#do you think he has enough ego left to be wounded? it must hurt at least a little. why else would he mask so much?

[compressednerve]

put on a happy face...

This moment must have hurt so much for Viktor, having already lost Jayce because his lack of morals, people skills, ability to articulate coherently... It was a "not great" idea what got him kicked out of his partnership with Jayce... and the new mask Van Klegg hands him is more human resembling, the metaphor for having to mask his antisocial behavior and appearance to fit in is also literal. It's not Viktor's name on the outside of the building, Viktor's name isn't on anything. He just wants to yap about his Glorious Evolution! He hates his face so much but any mask is better than no mask but really he would prefer the most inhuman and scary mask, please. What the hell do those things on his face do? It looks part transmitter, part leather brace, part injector ports... keeps him from emoting too much, gives him da drugs, and helps him control his mechanical parts, perhaps?

[oreosmama]

Voicemails After the Breakup (Haikyuu!! Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: I pity the fools who ignore this a/n bc WARNING, these are hcs without those stupid bullet points bc I have suddenly emotionally decided that they fucking suck. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy the light angst, for all those survivors who are still vibing in this fandom. Enjoy!

Word count: 1968

Tooru Oikawa:

“I’m totally and completely over you.”

That’s how the message starts. 

Part of you wonders if you missed something, or accidentally skipped ahead. It’s so immediate, like Oikawa could barely wait for the beep before tearing into you. Like he needed to spit poison the second he had the chance. 

And it’s one of those biting remarks that he wants to let fester—for a while, evidently; he doesn’t say anything else for another five minutes. 

All that follows is a loud thud, like he’s thrown the phone away from him. And then footsteps, like he’s pacing, pacing, pacing back and forth, trying to think of more scathing words by burning holes into his carpet. 

You hit a point where you think you should delete the message, maybe try and not care about whatever else he may or may not say after waiting for so long. You nibble on your nails and tug at the snarls in your hair. You pick four pieces of lint off your sweatshirt and seventeen more off the blanket draped over your lap, and you know how many there are because you line them up and count them afterwards as you wait, anxious, listening to your ex-boyfriend’s panting. 

But a small rustle stirs at that five-minute mark, right against your ear. And a sniffle. 

“Fine.” Oikawa’s voice cracks. “You win.” 

You suck in a breath. 

“What do you wanna hear? That I miss you?” He sniffles again, then scoffs bitterly. “That I miss you so fucking much I can’t sleep at night? That my bed is so fucking cold now I can’t even stomach sleeping in it? That every girl I see I automatically compare to you because I have to—I just fucking have to, all because she’s not you. And it makes me sick.”

His chuckle is sour and crackles harshly into your eardrum. “Am I stroking your ego enough, sweetheart? Because you win. You fucking win.

“I want you back.” 

He sighs, and it sounds like he’s rubbing his forehead. 

“I need you back.” 

More beats pass in the silence. More sniffles, too, but stretched out, like he’s trying to steady his breathing. 

You don’t think it’s helping him any. As you wipe the cuffs of your sweatshirt underneath your eyes, his voice returns, thoroughly raw and wounded. It squeaks out of him, barely above a whisper. His voice is so loud and tender, like he’s cradling the phone against his cheek. 

Your hand against his warm cheek, curled over that pink skin, fingertips inches away from brushing through those soft strands, wiping tears. That’s what you wish it was. 

“I didn’t know…” 

A shaky breath. You hold yours in return. 

“I didn’t know anything could hurt this bad.”

He swallows thickly. 

“Those last few moments after you left—I thought that would be the worst of it. When you just walked out. And I keep seeing you do it, over and over and over, in my head like I can’t help but torture myself with it.

“I never knew it would get so much fucking worse.”

He whimpers a little, and your heart constricts unbearably. You tear at the damn thing buried underneath your sweatshirt, massaging the skin like it can soothe that phantom ache. 

Oikawa must hate you. Maybe he hates you like you hate him: not because of the breakup, but because you can go for weeks without seeing him, holding him, kissing him, and everything still hurts like that last time. 

“Thing is, I could’ve sworn you weren’t always in my life. It’s been two years. Only two years. And yet I can’t remember a damn thing before us. It feels like it was always us. Some fog, and then you, and then everything afterwards. Everything that was us.”

“And I hate that we had it so good, YN. I really do. Because missing you has been the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The frustration in his voice is familiar, a sickening sense of deja vu around it, and you latch a hand over your mouth at how vividly the image comes to you: Oikawa tearing his fingers through his hair, teeth gritted, cheeks flushed and shiny. Like when he lost a game, but different somehow. 

Like this was something he didn’t even know he could lose.

He’s crumbling in a way he doesn’t know how to stop. That ugly part about having something wonderful and new—the moment it’s gone, what the hell are you supposed to do then?

“I just—Goddamnit, I can’t stand how badly it hurts anymore. I can’t,” he cries, desperate and aching, like his hand is fisting at his heart. You can hear the breath hitching in his throat, the hiccuping breaths after his sobs. You can hear every tear, feel it against your own cheeks, a soreness building at the front of your skull. 

Too many tears. Your body is screaming at you, too many fucking tears. 

But it’s him and he was yours and you were his. 

Were. 

You were his. 

You had no idea how much that single thought could make your entire chest throb. 

Oikawa inhales, and it makes your heart race against the thick wall caging it in, squeezing against it. 

“I need to see you.” 

He says the thought like it’s just slapped him across the face. 

“I need to go see you, I—I have to.” 

He mumbles to himself unsteadily, like he’s rocking back and forth. Debating, really, what he’s supposed to do, if he should do it at all, if it’s right after everything.

You should probably think he’s wrong.

You probably shouldn’t be curled over your phone, eyes wide, mouth open, not making a fucking peep. Waiting to hear what he’s going to do. 

Maybe—just maybe—you shouldn’t be telling yourself that as the voicemail counts down to its final seconds, if he decides he’s not going to go to you, that you’ll definitely be going to him.

“I can’t just sit here. I can’t stay in here, without you. This isn’t right, I—”

Your breath hitches when you hear the frantic jingle of keys. 

Then the sound of a door slamming. 

His footsteps racing down his apartment’s stairwell.

A car engine revving. 

“I need to see you.” 

And the voicemail ends. 

_________________________

Satori Tendou: 

The message begins with a scoff of utter disbelief. 

“Is that what we’re doing now?”

He pauses, almost like he thinks you’re going to respond. 

“Heard from someone that I suddenly have syphilis. Yesterday, I had herpes though, so I guess I’m gonna have a tough week.”

A rustle like he’d shaking his head, like he can’t fucking believe it. 

“And sure, okay, I figured that’s fine. You can say all that shit, and it won’t really stick because everyone knows it was us and that it’s you and you’re hurt.”

He sighs. 

“But I saw it, sweetheart. I saw it.” The phone whines like he’s adjusting it against his face, and his voice is suddenly lower, darker. 

“You don’t get to have it both ways, you know. You can’t spread all that shit—all those rumors about how shitty everything was and how we didn’t have anything going for us—and then turn around two days later wearing my sweatshirt. And you don’t get to wear that necklace I gave you for our anniversary and then run away from me the second you see me. That’s just not fair—you’re not playing fair anymore.”

Something swishes around like loose clothing, and a large huff greets your ear from what must be Tendou collapsing into a seat. When his little sounds become quieter, that relentless humming and the excitable clicks of his tongue against his teeth, you figure he must have put the phone on speaker and balanced it on his knee like he always did. Mid-conversation with Ushiwaka, he always used to spin his phone with those long fingers, or bounce the damn thing up and down against his frantic leg. 

And the voicemail came through late last night, one of those dead hours where the only ones awake were Tendou, his scrambling thoughts, and the moths flitting back and forth outside his glowing window. He was always awake, always thinking, always doing something. 

When you’d first broken up, after one long, wrenching fight where you’d both lost your voices and the frustration welled so high you just couldn’t breathe anymore, you’d been thankful for the idea of sleeping soundly for the first time in months. 

You’d been wrong. You weren’t even sleeping anymore; just long, slow blinks where your phone screen would magically turn from 3:45 a.m. to 7:25 a.m., and in five minutes you’d have to get up and slug your way through another day. 

Tendou had been the same. Those naturally wide eyes sagged under the pressure, and the curve of his spine had deepened like he’d been hauling the lack of sleep everywhere he went. 

He must be sitting at his window now, at this moment in his message, pale skin aglow with wispy tendrils of moon. And he’s calling you. And he saw everything you’d done. 

“Not fair. Not fair at all,” he whines, teasing. Always, always teasing, and if you hadn’t heard the slight cripple in his voice on the last word, you’d have gone on thinking he viewed it as one big joke. 

You’re sure he heard the same thing you had—that he couldn’t keep acting like it was all fun and games. His usual, cat-like smile surely fell into a pert little frown, pale lips twisting like he’d sucked on a lemon. 

No fun, no fun, no fun, he must have been thinking. 

“Ya see, I thought we had a little deal,” Tendou drawls. “You’d talk smack and start dressing all pretty just to spite me, and then–and then I’d go ahead and delete all your pictures and put your name as ‘Bitch’ in my phone. And in, like, two weeks, we’d just be two ships, whoosh, whoosh, passing each other on the high seas of life, ya know?”

He breathes a ghost of a laugh. 

“But, sweetheart, you look like shit.” He chuckles for real this time, and it’s disgustingly hollow. “I’m not even kidding. Like someone ran you over three times every morning—it’s horrible, really.”

You curl into yourself even further, and you’re smiling, grinning, lips peeling with how much you’ve cried and how little water you’ve drank after. You hate him; God, you hate how he can make you laugh and cry at the same time. 

