile, what more could you do? For as long as he needs to recover you will be guarding him, that's for sure. But you cannot promise him what will happen afterwards.

In the end, you are the lonely wolf, the silence and the flame.

And he is merely human.

[danse-or-farkas]

A Beasts Bounty

I was commissioned by @leporidaefluff for my first writing commission, something Khajiiti with werewolves. It was entirely a pleasure to do, and I hope it brings you much joy. https://archiveofourown.org/works/21374899

Dom’nir rolled over onto his stomach, scrambling forward on his elbows and leaning just slightly over the edge of the bluff to get a look at the encampment. The sun had only just set, the sky still stained orange through pink and purple at its edges, and the Reachmen were all too absorbed in their preparations to take due care they were not being watched.

“They are still not there.” He huffed, rolling back over onto his back and brushing dried grass from his chest. With a mild frown that flickered quickly to mischief he picked a barbed seed from his fur, flicking it away toward Sa’rah.

“And they won’t be. Not yet. Not until the moons rise.” The seed landed neatly in her lap, a sharp look of accusation flashing across her features before she swatted it away.

The wind changed direction and the smoke from the encampment, thick with spice and boiled animal fat, began to drift over. There was something bittersweet and unsettling underneath it, and it made Dom’nirs fur rise like the prickle of being watched but without the eyes. He knew the taste of magicka on the air and worse he knew by the bitter salt and lightning to it that it was not the good kind either. This was dark, pulling power from places that did not give it without a dire cost.

He let the shiver run through him, shaking it free like icy rain drops from his fur. A snort from Sa’rah confirmed that she had felt it too, though it had risen no visible response in her.

She sat with legs crossed, just tilting her head each way the wind turned and searching for any scent out of place. It would not do well to alert the prey to their presence, though if it happened she would not regret what had to be done. She ran her tongue over a set of too sharp teeth over and over again, pushing the hunger back down until they shrank back and the beast retreated back to its proper place under her command.

A little under an hour passed in silence. Dom’nir had at one point turned to say something, deciding otherwise when Sa’rah caught his gaze and behind the blue and green there was far too much moonlight white. Not a good sign, worse when Masser and Secunda where so full and bright. A prayer to Jone and Jode that they might pass Sa’rah up might have helped, Hircine more likely to answer but most certainly paying more rapt attention to the events below.

The heartbeat thudding of drums drew their attention.

The swell of bodies parted, and there was the target. He was a towering man, as crossed with burns and scars as he was painted with spirals of green and blue. He wore a deer skull for a crown adorned with too many antlers, a wrap of blood soaked furs and strings of bone scrimshaws around his waist. His people cheered and roared, silenced instantly by a simple raising of his hand. He spoke a few short words, and the festivities began.

They lit their pyres, throwing herb soaked animal fat atop the flames until it belched thick white smoke that made Dom’nir light in the head just from what little of it caught downwind.

The target found their place amongst the revelry, a throne of wicker and leather that raised him above the bloodshed and sacrifice, the screaming and carnage of their prayers to the Hunter and the Hunted. Raised aloft he viewed them with mild curiosity, an occasional pointed gesture choosing which of the many children of the Reach where to be sacrificed. He chose one, youthful and full of vigour, and he fell to his knees with tears of joys as his brothers and sisters fell upon him with flint knives and bared teeth.

Dom’nir contemplated the chaos and insanity below, drew his bow and took aim. No need for words, and less need for bloodshed beyond what they were happy to inflict upon themselves. If they were lucky they would not even realise their leader was dead until the pair had already scrambled away.

He chose an arrow from the selection he had brought for the task, settling on the nasty kind with fragile hooks that would do great harm to flesh and worse again if foolishly pulled free by a well meaning healer. He doubted it would be necessary, the mark was near naked and all too likely to die mercifully quick the moment the arrow struck, but an extra step to guarantee success was never one to be regretted.

He rose, one knee raised and one to the ground to secure himself, until he could clearly see the target. He pulled back the bow string, exhaled long and slow, and readied to loose the shot the moment the wind stilled.

The wind did not still, a howling gust carrying a thick plume of oily smoke up to their vantage point. It stung his eyes, coppery and vile when he finally breathed it in.

Through the smoke a hand caught his wrist, his first instinct to reach across himself for his blade.

Sa’rah tried to say something, likely a warning, a guttural sound coming instead through teeth too sharp and a mind lost to instinct. She gripped his wrist tighter before forcing herself to let go.

She staggered back, tearing at the catches and releases of her armour, plates and leather fastenings falling away.

Dom’nir had seen it as a distant thing before, always averting his gaze and letting her turn with at least a minimum of privacy. She had always claimed it was a choice to be the beast, one entirely in her hands, her control. It was sometimes hard to believe she was its master sometimes, there would always be that moment of doubt when looking into those moonlight bright eyes and seeing only hunger and rage.

He opened his mouth to say her name and found himself instantly pinned to the ground. Her hand was wrapped around his head, jaw held firmly shut, claws tearing into the soil either side of his skull. A single, easy, swipe of her thumb claw could have torn him open from shoulder to chin.

The change jolted and jerked, golden fur staining black as it grew thick and heavy. He had always imagined it would be a smooth, perhaps possibly even beautiful thing in its own way. That illusion was entirely shattered watching bone and muscle snap and tear, folding across itself into a new shape.

Sa’rah kept him held low as the change settled, a low rumble raising in her chest as she looked own at the camp, watching intently.

Dom’nir could only draw shallow breath through his nose, with each second longer the burning in his chest and skull growing worse, dazzling lights starting to flicker across his vision.

He just stared up at the sky, the stars growing brighter and more painful, the moons for the briefest moment seeming to be as red as a fresh kill on crisp snow.

The wind changed again, the smoking pyres and incense stacks plunging the camp into darkness, and with a rush of moving air Dom’nir could breath again as Sa’rah threw herself over the edge.

It took the Reachmen a little too long to realise that the screaming was not right, only when the laughter and joy had stopped did they recognise that their prayers had been answered. Hircine had indeed sent his gifts down upon them, but they had been deemed prey when they foolishly thought themselves otherwise.

When it had gone finally quiet Sa’rah returned, dropping the crown of antlers down beside Dom’nir as a trophy to prove the bounty was completed. It had not been asked for, but it was always a prudent measure and often secured their reputation as reliable and efficient. They had been promised silver for the death of that particular witch, a bonus very likely now that their clan and its grip over that tiny corner of the Reach had been shattered. Another would rise quickly to take their place but the Nords were always too pleased to keep up the appearance that the Reach was theirs, and theirs alone.

There had been a stream running through the forsworn encampment, enough that a short dip had cleared the worst of the gore. It had also given Sa’rah a precious moment to centre herself, meltwater still carrying the chill of the Jerral mountains cold enough to wash the heat and fire and passion from her mind and allow her to return fully to herself. Now there was only a few beaded trails of glistening pink where water and blood mingled and ran easily from her fur.

She took a cloth from her travel pack and wiped the last traces away, dressing quickly without once acknowledging Dom’nir was present.

It took a long minute to be certain her armour was secured, no harm done to it in the haste to get it off. Once done, armed and armoured once more, she finally turned to Dom’nir.

“We are done here.” She offered a hand to help him up, still laid flat and still staring up at the moons. When he finally looked at her he could see no trace of what she had been and done, she was as calm and still as a winter morning.

He almost hesitated, thought himself foolish for doubting her, and eagerly accepting her help as she groaned and dug in her heels to heft the weight of him up.

“So what now?” He ran his hand through the hair atop his head with a too wide grin and a drawn breath still a little shaky, catching a handful of those barbed seeds that had stuck themselves there. With a sly look he flicked them in her direction.

“We get paid.” She did not seem impressed in the slightest, simply rolling her eyes and setting off back toward Markarth.

[mrs-hollandstan]

Undercover {4} || Undercover Cop!Reader x Mobster!Bucky

Gif from @sebastiansource

Warnings: cursing, implied smut from the last chapter, PTSD nightmares, character death (nightmare), distance, more slow burn man, talk of Bucky's scars + how he hates them.

Word Count: 4,828

Author's Note: sorry if this chapter sucks. I got a little bit of writers block about halfway through and I started a new job today so stress is through the roof. As always, I hope you enjoy! Lemme know if there's anything you'd like to see in future chapters! 😊💖

⟵Previous || Series Masterlist || Next⟶

You expected Bucky to strip when he walked you to the bathroom, collecting your clothes and tossing them in the hamper minutes after your orgasm, but he just stood in the doorway watching you strut towards the shower. He perked up when you turned, his heart plummeting when you cock an eyebrow,