“But that’s okay, I’ll give you a pass just this once. I haven’t deleted your pictures yet, so I botched my end of the deal, too.” Tendou tsks his tongue. 

“I won’t go easy on you, though. Here–here, how’s about this: for every day you stop wearing my clothes—because they look horrible on you, sweetheart; really, you’re painful to watch—I’ll delete one of your pictures, eh? That means, in about–uhhdivideby365daysinayearignoringleapyearbullshit–ah, seven years, I’ll have held up my end. S’that good with you?”

You lean your head back, letting the tears flood your hair as he chuckles to himself. 

“Fuck it,” he says after a pause. Hopeless. Breathless. “Fuck it.” He must be gnawing on that pale lower lip, biting and nibbling until it bleeds. Because he lets something go to sigh again, and he must have smacked his head against the wall, and then you think he sniffled. 

“I still want you. I’ve always wanted you. And I’m tired of missing you and wanting you. Doing both hurts too much.”

Tendou soughs.

“So I’m still your Chicken Tendy, baby. Always. And I’ll be here when you're ready, syphilis and all.”

[tillyalf427]

Verlaine+Rimbaud x reader nsfw headcannons 18+

Notes : so I read through literally every verlaine and rimbaud x reader on here AGAIN last night and there's not nearly enough out there so uhhh...here have this 😂

Please read the warnings, I'm not 100% sure how tagging works on Tumblr anymore so read at your own discretion, most warnings are only brief but I thought I'd include them anyway!

Warnings: nsfw, bondage, choking, soft dom Verlaine, oral sex, praise kink, hickeys, fingering, riding, vaginal sex, sadism, edging, oral fixation, blowjobs, threesome, female terms used for reader

- Okay but soft dom Verlaine who loves the thought of the amount of control he has over both himself and the reader.

- So like when he's asked to choke them he loves how much control and precision is needed to use the right amount of pressure and not take things too far

It reminds him of his job as that also requires precise skills.

- Or when he ties you up with ropes criss-crossing over your skin, the process of tugging you to your knees by the ropes wound around your arms sends a jolt of electricity through his skin

- Let him hold onto your arms where they're bound behind your back whilst he fucks you and he'll go absolutely feral.

- Isn't a fan of gags because he wants to hear you and hear how much you're enjoying it, how else would he know when he's doing a good job?

- He needs validation!! Whether it's in the form of you moaning, or the garbled words that escape your mouth, he doesn't mind

- Potential praise kink anyone?

- Please he needs all the love in the world, tell him he's your good boy

- His favourite place to leave marks is probably your neck, he loves it when you can't hide them underneath your clothes, call him possessive if you must

- Likes to bite across your collar bones because he thinks they're pretty

- Isn't all that confident with eating you out or stretching you open because he's always afraid of hurting you

- But if you want him to he's more than happy to let you ride his face

- And fucking yourself onto his fingers drives him absolutely wild

- It gives him the little ego boost he needs to start scissoring his fingers, eventually slipping a third finger inside you before continuing where he left off

- Most the time he would be fairly quiet however, most often he would let out small grunts and quiet moans in between heavy breaths

-And sadist Rimbaud who loves nothing more than to tease and torture you until you're begging him to do anything.

- This man eats pussy like it's his job

- He'll happily spend hours edging you with both his tongue and his fingers, stretching you open slowly with a lazy smile.

- Pull his hair a little and he will lose it

- Rimbaud with an oral fixation anyone?

- Anyway

- His favourite place to leave marks is your thighs and hips, he loves to see the red marks blooming on your inner thighs and seeing the way his hand marks wrap around your hips.

-He probably has pretty long fingers which he uses to his advantage to tease and finger you

-Loves to watch you riding him, seeing the way your thighs tremble from the effort and the pleasure

- Every now and then he rolls his hips up as well just to see you gasp and tremble

- Try not to flinch when his cold fingers trail across your skin otherwise he'd take full advantage and finger you when his hands are freezing cold, watching you arch away from the strange sensation as your warmth surrounded his fingers.

- He would always end up flushed so pretty, pale skin warming up to a bright blush that travelled down his neck.

- His hair contrasts against it so nicely, falling around you and tickling with every movement.

And the pair of them together? Well...good luck 🤣

- Verlaine would hold you down against his chest whilst Rimbaud went to town with his tongue against your pussy

- Not only that but he would 100% use his ability, increasing the pressure of gravity on you until you could barely even wriggle.

- Both would make it their life's mission to cover you in marks, hickeys, bite marks, everything

- Nothing riles either of them up more than seeing finger shaped marks pressed into your hips when you're getting changed or when there's a mark too high on your neck for you to hide.

- Picture Verlaine tying Rimbaud's hands to the headboard, teasing him until you get home before encouraging you to sink down on Rimbaud's dick, riding him as he fell apart beneath you.

- Verlaine would tease Rimbaud's mouth, pressing his dick down his throat as you bounced on his cock.

- Or Rimbaud ordering Verlaine to fuck you whilst he sits and watches, cock in his hand and praises rolling off his tongue.

- Unless Verlaine happens to come without permission then he'll stand up, fingers tangling in Verlaine's hair to tilt his head back, whispering in his ear with a harsh bite to the skin there.

- He forces Verlaine to eat you out with his own release still dripping out of you.

- Fucking after a mission when you're all wine-drunk and tipsy, making everything sloppy and messy from the lack of coordination between the three of you.

-wet kisses and it's just generally fairly messy as you all tangle together

- And if for whatever reason you have a mission where you have to seduce the target, you may not be able to walk once the three of you get home.

- They both get jealous, irritation itching beneath their skin despite the knowledge that it was only for a mission.

- The sex that night would be rough, all harsh movements, biting and firm hands holding you in place however, once they were done with you, the softness would return.

- Between them they'd help you get cleaned up, running a bath for you and helping to wash the sweat and grime off your body, fingers tangling in damp hair as one of them rubbed shampoo in before taking the shower head to rinse the bubbles out.

- Then once you were dried you'd quickly be bundled up in their arms back in bed, soft words and kisses being passed around

- And if you happen to not be in the mood one day? No worries they'll work it out amongst themselves, giving you the option to watch if you're up for it.

- And quite frankly it's intriguing to watch the dynamic between the two of them on their own just as much as it is to be between the two of them.

- Seeing the way Verlaine submits fully to Rimbaud sends a shock of pleasure through you and uncovers the urge to have Verlaine in that position yourself

- Or seeing how Verlaine pressed Rimbauds legs up against his chest whilst fucking into him filled you with the perfect ideas on how to tease him to completion in the future.

- Overall, the pair of them are probably pretty good to you in bed, they both have strong personalities and motivations so there would likely be occasional times when they clash with each other

- But if they do just tie them both to the headboard with vibrators against their dicks and tease them for hours on end 😉

[imfinereallyy]

“You hurt me.”

“I know.”

Steve sighs, and he looks at Eddie in his doorway. So much has changed in five years. But Eddie seems the same. Just his hair is a bit longer, he’s got more tattoos, and he’s got scruff on his face that Steve knows when they saw each other last in 87’ would have driven him nuts.

Steve has always liked the idea of Eddie with a beard. It doesn’t matter now, though. “I think you should leave.”

“Steve, I—I just need a chance to explain.” Eddie moves side to side on his feet.

“Explain?” Steve scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest. “You had the chance to explain five years ago before you left. You had the chance to explain the weeks after with no phone calls to me to any of the kids. You had the chance to explain the year after when you talked to everyone but me, and I thought you just needed time. You had the chance a year ago before you cut everyone else off again.”

Eddie hangs his head in shame. “Stevie, please. I know I don’t deserve it. But I just want to talk.”

Steve’s resistance wavers slightly. He moves out of the doorway to let Eddie in. Eddie rushes inside, knowing Steve will change his mind at any moment. Steve shuts the door behind them. “I’m only letting you in because if Robin finds you in our doorway, she will kick your ass. And as much as you hurt me, I don’t actually want to see you in physical pain.”

Eddie smiles a bit, “Still the dynamic duo? You and Robbie? What’s stopping her from beating me up inside?”

“Our cat Sylvia might see. And she’s trying to shield her from as much violence as possible. Says one Sylvia has seen enough.”

“Oh please tell me she is out by now, because that is a giant gay flashing sign.” Eddie chuckles.

Steve can’t help but laugh a little, “Yes, she is. It would be hard if she weren’t, considering she’s dating Nancy. And Nancy is a lot of things, but subtle isn’t one of them. She shows her off any chance she gets.”

“Wow, Robs bagged Wheeler? Never saw that coming.” Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Must have been a blow to the ego for ya, Stevie. Your ex and your best friend.” He mock clutches his heart.

Steve lets out a big laugh this time, “Nah. I encouraged it. They’re my favorite people; they deserve to be happy.”

Eddie softens, “Yea, being a favorite person of Steve Harrington is a very special thing.”

Steve feels ice water in his veins, “What are you doing here Eddie?”

Eddie sighs, “What do you want to hear? Why I needed to come, or why I wanted to? Cause the truth is I needed to come to apologize to you. Give you the explanation you deserve. What I wanted, though, what I wanted is to tell you that I love—“

“Don’t.” Steve chokes.

“Right apologies first.”

“First? First?! Eddie. I don’t know what you could say to me right now that would make anything make sense. We had something good. It took us so long to get to that point. And it was great because we learned about each other and knew each other inside out. Our friendship blossomed into something more, and we were just getting started, and you left. I had thought I was done with love before I met you. But then you came along and made me feel seen and cared for, and then you got weird and distant so quickly, and you fucking left. And then I knew for sure I was done with love. Don’t think it was meant for me. Sure, that’s not on you, but you don’t get to—you don’t get to open old wounds because you feel the sudden desire to come around again.” Steve swallows tears.