"What, am I not gonna get any help?" He shakes his head, "Nah, I'm good doll. Thanks for the invite." You tsk, "You got somethin against me seein you naked Barnes? It's not very fair that you're seein me all vulnerable and I gotta leave you to my imagination." When you reach for the top buttons on his shirt, he swallows before covering your hands, "I said no." It sounded more stern than he intended but he was terrified of the reaction to the scars and skin stretched around metal that accompanied the horrible arm he sported. He hated that thing and he wished he still had his other flesh arm, or rather than losing it, he wish he'd lost his life instead. Things would be so much easier for a lot of people. Including you. You cock your head again, your eyes softening at the facade he's putting up again, your hands rested on his broad chest, "What's the matter?" He shakes his head, his jaw clenching. You click your tongue, "Are you... self conscious about something?" He leaves his eyes closed when he blinks again and takes a deep breath, nodding just the slightest, "I got a lot more scarring than you do darlin." You frown, shaking your head, "And just for that comment, I'm not taking no for an answer. You think I'm beautiful with that ugly thing under my breast, I'm sure yours are just as spectacular." He doesn't fight your hands off as you speak. You swiftly undo the first few buttons on his shirt, glancing up at his face every few seconds to make sure he isn't panicking at this point. When he seems fairly calm, you continue until his shirt is completely unbuttoned, running your hands across his now bare, tan chest. His heart thuds out against your palm as you glance across the small, faded scars littering his torso. You trace each of them, but he grows more nervous and you can see now that it's not these particular scars, but one that you haven't unearthed yet. Glancing up at him, you free his flesh arm from its confines, eyes locked on his face as you slowly move to the other. His breath catches in his throat as you start to tug the shirt from his shoulder, "This one?" He nods harsher this time, his breathing growing hard as you draw the rest of his arm from his shirt, tsking and dropping it behind him, your eyes glued to the jagged scarring of skin meeting metal. Placing your hand just above his elbow, you move it to watch the scarring crinkle and see how the metal connects to his firm skin. His eyes are locked on your face, wondering how you're not disgusted like he is and like other women have been. Rather than running and screaming, there's wonder and awe in your eyes. Your index finger traces the asperous skin fused with the bionic prosthetic, genuine curiosity etched across the beautiful face Bucky couldn't get sick of seeing. When your eyes find his again, you smile softly, "I kinda like it. Scars make a person unique and this one... this one definitely adds to your uniqueness." When your smile widens like a giddy child with candy, his heart skips a beat. Watching your hands undo his belt, his eyes are locked on your face. He can't believe you've moved on from his arm as quickly as you did. Paying it no mind, you pull his belt free, unbuttoning his slacks and pushing them down, his briefs collected in them. You gasp when his length springs free, and a shy smile as you help him step out of his bottoms and strut towards the shower tells him you're more focused on his dick than his arm. Bending just the slightest to turn the water on, it warms to your liking rather quickly, Bucky climbing in just before you. You sigh in relief, the water soaking your tense muscles. Closing your eyes, you twist your neck, the heat seeping beneath your skin. You jump slightly when Bucky's hands skimmed up your sides, his lips pressed against your shoulder. You smile and turn, lacing your arms under his, pressing your hands to his shoulder blades and your ear over his heart. His chest rumbles as he speaks up again, quietly, "Why aren't you repulsed by it?" He doesn't have to elaborate for you to know what he means. You look up at him, your body slowly turning to jello as comfort seeps into your body from not only the shower but the man standing before you, "Because if I'm in love with you, I'm in love with all of you. Not just the pretty parts. We all have ugly pieces of ourselves and I'm not going to avoid those. Besides," you say with a shrug, "I don't think its ugly. I think it's rather flattering. And don't get me started about the naughty thoughts I've started having about it." He can't help but smirk down at you, your eyes hooded and he can tell he needs to get you to bed soon. It's been a long few weeks for the both of you and Bucky can see how much it's taken from you. Taking the initiative into his own hands, he gently combs his fingers through your hair as he washes it. He watches you shave your legs as he washes his own hair, his eyes fixed on how effortless it is for you. By the time you've completely washed and stepped out, Bucky can tell that seconds after you hit your pillow, you're done for. So he watches you brush through your hair, his hands on your hips over your towel. His eyes meet yours in the large mirror as he leans in to kiss the back of your neck, the hair standing up, "You're perfect." You tilt your head for him, watching him suck the skin, "I'm surprised I haven't been bent over something. I didn't expect Bucky Barnes to forgo getting himself off." He shrugs, "There's something... different about you. Normally it's a hit it and quit it typa thing but with you..." he pauses to collect your hair in his hands, "it's completely different. I want to savor you." You giggle when he trails his fingers up your sides softly, tickling you. Jerking away from him, you trail into your bedroom, your towel being tugged from your body, "Hey!" "Well the way I see it, you expect me to spend the night, and if I have to be naked, so do you." There's no room for argument as you open your mouth to speak and Bucky takes your face in his hands, his lips meeting  yours, your teeth clashing as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and he careens you back against your creaky bed. He grumbles, pinning your arms above you, his tongue slipping past your lips, "God your apartment sucks." "Hey! It's the first... thing I... bought for... myself." You gasp out between kisses, another growl rattling his chest, "If I fuck you right here we'll break this damn bed." "So don't fuck me." He watches your lips turn up into a smile, brushing his own against them, "I didn't plan on it." You scoot back to the other side as he climbes in your bed, glancing between you and his bionic arm, "Are you really gonna lay on that side?" You nod, a gentle smile crossing your lips, "Yep. I like the way it sparkles and I reckon it'll keep me cool." He shakes his head, refusing to curl it around you until you whine. Glancing down, he tsks, watching you tug on the fingers, "Darlin-" "Buckyyyy!" You whimper, looking up into his steel colored eyes. He looks you over for a moment before rolling them and slowly enfolding you in the divet of his underarm. Resting your hand on his chest, he shakes his head, "So gross. You should be disgusted by it and here you are cuddling with it." "Because it's not gross. It's beautiful. You're like art. Weird and unique and beautiful Bucky. It makes you different from all the other men that I wrangle up and bring into the precinct. You're special and... if I am in love with you, that's why." He tsked, staring up at the ceiling, "Like it's a question if you're in love with me." Grumbling, you roll over, "Goodnight Barnes." He kisses the back of your head, "Goodnight sugar." 