Eddie’s face goes through hundreds of emotions. Anger. Shock. Grief. He doesn’t say anything for a minute. They stew in Steve’s words instead. Then finally, Eddie settles on. “I’m an addict.”

Steve, who has thought about a million ways this could go, has never thought of this. “What?” All the tension releases from his body. He just stares hopelessly at Eddie.

“I’m an addict. I'm sober now, I just reached a year, but yeah. I'm an addict. Never thought I would be. But after everything with Vecna and the painkillers they put me on…it got hard. Denied it for a while. Said to myself a little of everything here and there to forget wouldn’t hurt anyone. But then we were becoming something alongside, me spiraling deeper into addiction. And I—fuck this was easier to practice at the meetings.” Eddie runs his hands through his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong. But I would have hurt you. More than me leaving did. And I couldn’t live with that. I could live with you hating me. It was selfish of me. I wasn’t ready to give up the drugs so I gave up you, and it’s not fair. Not fair that I did that to you, to anyone of you really, but especially you Steve. You just deserved someone who could love you all the time, love you fully. And I thought I did but I think I was using you a little to make myself feel better. That’s not to say I didn’t love you. I did, still do, always will. But we both deserved a better version than what we had.”

Steve feels tears on his cheeks, he isn’t sure what to say. “You didn’t get to make that decision for me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Steve chokes on a sob, “Dammit Eddie. It was my birthday.”

Something breaks inside them, and suddenly they are in each other's arms, weeping together. There is this fragile broken thing between them, a love that never went away. It is horrible and beautiful and needs so much work to be wonderful once more.

But it was nice to break together again.

“I know. I’m sorry. I can’t say it enough. I’ll make sure every day for the rest of my life that I make it up to you. In any way I can.”

“I don’t know how we can get back Eds. Don’t know if we should.”

“I’ll take you any way you’ll have me. Friend. Lover. A person you only call when you need a ride to the airport. Just let me try; it’s all I ask. I promised I wouldn’t go back to you until I knew I had put the work into myself first. You don’t owe me anything. I would understand if you kicked me out right now. But I need you to know that Steve, I love you anyway you’ll have me. And I have never stopped thinking about you.”

Steve lifted his head from Eddie’s chest. “I’d like to try to get to know you again. This you. See where it goes. But Eds, no matter what, no matter the version of you, I will always care. And I will always be your friend.”

Eddie kisses Steve’s forehead, “Thank you.”

It’s there where Steve and Eddie hug on the wooden apartment floor; they hear the door unlock. “Oh no, she’s home early.”

Eddie doesn’t get to respond because, suddenly, Robin is in the doorway. “Hey, dingus! I brought home an extra latte—“

She freezes at the sight of Eddie before rebooting with a dark look, “Steve, is your nail bat still under your bed?”

——

Wanted to try the whole break up thing, I have a lot of different break up/makeup ideas in my head. maybe pt. 2???? Kinda feels good to stop here. But if you think so I have more ideas for this.

[loveletterstothepast]

Fools Gold.

There’s a vault where I hide my favorite moments of my life deep and secure, only tapping into them in desperate attempts to hang on or remind myself that this is not all that there is left in this world. It might circle back to me soon. I might find joy yet again after all.

No one ever really knew me and I get that now. In my heart I realize I’ve loved so much, I’ve taken for granted just as much.. and yet I don’t think a person ever truly saw me like I see everyone around me. Im shuffling through reasons to stay and in order to maintain well, order, I’ve been cleaning out that vault and it’s finally settled in the dust. Not one of those people has stayed.

With a deceased child and father, a far away sister, an absent mother and a list full of old friends and far off lovers. No one’s ever really just stayed in my life to be with me. Sure they leave making a dramatic exit and an effort to stay away before they come crawling back to me. I’ve never been one to enjoy the shame they carry entering back into my life but no one ever simply stayed.

As if I am the lowest of the low and yet they couldn’t avoid being away from me. I used to love it and would accept the wounded bruised egos back with open arms and bright smiles and accepted the little happiness I tucked away reserved for them. I was never really an option for people to love. I’m simply convenient. How endearing it is to finally put it together. All the snake like men slithering back never truly saw my value or worth, my mother doesn’t care to know the heart deep inside my chest and in truth, I will simply always be unloveable to the people I love the most.

I want more than I possibly deserve, I give more than I have ever received. Drowning into the consequences of always loving more, always taking things to mean more than they are. I heard a song recently that I used to scream in the car with an old boyfriend. How I’d click off my seatbelt and lean over to kiss him hard on the lips still humming the song. The way he glowed in the red street lights as we sang together. Back then I swore you loved me more than anyone else on this whole planet. I felt in my gut, that inside a room full of every woman you had ever known, I would be the one you picked. I was me, entirely, raw, completely me around you. You must have thought I was worth while back then only to find someone who could give you more than I ever could. I thought in jealousy, that you would never satisfy your disgusting desires like you could with me, and then while watching her glitter in a way I didn’t, I saw. She couldn’t save your soul but she could pitch a good enough case to stop you from being condemned. She took you as you were and loved you so much that she never hurt your feelings about the kind of man you were. She saw deep into you and loved you in a way that you couldn’t possibly ignore after all it was deeper than what I had to offer. I didn’t stand a chance watching her glitter like the fresh feelings of new seasons. I watched her age in beauty, timeless, always classy. I could fall in love with her too with the creepy way that I watched her have everything I thought I wanted.

I’m not sure when it stopped, or when I stopped listening to that song, or any of them that remind me of you but I did it. Now when they play I have the faintest memory but not a possessive one. I just remember hearing it and knowing you were sometimes tied to it.. but not that it matters anymore. I didn’t completely throw it out, but now it’s unimportant to me. I didn’t lack depth in my love, I lacked the ability to make it obvious to you. I was simply too busy enjoying it to plan our future.

I just seem to get worse in age too… with all the men I’ve ever loved. Where I love deeply, it is never felt it seems. Where I care enough to plan it’s never the acceptable amount. What I wouldn’t do to open my heart back up. It feels tightly shut and no matter how hard I tell it that love given is not love lost, it remains tightly locked together.

I used to think that laughing along side another partner would hold us together. Expressing my deepest gratitude to him constantly. I put him in a position to choose and for the briefest moment he wanted someone else, I could never give myself to him afterwards. Why was I never on the first priority list. I pulled back from him completely and sealed my heart shut, whatever crush I had formed I kept to myself and as we aged and sang and walked around my old complex, I felt the tension, the one sided tension, how it suffocated me and yet I never let it tarnish our memories. We planned to go to the drive through and sit in the back of my car and snack together, we planned on spending all our summer nights together… until I heard you bring up that old highschool ache. I thought it better for us to leave one another alone in that moment. I shut the door because I was never simply your friend and even if you had chosen me, you talked about her more than you ever loved sitting in my company.

There’s so many moments now ruined with realization that I made myself more important than deserved. It also becomes clear that I don’t love as fully as I think I do. If I did, they would pick me.. yet they never have. I’ve never been worth while. What I offer is a pit stop. A shelter for lost dogs ready to settle with anyone but me. I am the emergency room for bruised egos and broken hearts. I mend them and care for them until they’re ready to go find their forever home.

I love so deeply, but no one ever wants to wade that far into the oceans water. Being with me is like becoming a shipwreck survivor. I saw its endless, boundless, crazy and all you see is a never ending nightmare. Deadly for miles onward and as far forward as you go is as stuck you feel. The predators lurk beneath the surface and although there’s beauty far beneath, you don’t dare choose to dive into my depths. I love with what no one wants and no one asks for. I love at the cost of it sinking and when it does or someone more permanent, more worth while comes to save them. I am just as restless as I was when they were here.

I talk about how I am better than some of the people I’ve been cheated on with. It mustn’t be true. If I am so undeserving and undesirable I simply must allow them to cast me aside. You can’t make a living off of finding fools gold, you can’t make a future living on the dangerous sea.

I don’t want to hold on to feelings and memories with family, and men who never got me.

Even if they did love me, one look into the depth of who I am and they would’ve walked away too.

[love-toxin]

HADES ????? NY GOD ELLIE i need your yan zagreus hcs !!

gladly >:3c

☆ Zagreus, first of all, is a charmer. He really is as smooth as he thinks he is, so it won't be a big deal if you're not into him at first. Either you're playing hard to get, or you'll loosen up with time and effort. Besides, if you're in the Underworld together, then you have an eternity and more to warm up to him.

☆ If you think a friends with benefits arrangement will work, you're painfully wrong. If you like him but not enough to want a relationship, he'd be happy to share his bed with you instead--but it won't have an end. If you want to stop or if you fall in love with someone else, you'd better hope you can get to Olympus or further, because he won't let you go otherwise.

☆ Speaking of which, being in the Underworld with him will be easier for him, and much more difficult for you. Each time he's sent back when he tries to escape won't hurt as bad, because at least he'll get to see you again--he's doing it all for you, after all, because once he makes it to the surface he swears he'll get the gods to help him take you up too, because it's too dangerous for him to try and bring you with him on every attempt.

☆ However, if you're on Olympus, then he will suffer so much to make you his. The first meeting when you offer your help to him will ensnare his heart completely, and he'll promise you that he's going to make you his bride/groom/spouse when he reaches the end of the Underworld. You might find it cute, funny even, that a little godling like himself is so determined to marry one of the great immortals of Olympus, but you'll have no idea how serious he is until he shows up at the summit. Bloodied, half-dead, reeking of the Underworld, and ready to either join you on your circle of thrones or steal you and take you down to the depths with him, just like his father with Persephone.

☆ He also doesn't get jealous easily, but he does get possessive. Jealousy isn't as bad because he's confident enough that you won't go searching for anyone else, not when he's got you satisfied in every way. But being around potential suitors will bring him closer to you, it'll cause him to hold you by the waist and stand menacingly over anyone who casts a pining glance in your direction. Shades, gods, humans, monsters, it doesn't matter--he will show that you're his when he has the opportunity, even if it means marking your skin with his tongue and teeth before he leaves for his next escape attempt, so nobody will even think about seducing you when they see the brands he's left in his stead.

☆ The only one he'll trust you in the company with is Achilles, because he truly believes that the fallen hero is the only one who would never disgrace you or his pupil. Achilles has always held you in high esteem, whether you're Zagreus' darling or not, and if it comes to it then Zagreus knows that Achilles would protect you in battle with his life, even against Hades himself. Besides, as much as he wouldn't speak it aloud, he knows that the wound of losing Patroclus still burns at Achilles' heart, and he won't allow his ego to result in another person suffering because of him.

☆ To say Zagreus would die for you is a complete understatement. Dying for you is how he shows his love for you, over and over and over again--every time he emerges from the river Styx and sees you standing at Hypnos' side, listening to him chatter on about the son of Hades' latest death, he smiles. Because you must realize more with each one just how much he suffers for you, whether you reciprocate his love or not. He can't be a hero worthy of the gods' praise or to be immortalized in legend, he's not an Odysseus or Theseus or Hercules--but he can be your hero, and that's more than worth as many painful deaths as it takes to save you from your fate.

☆ Speaking of which, he'll hound you for comfort after his attempts. If you're not already waiting for him in his room, then he'll pull you along by the arm to bring you there, if he doesn't insist on a warm bath together first. Either way, you'll end up in his arms and pressed up against his warm body, his voice low in your ear as he breathes soft praises against your skin. He wouldn't have the energy or the will to keep going if you weren't there to encourage him to succeed, in whatever way you please, whether it be affectionate encouragement or something a little more intimate.

(spicy under cut!)

♡ And when it comes to intimacy, Zagreus is fierce. He may be gentle and soft after a long trial, preferring you to take the lead and get on top if you like--but in other circumstances, when he's less drained and not recovering after a fight, he's a lot more motivated.

♡ He loves to make you say his name. It doesn't matter what form it's in, if you like to add some kind of title to it that gets you going--as long as you're moaning out for him it strokes his ego quite nicely, and he loves seeing you come undone while still begging him not to stop. Remind him that you're all for him, and he'll make sure you don't regret it--or, even better, that he's all yours. If you ever threatened to cut someone if they tried to seduce him, then he would absolutely lose all self-control and would have to drag you to bed right then and there.

♡ If he's not cumming inside you, then Zagreus insists on cumming somewhere that's going to take some time to wipe off. Your face, your chest, your mouth, your hands, anywhere that makes his breath hitch in his throat when he sits back and watches it stick to your skin like he's marking his property. Plus, if it makes you smell like him, then that's a bonus too.

♡ Almost every time he bathes, he just has to jerk off. The heat just ignites something within him that he can't control, and if you aren't together or especially if you're a god on Olympus in this scenario, then it's the perfect opportunity for him to fantasize about you while he still hasn't got you in his reach. He conjures up the filthiest scenarios without even meaning to, and whenever he makes contact with you after one of those sessions, he just won't be able to stop imagining the expression on your face if you ever found out what a hellion like him was daydreaming about. The mortals on the surface might revere and adore you, but he wants to worship you in a much more carnal way--and, of course, have you worship him back whether he deserves it or not, because he'll have your love one day either way.

♡♀️And actually, if you were a human that he had fallen in love with, and a female at that, then he would take advantage of every attempt where he actually makes it to the surface. As soon as he reaches the end, he'll rush towards your home not far from the gates, and spend the few hours that you have together in your bed. He's desperate to spend any amount of time that he can with you while he has it, since he can't even contact you while in the Underworld--and so every time is just as important as the last. Because if he can also get you pregnant while he's there, then there might actually be a chance of him convincing Nyx to help him get to the surface and stay there for good, and if not that, then he might be able to take you down to the Underworld alive. If his father can do so, then so can he, and there's no moving on for Zagreus. He doesn't care if you're too different as god and mortal, he'll breed you if it takes every last breath he has, just so he can finally make you his forever. And, of course, so he'll never have to rush to the end of your lovemaking again--he'll spend hours bringing you to your end again and again, to make up for all the time he hasn't satisfied you as your husband should.

♡♂️ Also, if you're a male lover of his, he'll be so protective over you. Somehow his possessiveness comes out even more, maybe because he's surrounded by so many females, and he's so fixated on your beauty that he's sure you're as popular as Narcissus with the ladies. So, due to that, you might be walking with a limp every so often because of his jealousy. Zagreus doesn't like being rough to excess because he likes to spoil you, but he might just sink you down on his lap as far as you can take it, just so that when you squirm and insist that he's too big, he can let a smirk tweak his lips when he knows that you'll be shaky and unsteady on your feet when he's done. For someone who was a virgin before you got together, he's pretty incredible at giving head, too--he'll blow you whenever he needs to let off steam or right after he's finished training in the yard, or if you're doing it together, he might glance around to make sure Skelly is gone before he takes you to the ground and shoves his head between your legs. But really, who cares if someone sees him sucking you off? They'll just know that nobody will ever have you like he does.

[riotlain]

Egos with a Werewolf s/o

no angst is allowed in these parts losers

also i saw someone else do this and i felt like doin it

im not original

THIS IS A NWLNW BLOG!! WOMEN DNI PLEASE

Iplier Egos

Darkiplier

He hates how much fur you get everywhere when youre fully turned

No you cant get on his lap- ok fine

He can never stay mad at you forever

Dark probably caves in to most of your requests if you use puppy dog eyes on him

“Y/n, Im working right now I can’t-“ *Large puppy eyes* “*sigh* Fine we can ‘cuddle’ for a bit.”

I dont think he’s that big on physical affection but its fine

Dont lick him

Wilford

He loves you so much

He doesnt care about fur at all

“Arent you just a large puppy?”

Belly rubs are common he doesnt care

He’ll definitely try to pick you up

He fails but he still tries

Give him puppy eyes and he fuckin folds

Host

He cant see you but he’ll pet you

He enjoys the feelin of your fur

”The Host can feel Y/n staring at him with ‘puppy eyes’. What do you need?”

If your body is ever sore from shifting he can give decent massages i think

He knows how awful you feel if you were to hurt him on accident

If you are fully turned he tries to not stress

Host would hate for the blood from his eyes to trigger any animal instinct

Google

Being Google he… googles it

Surprisingly there isnt alot of answers for “How to care for a werewolf?”

He doesn’t enjoy fur

Would you count of the part of humanity he has to wipe out?

You arent human so who knows

If you were to accidentally hurt him he stays calm

Sure he may bug out a bit but he has to make sure youre ok

The Jims

They reportin everything you do

“It appears the our werewolf partner is raiding the fridge for any meat left over!”

Youre a great thing to cast news on

Ratings go higher than ever!

Reporter Jim has make sure you dont eat his fucking mic

Group cuddles

Septiceye Egos

Anti

He loves chaos i suppose

Anti cant do much about his wound so you just gotta deal with the blood scent from him

He would kill for you

Anti kinda hates the fur

He has a bad guy reputation to hold up! He cant be covered in dog hair

If youre sore from shifting he’ll just kinda

Hang around you

He wont get everything you ask for

he will

Robbie <3

A zombie and a werewolf together? What a silly mix

He doesnt know what to do when you turn

He sorta makes sure you eat ig?

Robbies like “If not eating makes me violent it must be the same for Y/n!”

He sorta just smells like… rotting flesh and cheap cologne alot

You two cuddle alot when you turn

Youre soft and warm

Chase

Deadass would try to play catch with you

HE DOESNT KNOW HOW TO HANDLE WEREWOLVES SO HES LIKE “Mmm yes. Dog.”

He just kinda throws raw meat and hopes for the best

Tummy rubs

He prolly puts you on his channel

“YOOOO LOOK AT THIS WEREWOLF!!”

Marvin

Magic man

He tries to find a potion to make your shifting less painful

Youre not allowed in his silly magic room

He would hate for you to eat some spell book or something

Calming potions so you dont go fuckin rabid

Most of your shifting experiences with him are just calm cuddles and making sure youre ok

Battle Egos

Natemare

Bro is down bad

He prolly uses his singing to calm you down when you shift

Pets you alot he dont care about fur

He fuckin disappeared into smoke one time when you were shifted and he just watched you start fuckin doin the dog cough

Yes he did laugh

He finds your sharp teeth cool as shit probably

He gives decent massages to you when youre sore or in pain

Phantom

He isnt a fan of the fur but he endorses it

Calls you a wet dog as a joke ofc ☺️☺️

If you complain enough he’ll brush out your fur

He spoils you with the finest food and clothes for your wolf form

Dont lick him he hates it

Very good massages

Will fucking kill you if you chew on his chain

(No he wont)

[noavengers]

apologize ⸝⸝ oneshot

pairings: zemo x avenger!reader

warnings: light angst

summary: it's been years since the avengers fell apart and you've finally decided to pay zemo a visit – to give an apology for what happened in sokovia so long ago.

word count: 1073 words

A/N: honestly, this is bad and i am so sorry. i got the idea and couldn't stop myself from writing it down.

// NO SPOILERS FOR TFATWS!

Standing in front of the bulletproof glass, nothing more then a glass wall between you, you knew the decision to come here had been the right one.

If nothing else, the surprised look on Zemo's face when it was you that walked into the cell was worth the long trip, possibly even the lies you had told your team when they asked where you were going. You knew your team well by now, even scattered and in pieces as the avengers were right now, some things never changed.