Bucky hadn't had the nightmare in a long while. Most times when he did, he woke almost immediately to an empty bed and sweat drenched. He'd roll over and curl into his pillow and pray that he could get back to sleep before his men burst through his door saying they had a problem like they always did. But having you in bed with him made things difficult. Of course he didn't know that. Yet. It started the same, a dark room and a blurry faced woman that sometimes was his mother or one of his sisters. He knew that the nightmare was god's way of cursing him for his business. He was dangerous and the nightmare was his form of torture. The only difference was, this time your face was transcribed across the body he'd seen slump over and over again as a bullet was lodged in your brain. The tear streaks down your cheeks and the way your hair draped over your shoulders as you begged him to help you. The way you yanked at the restraints at your back, your eyes locked in his. The way when the mystery man rested his hand on your shoulder you glanced up and pleaded for them not to do this. The way when the gun was held to your head, you screamed and cried until the deafening sound rang through the air and your eyes glossed over. Your body going rigid as the life left your normally vibrant irises. The way your blood splattered against the wall beside you and your head toppled forward as you died. Bolting upright, Bucky startled you awake, his skin soaked in sweat and a gasp escaping his lips. Sitting up with him while he gasped for air, you pressed a palm to his chest, the other reaching up for his cheek, "Bucky." He didn't look at you, his skin numb against you, "Buck, hey, what's the matter?" He still didn't reply, his heart pounding out against your palm and his eyes locked on the door before you. He could feel himself dangling over the edge of a cliff of his sanity, a thin line, waiting to be snapped, the only thing holding him up. Hearing your voice through the resolve grounded him, his eyes flooding with tears as he looked at you, the same eyes that, in his nightmare went dark after you were executed, stared back at him with worry and fear, "What's wrong?" He shook his head, reaching up to clutch your shoulder. Just to feel that you were there with him. Reaching up further, he stroked your hair from your clavicle, tears slipping past his eyelashes. You watched the beads slither down his cheeks and disappear beneath his chin, his hand rested at your cheek and his thumb dancing along your temple. Through shaky breathing, he shook his head again, "I had a nightmare." You clicked your tongue as he broke down in sobs, drawing his head to your chest, his ear placed just over your heart. You rubbed his back, laying back against your pillow. His knees drew up against your thigh, tears pooling in the hollows of your body. You kissed his clammy forehead, stroking his long hair from his eyes, "You're alright. You're safe now Bucky." The soft undertones in your voice and the feeling of your skin, soft, supple, alive beneath him had his body halting his emotions in their tracks. He choked back the few sobs left, wrapping his arms tight around you while you stroked his hair. For once since he'd started having the nightmares, you lulled him to sleep in minutes. Just for good measures, you stayed for an hour more, making sure he was in no more distress. But when you woke, Bucky was pulling his slacks up his legs. You stretched, the joints in your knees and elbows, each popping loudly like an old dog. The gentle purr that tumbled from your lips caught Bucky's attention, his heart stuttering. He turned, features going soft at the beautiful smile etched across your dopey, refreshed face. It quickly faded and Bucky watched you rise, scooting closer to him, "How are you feeling?" He found himself longing for your touch, turning his cheek into your soft palm when you placed it there. He could still smell wisps of old perfume mixed with your body wash wafting off your wrist. He nodded, reaching up to hold your much smaller hand in place, "Fine." The corners of your lips perked, but you didn't smile, a sympathetic look written in your eyes. He shook his head, avoiding them for longer than he needed, far too afraid he'd replay the scenes in his head. He swallowed, releasing your hand, "Do you uhh... do you have work today?" You shook your head, your lips turning up as you crawl over on your knees, "Nope, you get me all to yourself. You can do whatever you'd like to me." You coo in his ear, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He's tense, his shoulders squared as if in defense. You can tell that it's from the previous night's events and when he moves out of your arms its emphasized, "No... I got business deals. I can't stay." Standing to follow him into the bathroom in search of the rest of his clothes, you stand behind him with your sheet wrapped round your body. You swallow the lump in your throat, his eyes meeting yours when he turns, "Buck... what was your nightmare about?" His eyes flash in disgust and sadness and you can see how hard it is for him. Almost as hard as the scars he fights to conceal. He shakes his head, "I don't wanna talk about it." Brushing past you, he heads for the dining room where his coat is, pulling it over his large shoulders as you stand in the doorway with a heavy heart, trying to come up with something to say. You swallow again, praying your voice doesn't betray you, "Do you want me to come down to the club later? Or... you wanna come back here? I can make dinner tonight... as a sort of a payback for last night." He waves his hand in the space between you as if wiping something away, "I think it's best you keep your distance for a little while darlin." As he starts past you again, you catch his elbow, his eyes finding yours sadly. You glance up, fighting back tears. He nods like he knows what you're going to say before he kisses your temple, his lips lingering like they did the night he hurt you. He can't help but feel like he's doing it again. Running his hand down your arm, he pulls away before you can take his hand. He storms towards the door before you can beg him to stay or cry to him. He doesn't want to see you like that and any way to avoid seeing what he's selfishly putting you through, he'll do. The second the door closes behind him, you feel empty. You didn't expect to fall so hard, so fast. It happened and like always, he was leaving and you were left to pick up the pieces. You wondered if the nightmare had anything to do with him turning his back to you. You wondered if he'd been scared away by his own dream. Leaning against the door, you fight back tears, wondering why all of this was happening to you. Why God cursed you with the dark version of a man you craved. Why out of all the people in the world, you believed your soulmate was someone you should legally bring into your department. But you could see why all the other officers kept him from behind bars. As Bucky strut with heavy feet and a heavy heart to the rickety elevator, he desperately wanted to turn back. He wanted to hold you. He wanted to make love to you just to feel that you were there. Just to hear your voice and feel your lips against his skin and your hands wandering his chest. But he needed the distance. He needed to know that you wouldn't die because of him. He needed to know that you wouldn't be collateral against him in the event a business deal went askew. He wanted to protect you and he wanted to be a better man for your safety. For the future he wanted to plan with you. He couldn't just walk away from the mafia, but he would try and find a way out. And it would start with therapy. For the nightmares. For the scars. For him. But mostly for you.