And while nobody would have tried to stop you from going, even if you told them the truth, you knew they wouldn't understand why you wanted to see him.

After all, the wounds of your team falling apart in such a gruesome way were still fresh in everyone's minds, the years doing very little in the terms of anyone actually moving on from what had happened that day in Germany. And you understood your teammates, on some level at least.

Even now, looking at Zemo, both of you silent as you stared at each other, the tension visible to whatever guard was looking at you on the camera, you couldn't help but wonder just how easy it would be for you to fall back into your old mindset of blaming him for everything that had happened.

But you knew better now, as much as it pained you to admit it, the Avengers had always been a fractured team, on the verge of breaking apart any moment, all the secrets and bitterness tearing you all apart until one day you just couldn't hold onto each other any longer.

After what felt like seconds in your head, but was probably much longer in reality, Zemo finally broke the silence, his voice snapping you out of your thoughts. "You know I was wondering when one of you would come here. I have to admit I am more then a little surprised it's you, I was half expecting to see the Winter Soldier when the guards told me I had a visitor."

You stayed silent, a tiny twitch of your lips the only sign you had heard him. This had all been so much easier in your head, locked away in the comfort of your home, just thinking about coming here.

But now, when it was all a reality, you couldn't even force yourself to look up, your eyes refusing to meet his as you forced yourself to stand still in front of him. That 'strong avenger' part of your braing unwilling to show just how nervous standing here made you, even the glass between you doing very little to give you any actual comfort.

You must have looked like a fool, your lips parting more then a few times, words caught just at the edge of your throat but none of them coming out.

"I'm sorry!", you finally blurted out, the uncomfortable silence finally forcing you to break and speak up.

If he was suprised by your words, you didn't notice, his eyes only widening for a split second, an almost manic grin spreading across his face. "Oh! And what are you sorry for little Avenger?"

He was mocking you, the word Avenger spat out like an insult, though you supposed he did see it as one. You forced yourself to ignore just how hard his words hit you, lifting your head in a false display of confidence instead, for the first time since you arrived getting a good look at him.

"I wanted to apologize for Sokovia, actually. What happened after that was awful and the things you did unforgivable-"

He cut you off, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. "You really know how to apologize, must be the Avengers ego, making you believe that insulting me is a decent apology."

You found yourself biting your tongue, half tempted to snap back. Instead you just shook your head, your voice a bit harder then before.

"You know what? You're right, this has nothing to do with what you did but with what we, the Avengers did. And I know you don't care and my words won't change what happened in Sokovia, but I am sorry. I'm not sorry for stopping Ultron, in the only way we could at the time... but I am sorry for the way I left Sokovia after that, for not going back once the fight was over to help fix the mess that I was a part of creating."

This time Zemo did look surprised, and you couldn't tell if it was because you had said he was right or because of your apology. Or maybe a mix of both.

You were a little shocked by your words as well, despite thinking them over in your head for the past several months. Months ago, when you had first gotten the idea of apologizing it had been a much more general apology, a standard 'the Avengers are sorry for what they did but it was for the greater good' sort of apology. One that had spilled out of your mouth way too many times to really mean anything.

"If we are beeing honest here-", once again it was Zemo's voice that snapped you out of your head, embarresed to be caught spacing out twice already, "you or any member of your team coming there wouldn't have been enough."

It was the harsh truth of what he said that made you tear up. And what a pitiful sight you must have made, even the darkness of the cell not enough to cover the hurt expression on your face.

Zemo must have felt some pity on you because his voice was far more gentle then you could have ever imagined when he continued talking, "I am not trying to be cruel here. Your apology, while too late is appreciated."

And more then anyone else had bothered to give him, went unsaid but clearly thought by you both.

"But you must also know, that an apology, while appreciated, will never be quite enough. When people hold the power you and your team once did, making a mess and saying 'sorry our bad' won't change a thing, won't bring back a single person killed." His words weren't kind, but they weren't meant to hurt you either, you knew that.

So when only ten minutes later you left the prison, you left if with hope.

Hope for the future.

[luimagines]

In lieu of what happened yesterday with Wolfie... may I raise you with Bunny Legend?

He despises the form. Why, of all the things he could have been, had to be a bunny? A tiger or even a dog would have been better than that a fluffy, weak... pink mammal! It's not fair that Twilight get a cool one instead of him, which is completely stupid since he is one of the oldest, and far more seasoned in salt of the group. On top of that, how dare he stealing your attention like that!? How is he supposed to make a move if Twilight is always hanging around you as Wolfie? He wants you to be the only one to hear how he feels about you...

...And, maybe, is also because he is terrified of you turning him down, the ache in his heart would be worse than a stab with Twilight watching him get rejected...

But this is why he have been named as the "Veteran" and not something else; he has dealt with a lot of situation before with far less objects at his reach to help him, but he always manages to get through it. He's very cunning and is quick to think on his feet...

...Or at least, almost all of the time he is. Erring is most common when you aren't at your most calm, isn't it?

Legend admits that he acted out of desperation: you had him at his wits end! But it's hard to feel frustrated with himself when you are nuzzling your face on top of his head, little squeaks of happiness and a high pitch voice while you baby talked to him, gussing about his very soft fur and really cute vest. You even called him handsome! You never do that when he is in his human form, you don't even spare him a glance when he rolls his sleeves, making a big of a show of flexing his arms, stretching out and pushing out his chest and arms back, all so you can see how muscular he, too, is. But the only thing you do is oogle at Twilight-- as if he isn't enough of a menace to him-- and that idiot of Mr. Captain when they wrestle together, shirtless. He just wants your pretty eyes on him, those plump lips, cherry from how you are bitting them, shamelessly devouring the two men with your gaze...

...Ugh, just pay attention to him, okay!? He will shower you with all the love and adoration you deserve and more! So please, direct that intensity to him, and only him.

A poke to his furrowed brows broke him out of his mind. Legend cautiously looks up at you. He mentally kicks himself as he is met with your worried eyes, the last thing he wanted was for you to feel any type of negative emotions, so that glint spurred him on rubbing his furred cheek on your free open palm, wanting to change the expression out of your face. It seem to work, you opened your eyes more and even giggled a little before scratching under his chin with two of your fingers.

"Got lost for a second there, buddy?" You whisper. Even if your tone was soft, the vibrations travelled from your chest pressed against the back of his small form engulfing it in a warm and pleasant feeling.

Legend closed his eyes and let all of his weight rest on you, not that you minded, of course. Being the sunshine that you are, you giggled cutely once more and tugged him closer to you, to the point of almost being curled around him. It was a rare sensation; he felt protected for once instead of being the one providing said feeling, he must admit that it was quite comforting, but Legend will forego ever feeling like this again in exchange of you being safe forever, you will always be his priority.

"Hmm..." you pecked his head. "Y'know, you remind me of someone that I like a lot"

His long ears fell flat on either side of his head as his heart stilled.

Like a lot...?

You... already have someone that you hold dear?

You seem to miss how his body grow stiff between your arms as you continued in drowning him in affection. What used to be a delightfull experience, now, it hurts him more than any wound he have ever sustained in his life, more than any burn from fire lizards or the cold, prickly bite of exhaustion of his tired body as he dragged himself through every and more corners of Hyrule.

Your hands played with the small tuff of fur on his head, but Legend's mind was far too gone to properly feel the touch. In its place, his heart dropped and shattered, somehow still beating as he felt the fastening Thumping in his stomach. How foolish and naive of him, to ever believe that he got an opportunity with you. Even the people that you two are travelling with can barely stand him, and they are supposed to be the same person.

Is he really that despicable?

"It's actually funny."

Funny how stupid he is, isn't he?

"He came back a few nights ago, very upset."

Well, that guy clearly doesn't now a thing about suffering. He isn't the one getting his heart demolish while in the arms of the love of his life like him.

You pinched the tip of his left ear and softly lifted it up. "He came back with his hair the same shade of pink that you have! In my opinion" you lean down a Little, as if you were about to share a secret "He looks very cute like that. A shame He will never let me say that to his face..."

Pink? Like the rose tinted glasses he have been wearing all this time-- Uh? Hair?

Are you... Please, don't give him hope like that. He can't take another loss in his life, because if you don't mean it, he would be devastated for good.

He felt your body shifting a little before you let go of him to instead hook your hands under his armpits, slowly lifting him up then turning around his body so now the two of you can be face to face. His tiny nose twitched as you leaned in a poked the tip of your own nose to his pink one, rubbing a little before you leaned back again. Legend layed his pawns on top of your chest, eagerly following your movements when he saw you opening your mouth to continue, he didn't want to miss anything that you are about to say:

"He is a big dork, with an even bigger ego. Very handsome too and... Ugh, Legend, why you have to be such a cactus all the time?" You finished with a tinge of frustration in your voice.

In a normal scenario, he would have argued about that last statement, but he couldn't because of two good reasons: one, he is still in his dark world form, it would be very weird if this bunny you found in the Forrest acted as if it was personally insulted by your words. And second...

You actually like him.

Him, With all of his flaws and bad attitude, you still found and assigned a space in your heart for only him, Legend.

Just as how down he got, his spirit raised up again with vigor, his heart soared from the dark pit of grief that held it a couple of minutes ago taking its rightful place at the peak of the shrine dedicated to your whole being. He didn't even noticed that his skin was ice cold until a burst of heat shot from his feet to the tip of his ears that acted as a catalyst as he threw himself towards your chest, his body felt light as a feathe, he tried his best to fight off the desire to laugh or shout out this waves of overwhelming energies.

Oh, how your chuckles were like the tunes from the most rich instrument in the entire universe being played by the goddesses themselves, more revitalizing than any potion or fairy pond.

"Do you think I should say something, buddy?" You returned his hug.

Legend furiously nodded his head, not think if it will appear weird that he could understand you. You squeezed the tiny bunny between your arms before putting him at arms length:

"Thank you, buddy. Somehow, now I have the confidence to talk to that prickly bitch--"

"--A PRICKLY WHAT???"

...Uh oh.

Even the common noises of the Forrest fell silent at his outburst.

Legend didn't had a second to try and amend his mistake as, suddenly, his vision was thrown into a spiral; everything looked blurry and the wind on his fur was a clear indicator of how hard you launched him away from you. He felt slightly proud at you quick reaction time but...

...No amount of fur can soften the crash on the hard forrest floor, just his luck that he didn't fell on the conveniently batch of dry leaves right beside him. It hurt, not as how bad his heart was hurting, but painful nonetheless.

He just really hopes you won't tell the group about the weird, pink bunny that can talk, or else he won't ever heard the end of it from Sky and Twilight.

-----------

AND IT'S DONE CKSKFJEJCUC IT TOOK ME A LOT OF TIME JUST TO SAY "Legend tried to pull a Twilight and got yeeted out of existence"

I think that Legend has self esteem problems! With what happened in A Link to the past, it's hard to overcome a whole nation hating your guts when you only wanted to help.

You really just said "If no one will provide me with Legend simpage, I'll do it myself"

I'm grinning so much right now. I ended up biting my lip a bit harder than I intended to because I almost screamed at the end when he finally spoke up.

The whole time I was like "But Legend can speak? Why is that not- Oh that's why."

Also, describing how Legend tries to peacock as he stretches to catch the Reader's attention *chef's kiss*.

[havenoffandoms]

72 for Geralt/Jaskier?

I meant to post this a lot earlier... sorry about the wait, nonnie. I hope you like it anyway. I'm not sure how it came out in the end after I agonised over this for the past couple of days, but it was fun going back to my Geraskier roots.

Masterlist

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Prompt 72: Character A has a secret. Character B does whatever they can to find out what it is. When they find out, they wish they hadn't.

Warnings: brief angsty episode, mention of Geralt's traumatic childhood

Also, I love that art! Holy Shit!? So of course this had to feature before the fic <3

Travelling with Jaskier had its downfalls.

For one, the bard talks a lot. He never stops, not even in his sleep, and that would drive any man insane if you ask Geralt. He listens to Jaskier waffling about poetry all day, every day, he doesn’t have to endure a lecture on the benefits of iambic pentameters when he’s trying to fall asleep, thank you very much. Jaskier also likes to complain about every little thing that causes him discomfort, which when they’re on the path, ranges from fly bites all the way to sore feet. Travelling with a human also means that they travel considerably slower, unless they’re both riding on top of Roach, but Geralt doesn’t like putting his best girl under that kind of strain very often.

For all of Jaskier’s flaws, Geralt would hate to have to separate from his bard. At least, when Jaskier is close by, Geralt can keep an eye on him and make sure Jaskier doesn’t get himself into any unnecessary trouble. Having Jaskier travel with him gives Geralt peace of mind. He appreciates the singing as well, even if he could stand to tell Jaskier this a bit more often. Geralt deems that his bard’s ego is plenty inflated without Geralt making it worse. Not to mention that life always seems a little bit brighter when Jaskier is around, and the nights are a little less lonely as Geralt gets to pull his bard close and fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart. Knowing that Jaskier is safe is the only thing that lets Geralt sleep peacefully at night.

You’d think that after nearly two decades of knowing his bard, Geralt would have figured out Jaskier’s secret by now. Geralt is, of course, referring to Jaskier’s near supernatural ability to always come up with coin when he and Geralt need it most urgently. Geralt has no idea how the bard does it - his songs are popular, granted, and on a good night Jaskier makes enough to buy a nice room for the night and the better pieces of meat from the kitchen. Still, being a bard doesn’t pay that well, not even if you were as famous as Jaskier. Just last week, Geralt’s horse and most of his belonging were stolen by bandits, leaving Geralt travelling on foot and too poor to afford to buy a new horse. Two days later, Jaskier came trotting up to their camp atop a gorgeous mare, looking mighty pleased with himself but refusing to tell Geralt how he managed to afford to pay for the horse.

“Would you believe me if I told you I stole her, Geralt, my dear?”

“Not in a million years,” Geralt admitted deadpan, pulling an offended squawk from his songbird.

“Just because I’m a bard you don’t think I can steal a horse?”

“I don’t think you could ever steal a horse because you’re as stealthy as the proverbial bull in the porcelain shop.”

It’s not just the horse, though. Geralt’s armour needed replacing and good armour doesn’’t come cheaply. Geralt doesn’t hire the services of just any blacksmith or armourer to craft his weapons and protective gear. He has his regular suppliers, the ones he always goes back to because he knows that their work is reliable and of the highest quality. And even though these people know Geralt by now, even offer him a friends and family discount on occasion, their wares still come at a hefty price. Geralt, as it turns out, didn’t have the coin to replace his armour for a few months. He desperately needed new boots, though. A new pair of breeches wouldn’t hurt either, and his silver sword broke in half whilst fighting a particularly vicious griffin a few weeks back.

Geralt didn’t even mention all of this to Jaskier. That didn’t stop the bard from going ahead and commissioning a brand new suit of armour, new silver and steel swords, as well as a few casual clothes for Geralt to wear on the warmer summer days. All of this must have cost an arm, a leg and a fucking lung, and yet Jaskier acted like he didn’t just break the bank all for Geralt’s benefit. He didn’t even get anything for himself and that realisation had Geralt feeling slightly embarrassed about the gesture.

“You don’t have to buy me all this stuff, Jask.”

“I know that, dearest,” Jaskier assured him, eyes soft and an easy smile playing on his lips, “but I wanted to. Only the best for you, my sweet witcher.”

The mystery of where Jaskier managed to find the coin to pay for all this remains unsolved, despite Geralt’s questioning. Well, if Jaskier won’t outright tell him, then Geralt will just have to investigate the matter by himself.

"Where the fuck did you get your hand on all the coin to pay for all this?" Geralt asks one evening, blunt and straight to the point. There was probably a kinder and gentler way to ask this, but after spending weeks mulling over Jaskier's sudden new-found fortune, Geralt has lost the little patience he possessed in the matter. Jaskier, on the other hand, looks perfectly unperturbed.

"From the bank," he offers simply as he sprinkles expensive herbs over the hare Geralt caught earlier that evening, "you know, where people deposit their valuables? I know you witchers don't believe in bank accounts, savings and interests, but-"

"Where does the coin come from?" Geralt interrupts, hissing those words through clenched teeth.

"Why, my inheritance."

Geralt stares for a long while. It takes his brain several seconds to catch up to what Jaskier is telling him, and another few seconds to make sense of the words. Inheritance?

"What inheritance?"

"Well, when my father passed away he left me and my siblings a share of his wealth. That's how inheritance works. Say, pass me my satchel my dear, I think I have some more spices in there."

Geralt wordlessly hands Jaskier his satchel, still trying to process this new discovery. Come to think of it, Geralt knows precious little about Jaskier's family. Sure, that's probably on him for never asking, but Geralt has grown so used to Jaskier oversharing every aspect of his life that he never needed to ask his bard anything. Jaskier just… never talked about his family. Or his childhood, or his upbringing. His life story seems to always begin when he was a student at Oxenfurt.

Geralt is growing curiouser by the minute.

"When did your father pass?"

"Oh? Uh… good question. Maybe a few years after I went to Oxenfurt? I'm not sure. I received a letter from the bank notifying me that a share of my father's wealth was deposited in my account."

Geralt frowns. "You never went back to find out what happened?"

"No."

Well, that's an oddly abrupt response, and Jaskier doesn't seem like he's got anything to say on the matter. Which only makes Geralt feel more curious about the whole thing.

"Why not?"

"Geralt…" Jaskier heaves a sigh before putting on a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, too tense to be genuine. "My father and I didn't get along. I felt no need to go mourn him with the rest of my noble family in Lettenhove when he passed. That's it. That's all there's to it. I was not a good enough man to refuse my share of the inheritance, either, despite my non-existent relationship with him."

That's a lot to unpack. Geralt always assumed that Jaskier had a good childhood. Then again, he would think that, wouldn't he, considering Geralt spent his own childhood being tortured by magnanimous and sadistic mages. Where most children got to spend time outside helping out in the fields or playing with their friends, Geralt was put through drill after drill, after drill… until he was physically unable to walk so much his muscles hurt.

"Wait… did you say your noble family?"

"Hm?"

"In Lettenhove… there's nothing in Lettenhove. Only the Viscount and his family live there on a large esta-" Geralt's mouth clicks shut as realisation dawns on him. "Your father was the Viscount of Lettenhove?"

"Yes. And since I'm the oldest, after he died that title passed onto me. But I much prefer being a bard, so I graciously devolved my duties to my younger brother, who now manages the estate. Are we done with this conversation?"

"I didn't mean to make you mad…"

Geralt watches Jaskier stop dead in his tracks, his shoulders briefly tensing at those words, before exhaling loudly through his nose. Jaskier anxiously rubs the back of his neck as he straightens up and offers Geralt a sheepish smile, that one warmer and softer than the previous one.

"Sorry, dear heart. I didn't mean to be so short with you. It's just… well, there's a reason I don't bring up my family all that much."

"Hm." Geralt gently taps the spot next to him on his bedroll, and Jaskier doesn't have to be told twice. Soon, Geralt has one arm wound tightly around Jaskier's shoulders. Not quite a hug, but the intention is there all the same, and Jaskier eagerly melts in the embrace. "I shouldn't have insisted. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. You did nothing wrong." Jaskier nuzzles the crook of Geralt's neck sweetly before depositing a featherlight kiss just over his pulse point. "Do you want to ask me anything?"