"You're... you're sure about this Buck? You don't really need her. You can talk to me." Bucky waved Steve off, avoiding his eyes, "If I'm gonna get better for Y/N, its gotta be her. There's things I can't tell you. It's not that I'm not comfortable with you, I just need someone that doesn't know me. I need someone who'll sit in that chair and shut up and not tell me I'm overreacting or ask me if I really had those thoughts or those dreams. It's been three days and I haven't returned Y/N's phone calls or her texts, even with the shit I've told you. I have to do this for her. I can't keep running her around like this. She'll leave me." Steve nodded, standing straight, "Alright, alright. I get it." Sucking in a deep breath, he turned when a knock on the hard cedar door rang through the expansive room. Steve glanced back at Bucky, unmoved and waiting for Bucky to give him the go ahead to open the door. When Bucky gave a small, nervous nod, the blonde strut over, opening the door for the small strawberry blonde behind it, dark framed glasses perched on her nose. She was pretty. Ponytail, button up,  pencil skirt. But she wasn't exactly Bucky's type. Steve gave a curt, stoic faced nod before exiting the room and closing the door behind him. Bucky didn't stand, the woman in the door seemingly growing uncomfortable as Bucky sipped more whiskey from his glass, "Mr. Barnes-" "You can sit here. The sooner we get started the faster this'll be over." She furrowed her brow before walking over. "Its nothing against you, I just... I'm not good at this whole communication thing." Bucky justified. She nodded, sitting just before him, "I understand." Sitting in silence for a few moments, Bucky cleared his throat and kicked his feet from the desk, "So... what do I call you?" She smiled, "You don't. Just act as though you're talking to yourself." Bucky smiled, "That's hard to do when you're staring at me." Her lashes fluttered as she crossed one leg over the other, "Call me Lilith." Bucky nodded, running the tip of his index finger over rim of his glass, "Alright... so... where should we begin?" He asked coolly. Meanwhile, back at your apartment, you paced the creaky wooden floors of your living room, your phone held to your ear with Davis on the other end sighing exasperated, "What would you like me to say Y/N? You knew what the risks were when you took them. Go over there... or don't... it's up to you." "That doesn't help Jared. Tell me what you think I should do. What would you do in this situation?" Back at the precinct, Davis kicked his feet up on the desk, running a hand through his carmine colored hair, "Honestly... you're sure him leaving was about the nightmare?" "Well no, but everything was fine until that point. He jumps up in the dead of night and them the next morning won't even maintain eye contact. Is that weird or just me?" Pondering his answer, he nods as if you can see him, "Yeah, it's weird. If I were you... I'd take him a gift or something. Give you an excuse to be in the area. What does he like?" You snort, pausing midstep, "Seriously? He's a mob boss. He likes alcohol and guns. What else?" Davis chuckles on the other end, "Alright, take him some of the Carribbean Jack rum. Its good... he'll like it." Already ten steps ahead of him, you traipse to your closet, pulling out a navy green, a-line dress and put him on speaker, "You're a genius Davis. He'll feel bad for the gift and he'll wanna thank me... we'll go to dinner and he'll-" "Y/N?" You pause, hands smoothing down your dress instinctively as you hear Davis's chair creak, "Yeah?" He swallows before responding nervously, "You don't think... that you're in over your head... do you?" Your heart pounds in your ears, you brain at war with itself. On one shoulder sits the devil, urging you on, telling you Bucky is everything you've wanted and more. The looks, the body, the personality. He's absolute and a living embodiment of perfection. The angel on the other tells you its unethical. You can do better and you should for the sake of your career. She tells you there's others like him that are far better than this thing you've fallen for. She warns you against Bucky, but you like the way the devil makes it sound. "I dunno... I like to think I'm not." You both pause, "But...?" You sigh, slipping into the black solid strap chunky heels, "There's a part of me that knows it's wrong. Liking him... loving him... but... he's flawed like everyone else and I can't blame him for something like that. Yeah... he's a criminal but no one is perfect Davis. You've done illegal things, I've done illegal things. It just... it happens." Pushing dangle earrings through your ear, you stand before the full body mirror, looking yourself over and fidgeting with the pendant resting nonchalantly between your collarbones. You sigh, leaving your hands at your sides. Davis sighs back, "Just... be careful." You nod, shaking your head when you realize he can't see you, "Yeah... I know." Picking your phone up and grabbing a clutch, you shove a few bills from your wallet and your ID into it, walking to the living room again, "Alright... I'll call you. Once I get down there." He clicks a pen against