Geralt ponders over that question far too long before whispering an answer in the air pocket between them.

"Did he hurt you?"

Jaskier hesitates.

"Not physically, no. He didn't approve of my aspirations and choices. He didn't support me. I suppose it hurt a little when he didn't see me away to Oxenfurt at the age of 15, but he never raised a hand on me."

"Hm." Good, Geralt thinks. No child should ever have to suffer at the hand of an adult. Geralt earned plenty a beating at Kaer Morhen, some justified and others not so much. Just because he went through this doesn't mean he condones it.

"At least I get to spend his money on someone I love," Jaskier offers softly, eyes as blue as the deepest ocean glancing up at Geralt through dark lashes, “That, at least, the old man can’t take away from me.”

A happy little rumble bubbles up Geralt's chest, despite the blush gracing his cheeks.

"I never thanked you for the gifts." Geralt blushes a deeper shade of red at the realisation. "Sorry. It's been a long year."

"Well, good thing we're heading North soon then, hm?" Jaskier straightens up so he can cradle Geralt's face in his lute-calloused hands. Their eyes meet then, amber seeking out blue, and Geralt thinks that he must be the luckiest son of a bitch in all the Continent.

"Yes," he agrees in a whisper, tilting his face to place a kiss on the inside of Jaskier's wrist, "good thing, indeed."

Request a prompt

[lustbile]

To Provoke

Incubus!HaechanxReader

Word Count: 4.4K

Warning: dom-ish haechan, semi public (alley way), oral&fingering, biting, blood consumption, & can maybe be interpreted as degrading but not really

notes: a resounding thank you to whoever gave haechan curls and horns im in love with you nct stylist person. I wrote this all today and it made me stupid so I will try to go through and do more editing. Also not that I think anyone would, but I made the edit for this, horns and all, and im asking politely no one repost it, i know it’s not the most extravagant edit but im asking u pls.

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You were trying to provoke him.

You were always trying to provoke him.

Everything you did, every move, blink, sigh, and turn was an attempt to pull him from the shadows.

To admit you’re addicted to him is embarrassing, degrading even, especially with the way it fills his chest and wild eyes with hunger and pride. His ego was one thing that never needed to grow, big enough to fill every nook and cranny of the universe, but something about the way your pretty eyes would glitter at him in awe pushed it over the edge in free fall.

The outfit you chose to wear was maybe a bit too revealing for the weather, the nipping cold dancing along your shoulders and thighs in a way that makes your stomach clench and your teeth chatter. But it was the same outfit you had worn on the night you had met him, the outfit that his greedy fingers tugged and pulled on to get access to your skin, and it still had the smallest of tears in the seem from his impatience that night.

But it got you attention, and that's what mattered in the end.

He had always had a jealous streak, something he’d deny sharply if you had the nerve to accuse him, but that didn’t change the fact that some of your best nights with him were spent after he showed up to remind you that your body and skin were for him only. And that jealousy was the exact thing you needed to get him to show his face again.

It had been far too long since you had felt him last. You had no clue where he could have possibly ran off to for such a long time, but that didn’t stop the fire that was building in your belly. And no matter how many times you tried, your own wandering hands were never enough to quench your body’s thirst like he could.

The man you spoke to at the club meant less than nothing to you, even when you felt his growing excitement pressing against your back when you agreed to dance with him. The sloppy kisses you allowed him to press against the skin of your neck felt no different than just air as your mind was too distracted by the man that had taken ownership of your heart and soul so long ago, regardless of his absence.

It didn’t feel long before the lights became too bright, the alcohol that sloshed in your cup too bitter for your tongue, and the smell of the strange man too stale and unfamiliar. But when you pushed away from his chest and checked the time on your phone, while you ignored his grumbled complaints of you being a tease, you saw that it was only a handful of minutes past midnight.

You had stayed out much longer than that before, much later in fact and with glee, but something in your chest, a heavy and daunting weight, was pulling you towards the entrance on unsteady feet and a taunting disappointment on your shoulders.

Your mind still felt muggy even after you broke away from the stuffy environment of the building, but you brushed it off as a combination of the minimal alcohol you’d consumed and the angry unsatisfied monster that had made home in your gut.

You had enough of a head on your shoulders to scan your purse for your pepper spray and pocket knife before you decided that maybe the short walk home would help clear your mind and disappointment. It was still cold, your icy fingertips begging for a uber or cab instead, but you were hoping the biting chill would help calm down whatever lustful beast you had become because of a man you couldn't even contact.

Your legs felt too heavy to carry with every step you took, your neck feeling like your necklaces were made from tons of lead instead of whatever cheap metal the random online store you had ordered them from used. You were grateful that the only company you had on the back streets you had chosen to take were the flickering street lamps and the skittering rats you could hear in each alley you passed.

You could almost taste the relief of the cheap bottles of wine you had stashed in your kitchen paired with a trashy netflix horror film when you turned onto your street, your apartment building somehow looking inviting with its old brick and foggy windows as it sat on the corner. The only thing stopping you from kicking off your heels and making a run for it being the memory of one of your less than polite neighbors dropping a large glass vase and not feeling any need to pick up the broken pieces before leaving for the day.

Instead you grit your teeth to help bear the pinching of your shoes, and break into a quick and awkward jog down the desolate stretch of sidewalk. Your eyes watering as you're met with icy air.

Peace and warmth and cheap familiar alcohol is only a few strides away when you hear it. To anyone else in the city it would have been no different than the sounds of an everyday creature scavenging in the trash for food, but you had lived here long enough to know what's a rat or raccoon or, in this case, a cat.

It was a stray you had befriended long ago, one that could climb and duck into your conveniently opened balcony door for a bowl of food and a scratch behind the ears. It was just a sweet little boy that was grey and covered with scratches and scars, but due to a no pet policy had to be kept labeled as a stray and a secret to your landlord.

You huff in frustration, assuming he would have been curled up on your couch when you returned home and not chasing rats in the alley next to your building, but he had always been mischievous from the day you met him. So with the hope that you could block his image from the security cameras, you turn and head into the dim light of the small alley.

You had lovingly dubbed him Oscar when you came home more than once to your trash can tipped over and learned he had a special love for garbage, and that name along with some weird chattering cooing left you mouth as you tried to coax him from whatever trash can he was creating chaos within.

Your teeth were already gritted and you back stiff as the playful feline found enjoyment in jumping out and scaring you in times like this and you assumed this time would be no different as his evilness seemed to only raise as it got deeper and deeper into the night. So you were already mentally prepared for an attack from an overly excited ball of fur, what you weren’t prepared for was a voice.

“What are you doing out so late?” the voice was gruff and slightly accusatory and made you all but jump completely out of your skin. And as you whip around in circles to try to find the face that the words feel from, you see your love and joy Oscar jump from the tallest trash can and scale the fire escape up to scramble back into your home like a guilty teenager that was caught by their mother.

“I asked you a question,” this time the words were followed by strong hands gripping your shoulders and a shrill yelp escaping your throat.

Your hand was pushing into your purse for at least one of your weapons as you squat to get out of the person's hold and turn to see their face, the grinning and prideful boy behind you washes you with a wave of relief before stabbing at you with annoyance.

“Haechan, what the fuck,” you whisper harshly as you pull your hand from your purse and stand up straight, your now free hand now moving to jab a rough finger into the dip of his chest, “how many times? How many times have I told you to not fucking sneak up on me like that. I know the pepper spray can’t hurt you and a stab wound would heal in like five minutes but that doesn’t mean I want to stab you, idiot.”

“Why not?” his head jerks back as if you said something dumb like the sky wasn’t actually blue or he wasn’t really the sexiest man to live, something that just has no logic behind it in the slightest, “like you said it would heal so maybe we could try, might be kinda hot.”

He punctuates his words by grabbing you roughly by the waist, his other hand wrapping gently around your neck before he pushes you against the rough brick behind you, the permanent evil glimmer in his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Do you ever get tired of being an absolute freak?” you thinly veiled insult doesn’t pack as much of a punch as you had maybe hoped, but when he begins to mouth at the skin of your jaw and cheek you can’t really find it within yourself to care.

“Well isn’t that why you like me?” he asks rhetorically as he starts to nip light bruises in the spots that blur your vision, “freaky me must be your favorite, because otherwise you wouldn’t be dressed the way you are.”

He’s no wrong, not even in the slightest, but the confident way in which he says it is enough to make you want to lie, “wanting you and liking you are two different things, no one ever said I liked you.”

“Oh but you want me,” the way in which he takes everything you say in strides without even batting an eye is bit infuriating, but the way his fingers tighten against your neck and push into your jugular is enough to make you melt against him, “that’s what you said so for once that’s not me putting words into your pretty little mouth. But don’t say you don’t like me, that’s a dirty lie and we both know it.”

“You don’t like when I lie?” you pout at him, trying to pull more and more reactions from him, “but some of your favorite things I say are lies, like how big you are and how well you fuc-“

“Alright that’s enough of you,” he interrupts, his fist tightening that much more and his other slipping from your waist to reach under the hem of your dress, a satisfied growl and his tongue pressing into the inside of his cheek being his reaction when he realizes the underwear he was grabbing for wasn’t there, “I’ve had to watch you prance around all night, letting a low down dog of a man touch you. And for what? My attention? Baby, you already have my attention.”

Your words stutter violently, the only sounds coming from your throat are whines and gasps as his fingers slip between your thighs and glide against the dampened skin, never staying on your clit long enough to give you the pleasure you need but enough to make you squirm.

“You were watching me?” you finally gasp out, before it clicks in your brain how dumb of a question it was. He told you a long time ago that he always will keep an eye on you, and knowing what he is and the things he can do, you had no reason to not believe him.