his forehead, not responding for a moment, "Yeah... just... text at some point so I know when to send an officer over." You smile, "Thanks J. Will do." He smiles at the use of his nickname, "Good luck." Nodding you smile and hang up, the line on Davis's end going silent. He picks the receiver up before dropping it against the holder and tipping his head back over his chair. You think up your plan of going to a local liquor store, buying Bucky Davis's suggested booze before heading down to his club. And from there, you'd let nature take its course. But when you arrived at the club with bottle in hand asking for Bucky, the blonde at the door suggested if it was urgent you see him, you'd have to be blindfolded and driven down to his docks where he was. You agreed, closing your eyes as a blindfolded stunted your vision and your hand was pulled through a large, muscular elbow and you were led to a car, being practically lifted up into it. It was a short drive to the docks, the sweet smell of ocean air and salt stinging your nostrils. Your blindfold was ditched the moment a heavy black door closed behind you, the same man leading you down dark corridors and opening a set of double doors. Your heart pounded the deeper you got into Bucky's place at the docks. It was nice, clean white brick walls with low hanging industrial suspension lamps waving back and forth casting shadows along the hallways. Opening one last door, the tall man smiled, "Mr. Barnes will be two rights and a left. Mr. Rogers will let you in." You nod, walking forward and thanking him before he shuts the door. Two rights and a left later, Steve comes into sight, sitting at a dark mahogany desk, the chair behind him looming over his head. He glances up, his eyes scanning your figure before he stands with a genuine, but confused smile, "Hey darlin... what can I... what can I do for you?" He cocks his head, awaiting your answer. You smile, taking a step forward to smooth over the black button up struggling against his biceps. Patting just over his collarbone, you hold up the bottle of alcohol in your hands, "Thought I'd bring Buck a gift. Is he in?" When you step towards the door, he practically yelps as if he's been electrocuted and jumps in front of you, "Uhh... he's with a uhh... he's with a client." You roll your eyes, "Oh come on Steve. You're not so sure of that. If you wanna join you can." He jumps as you take a few more steps further, reaching for your hand as it turns into a battle of you against Steve fighting to get in or keep out of Bucky's office. Of course you win, small enough to wrap your hand around the handle and pop it open, squeezing past him. You stand in the doorway, trying not to drop the rum as you take in the sight before you. A blonde, her hair tied up and her perfectly manicured fingers caressing Bucky's chin as she sits at the corner of his desk. He glances up, eyes dark in anger that he's been interrupted, but they soften when he sees it's you. And he realizes the hurt expression on your face is of his current situation. You close your open, dumbfounded mouth. You should have known this. Bucky wasn't yours. He didn't own you and you didn't own him. He had every right to his new flavor of the week, but the way he treated you was different. It felt like a part of you was being ripped from your chest, like every brick you'd placed on your and Bucky's house around your heart was crumbling down. Swallowing the lump forming in your throat while Steve's distant voice explains the inconvenience to Bucky, he shakes his hand at the blonde, standing and stepping away from the woman who watches the three of you flounder and squirm. When Bucky's eyes land on you, you figure it's your turn to speak. And just like you assumed, your voice betrays you. "I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't... know you had company. But I uhm... I brought you this." Holding the rum up in suddenly limp arms, you look at the drawers beside you through blurry eyes, resorting to setting the now cumbersome carafe on top of it and turning, "I'll uhm... I'll go... sorry." Bucky can see the panic and hurt behind your eyes. He can read in your posture and your tone of voice that you think Lilith is the other woman. He shakes his head as you stumble blindly, but rather expeditiously back where you came. He chases, his feet carrying him after you and his heart pounding as he fears that his strike three has come. He's not ready to give up. He wants to be better for you. For the future he hopes you'll have together. But now... you've caught him with a woman in his office. One that he hadn't intended to let get so close. And you walked in at the worst time, with the worst inclination. Your heart seized up as he called your name. Tears came to your eyes the faster you walked and you knew you shouldn't have come. You knew you should've stayed home. Let him come to you. You should have walked away. There were a million things that could have been done differently. But now here you were, having taken the devil on your shoulder's advice... and watching the angel on the other sweep up the pieces. Storming away from Bucky. Wondering if it would ever change.

Permanent Taglist: @embrace-themagic @mmeeggaannn @spiderman-n @winters-beauty @smexylemony @lolabean1998

Undercover Taglist: @mullinhore @mxnyuwungi @avengersassemblee @vogueworthy-barnes @teawithbucky @imnotcoolmasterrr @whaddaputa @akamaiden @slender--spirit @wantonmeep @kali-mav @roxytheimmortal @buckysrcse @letaliabane @gravewalkerray @the-thighs-of-betrayal @joyfullyje @milady-mira @ria132love 

[lochdandloaded]

From Me To You (Oneshot)

Rating: T Pairing(s): McCree/Hanzo (McHanzo) Warnings/Triggers: Animal death(s), mentions of blood, mild swearing Notes: Mermaid AU, Mermaid!McCree, Human!Hanzo, guess who’s the furry Summary: A misunderstanding between species leads to a surprising show of feelings and opens a certain archer’s eyes to what their unusual connection could mean.

A fic for @kannibal‘s MerCree AU over on Twitter (go check it out for more info and art!!) <3 And some writing practice for me should I ever open writing commissions.

AO3 || Twitter || Ko-Fi || Storenvy

Read below the cut

The penguins had only been the beginning of the madness.

Not long after meeting the mer-creature (merman? Mer-seal? Mer-Flirts-A-Lot?) Jesse, Hanzo had opened the door to his lone outpost cabin and was welcomed by a bleeding, barely alive Adélie penguin. Once he’d swallowed down the panic and grabbed the bird in a towel, he rushed it to the Ecopoint main base and gave it to someone with basic first aid knowledge.

His colleagues questioned him end to end and all he could divulge was that he had no clue about anything (never before had that been more true than it was now). They dropped it soon enough and before long, Hanzo forgot about the incident entirely.

Then he had a very dead, torn up toothfish dumped on his doorstep that left him all the more confused.

(How the fuck had a toothfish gotten out of the northern fisheries?!)

By the time the fifth dead and de-feathered Chinstrap penguin greeted him at his door, Hanzo had enough and stormed out to investigate the source, bow and quiver across his back (should he feel like indulging his trigger finger). The trail of blood led him to the rocky beach where he knew Jesse’s beloved walruses sunned themselves, though this early in the morning it was barren except, speak of the devil…

“If it ain’t the most handsome whaler son t’ step foot on this beach,” Jesse announced from his spot in the shallow waves, fins slapping against the water as he preened and smirked.

Hanzo glared.

“What the hell have you been doing?”

Hanzo crossed his arms as he marched over, holding back a shiver against the harsh coastal breeze and keeping his gaze solely on Jesse’s face, no lower no matter how tempting it was to appreciate the mer’s humanoid half.

He stopped once he was close enough to smack the coral hat off Jesse’s smug head and kept glaring as the mer fumbled to catch it.

“Hey—!”

“I know it’s you who’s been leaving dead penguins at my cabin, Jesse.” Hanzo scoffed and put his hands on his hips, scowling as Jesse put his hat back on and pushed himself up to eye level.

“Darlin’, I’m just helping—”

“How?”

Hanzo took a breath and blinked, flushing at how close Jesse leaned in. He pulled back enough to keep the red away from the mer’s inquisitive stare and pulled his hood over his freezing ears, then rubbed his arms quickly. Jesse watched carefully.

“Han, don’t think I ain’t noticed that ya don’t have food at your home,” Jesse started, voice soft enough Hanzo felt it rather than heard it, even with the gap between them. “It ain’t nothing to be ‘shamed of, hell it took Papá years to stop me from expectin’ bucket scraps an’ even longer to get me huntin’ on my own—”

Wait, what?

Hunting? “That’s what this is about?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

The mer thought he couldn’t hunt? Him - Shimada Hanzo, raised in a family infamous for whaling and killing - couldn’t hunt for himself on this patch of melting ice? That he needed help from someone who wasn’t even human—

Hanzo felt his ire and pride flair as he buried his face into his palm, grinding his teeth and barely resisting the urge to growl at the absurdity of it all. It would be easy, so so easy to snap and never look back, unleash his irritation on someone who…

Who wasn’t human.

What did Jesse know of cafeterias, mess halls, refrigerators, bento boxes and leftovers in tupperware? Sea leopards were solitary creatures  by nature, fending for themselves from a young age with no thought to how any others survived. Sure, Jesse wasn’t the same, but it was enough to give Hanzo pause.

It wasn’t Jesse’s fault, he wasn’t to blame.

A loud squawk brought Hanzo to full attention, glancing over his shoulder. An albatross was hopping across the rocks some distance away, plucking washed up krill and crabs from the sandy gaps.

Jesse peered with him, raising an eyebrow into that mess he dared to call hair, curiosity crinkling the corner of his eyes, dark skin glistening with salt that dried out his mouth at the thought of his taste—

A snap of his wrist brought his bow into grip, arrow loaded and flying before he had a chance to let go of his breathe.

The arrow burst through the bird’s head in silence, pinned to the uneven ground without so much as a twitch in the legs.

Hanzo smirked and looked back at Jesse, pride practically glowing from his very being. The mer was staring wide, pupils blown to hide every trace of brown, hand and claw hung uselessly in midair and his mouth was agape, showing off his sharp teeth. What really caught his eye was the bright blush all over his face, neck, creeping down to his generous chest, highlighting the freckles and faint scars peppered over his skin.

A low chittering slipped past Jesse’s loose lips and he didn’t stop staring, though his tail thumped against the waves and his powerful muscles tightened under the blubber. He was full of rightful fear, awe and something else entirely that Hanzo didn’t recognise on his particular face.

Hanzo cleared his throat and shouldered his bow. Jesse didn’t budge.

“I can hunt perfectly fine myself.” He reached out and pushed the mer’s mouth shut, flicking his bright nose before turning away to fetch his arrow.

The gaze burnt into his back the entire time, even as he left the beach and returned home.

0XX0

Hanzo didn’t really see Jesse again for a while after the confrontation on the beach. February rolled into March, then April, and the most Hanzo saw of him was a startled jump into the nearest body of water when their eyes met (he thought he’d spotted the mer when the elephant seals came on land to molt, but nothing came of it).

Well, the dead penguins and (possibly) stolen fish at his doorstep had stopped for good.

But Hanzo found himself missing Jesse’s company. As strange and annoying he could be sometimes, his visits brought joy to this new life of Hanzo’s that his colleagues couldn’t compare to. For another species, Jesse was surprisingly easy to get along with, most days.

So of course, the morning Hanzo decided to catch the mer, Jesse came to him instead.

He opened the door to his cabin to find the mer standing too closely to the frame, hands behind his back and face caught in the headlights. Hanzo froze, blinking as he took in the sight. Jesse worked his jaw, no words coming out despite it.   

“Jesse,” Hanzo started, looking around in lieu of having to face those shying browns. “What… are you doing here?”

‘Smooth, Hanzo. Very smooth.’

Jesse cleared his throat and shifted on his fins, looking all for the world like he wanted to be somewhere else. The thought made Hanzo frown and crease his brow; what had changed?

“Hey, darlin’.” He rolled his shoulders, still hiding his hands. Hanzo stayed in his spot. “Sorry I ain’t been ‘round, I’ve been busy an’ didn’t wanna spoil it.”

Hanzo quirked an eyebrow up, narrowing his eyes. “Spoil what?”

Jesse opened his mouth but quickly shut it and straightened up, a smile growing and sparking his eyes. Hanzo watched as he clapped his fins together and held out his arms, presenting a folded up… cloth?

Jesse nudged it into his arms, smirk forming in the quirk of his lips and beard. “Take a look, angelfish.”

Hanzo blinked at the nickname but set it aside for later discussion as he unraveled the fabric in his arms. He held it out in front of him and his jaw went slack at the sight he beheld.

A thick blanket of fur dropped out onto the ground, soft against his fingers, and woven into the outer coat were layers of shining feathers; black to grey to white to orange, blending in seamlessly with each other and the dark fur. Hanzo ran a hand down them, breath hitching at the silky texture and how his fingers sank into them, spreading warmth up his arm.

Hanzo broke away to stare at Jesse, feeling that warmth creep over his face but finding no room to care about it underneath the overwhelming tenderness threatening to make his heart swell out of his chest. He breathed carefully and swallowed.

“You made this…?”

Jesse chuckled and took off his hat to run his hand through his hair, the dry salt catching in the high sunlight and bringing back not-so-innocent thoughts of the mer’s taste. Hanzo didn’t banish it, knowing he was already red enough to be able to deny anything.

(He didn’t want to.)

“I know it’s a couple months late t’ give it to ya, but I still want you to have it, Han.” Jesse shuffled closer, pulling the shawl off the ground to press against Hanzo’s chest. “Try it on.”

Hanzo nodded, adjusted his hold and threw it around his shoulders, wrapping it tightly around himself. A wave of heat enveloped him, even as the April breeze turned his legs to ice, and he let out a long sigh as he closed his eyes. He brought it in closer, digging his hands into the softness and reveling in the rare comfort it brought him.

He smiled at Jesse, only a small thing not as sharp as his usual snark and wit, but it might as well have shined brighter than the sun if Jesse’s wide grin was anything to go by. He chittered again and whistled, making Hanzo laugh quietly.

“Thank you, Jesse. I love it.”

“Really?” Jesse lit up and Hanzo nodded, keeping his chuckles to himself.

He picked up his travel pack and locked his cabin door, watching Jesse all the while as he seemed to bounce and flash his teeth with little care to who saw. Hanzo headed off at a lackadaisical pace, smile still present.

“Walk with me to the docks?”

As they walked, one poised and the other cumbersome, Hanzo’s thoughts drifted off as he allowed himself this joy of being with someone like Jesse. Someone with qualities he hadn’t the courage to name or admit he admired yet.

He should get him a gift as well…