“I always am my pretty baby,” he coos before pressing teasing kisses to your open mouth, seemingly tasting and feeding off of every little noise that slips out, “and it hurts to see you let such a nasty man touch you where only I should. You didn’t even notice him following you out of that trashy club did you, silly thing?”

You jerk back as much as you can with the way he holds you, eyes widening at the news that you were apparently being followed without your knowledge. Every emotion that swims in your brain feels like its fighting for dominance, but with the way he chooses to dip his middle and ring fingers just barely past your entrance you’re struggling to cling to just one.

“God, you are so lucky to have me aren’t you? Who else would take care of creeps and make you feel good hm?” he tilts his head as he speaks, his breath warm against the side of your face before his tongue dips to lick at the shell of your ear, “no one can make you feel the way I do can they?”

“No,” you finally answer after a moment, the word coming out as an airy breath as his fingers finally sink in all the way. He wastes no time before curling them and pressing at the spot that makes your knees buckle, “please Haechan, need you so bad.”

“Oh is that one of those infamous lies of yours you were talking about?” he pulls away slightly, but shows no interest in slowing the motions of his hand, “well it can’t be can it? I can always tell you know? Can hear the way your heart picks up when you lie, much different than the way it does when you’re about to come for me.”

His wrist starts to move faster, the heel of his hand finally pressing and rubbing against your clit as the muscles of his forearm start to strain. The telling signs of your orgasm feel too sudden, too fast, and with his hand still constricting the blood that tries to flow to your head all you can do is let your eyes roll as your breathing comes out as small puffs.

“But since you’ve asked so nicely,” you can only let out a pathetic cry when he pulls his hand away from you suddenly, your lack of oxygen being the only thing stopping you from letting out a scream loud enough for the whole block to hear as he denies you of any stimulation. All you can do is let out incoherent babbling and whines as your hands reach up to dig your nails into the leather jacket protecting his forearms.

He releases your neck, your skin burning from the friction and the sudden amount of oxygen and blood returning to your head making you dizzy. And while your eyes roll as they try to refocus and your heart rate begins to slow to normal, he grabs your wrists and pushes your weakened form to be flush against the wall thats scrapes against your exposed skin.

“You are by far the best thing ive ever tasted,” he mutters, not concerned with whether you heard him or not, before his mouth latches to the side of your neck. He seems to find the most interest in the finger prints he left behind, as he pulls the tender skin between his sharp teeth and works to create a bruise that won’t leave you for another week.

Regardless of denying you a proper release, he considers himself to still be a generous guy. As his tongue lays flat against the burning skin of your neck, he starts to kick at your feet until your clumsy legs are falling apart wide enough for him to press his thigh against your skin, and in the exact way he predicted, you can’t help but to begin grinding helplessly against him.

One of the main reasons the dress that you currently wear is one of his favorites, is the neckline. Low enough to show the expanse of your chest and just enough of your cleavage to make him salivate. He’s as transparent as glass with this love, especially as he mouth travels down between your collarbones and sternum.

You can hear a quiet pop in the fabric of the neckline when he bites down and begins to pull it with him as he sinks down to the floor, the huff you let out being both in frustration from him further ruining a nice dress and your impatience.

The straps dig harshly into the skin of your shoulders before they give and fall, the sudden lack of support making it easier for Haechan to take the fabric and expose your chest to the cold air.

The look in his eyes when you look down is mean and predatory, you fear one day he’ll snap and consume you whole, but for today he settles for wrapping his swollen lips around your nipple and sucking harshly.

Your hips quicken involuntary, broken moans filling the empty alley as you twitch and squirm in his hold. He seems to grow irritated at your impatience as he shoves your wrists back harshly, his knuckles audibly scraping against the brick.

“You can never be patient to save your life,” his head tilts forward and he presses his forehead against your sternum with a huff before he’s leaning back up to press a sloppy kiss against your panting mouth, “you’re lucky I missed you so much or otherwise you’d be in for a lot longer of a night.”

He keeps your wrists trapped in his hold as he moves to kneel on the ground, the rough and dirtied pavement doing nothing to help the tears that already litter his jeans.

You feel your face flush when he lets go of one wrist and uses his newly freed hand to shove the hem of your dress up and around your hips, and the burning beneath your skin only worsens when he leans forward and breathes deeply with his nose pressed against your pubic bone.

He leans back for a moment, his hand wrapping around the bend of your knee to pull your leg to rest on his shoulder and you feel your shoulder sting from the wall cutting into your skin from him moving you like a doll.

“Haechan,” you whisper his name out with a pout that you hope will get you exactly what you want, but you can only huff and petulantly twitch when he begins nipping and licking at the skin on the insides of your thighs.

His teeth are sharper than most, and he usually airs on the side of caution because he’s aware of this. His bites are gentle for the most part, but when you begin to peak in your feelings of impatience, you can’t help the way your hips begin jerking forwards in search of his tongue.

His palm pushing against your hip is his first warning, a generous one in his opinion, but when the warning seems to fly completely over your pretty little head he has no other choice but to lean forward and sink his teeth into delicate skin at the bend of your thigh.

You cry out for a second before you’re tucking your lip between your teeth. It stings terribly, the skin breaking around his teeth burns but you can’t stop the way you revel in the sharp pain. And at the exact same moment you taste the metallic ting of the blood falling from your bitten lip, you feel the same warm thick liquid drip from the wounds he’s created and straight into his grinning mouth.

More blood falls freely when he pulls his teeth from your flesh, his warm tongue flattening against the injury immediately to catch as much of the liquid as possible.

He laps at it for a moment, savoring as much of the taste of your life source as possible, before he starts at the bottom of the bite mark and drags slowly up.

Once his tongue moves off the wound, he continues across your skin. The moment he hits your labia, you let out a gasp and jerk against him again, your mind completely erasing the fact that the bite was meant to be a punishment for that exact thing.

He seems to have forgotten him wanting you to remain still, as he doesn’t hesitate in the slightest until his licking across your stil swollen bundle of nerves.

He moans as the flavor of your arousal mixes with the still lingering taste of your blood, the vibrations shooting straight up your spine and making you shiver.

He tilts his head up to smile at you, his eyes shining as he grabs your hands and moving them to thread into his curled hair.

“Why are you shivering?” he asks with a faux concern, his right hand smoothing over your thigh before pushing between your legs to return his fingers to their spot inside of you, immediately pumping and curling them slowly, “are you cold or something? Maybe it’s because you’re in such a skimpy little dress?”

You groan out in annoyance at his playful act, your eyes rolling back but for once not in pleasure. It’s not until he starts to proudly giggle to himself do you exploit the hold you have on the back of his head to push him back to your body.

You fear that being shoved around may be the exact thing Haechan would have wanted, when he happily moans before latching his lips to your clit again, but the pleasure that melts your muscles erases any need to call him out on his deviousness and perverted enjoyment.

He seems happy with your moving hips when they start to move against his waiting face. Your fingers mindlessly and desperately tug at his scalp as your head tilts back and thumps against the wall.

The hand that isn’t pressed deeply inside you slides across your hip, his callused fingers making goosebumps run up your arms as they push into your lower belly.

You can feel yourself fluttering around his fingers as the curl and push apart, your thighs tensing around his bobbing head as he licks and bites gently at your clit. It feels like it’s harder to catch your breath and you know you’re only moments from orgasm.

“Please, please,” you start to stutter the word over and over, praying both that he lets you come and that you’re neighbors are deep enough in sleep to not hear the noises you know will escape you.

You almost cry in relief when you feel his shoulders shift, his face and fingers both pressing deeper from the movement in a way that tells you he has no intention on letting up on your shivering body.

His blunt nails start to scratch into your skin and you can feel his heavy panting breath against your skin every time he begins to lap at you desperately. You can feel your muscles lose even more strength, and your head becoming heavier and dazed as he coaxed you closer and closer to your finish.

Your shoulders twitch up towards your ears and you feel your stomach clench as your back curves, small whines and whimpers leave you as the heel of your foot thumps against the space between his shoulder blades.

You gasp out when you feel it, them. They start as small bumps beneath your palms, and you feel your chest tighten when it clicks what they are.

He’s always had a good hold on controlling them, keeping them hidden so he can wreak havoc without being clocked as something inhuman. They had peaked out a few times, usually in moments like this, but it’s such a rarity that you can’t stop the way your heart begins to thump in your chest.

Out of everything about him, you were obsessed with all of him, but you loved his horns the most. They were small and sharp at the side of his head and the way he looks when they’re poking out amongst his curled hair, and especially when he was grumpy or mad, made you want to jump on him and kiss him all over.

You were so caught up and distracted by them growing to full size directly under your hands you forgot how sharp they were at their tapered ends. The reminder you get is when they sharply down push into your palms like thorns.

You gasp sharply, but the way they curl makes you afraid to pull away. It makes you tremble and flush with embarrassment, but the pain bleeding into your hands is the last straw on your nerves. All you can do is wrap your now bleeding hands around the horns and cry out into the cold air as your erratic hips move across his face.

He groans deeply against you as your nails scrape at the skin that surrounds the base of his horns, the feeling of his and his still moving tongue pushes you through and past your gasping orgasm.

You sign in relief when he finally detaches from your body, his mouth moving up to press your hip and across the space of your stomach the dress reveals. He puts your leg down slowly and he creeps back up your torso, now hyper aware of your wounded hands still stuck on his horns.

“Sorry my love, they’re kinda sharp aren’t they?” he rhetorically asks with a soft but guilty grin. He stays ducked down enough that your hands don’t go too high that they start to slip, and he follows with his own to help you detach them.

“I just keep making my mark on you tonight huh?” he sighs as he stands at full height and brings your still bleeding hands to his face. You grit your teeth and scrunch your nose when he gives you a knowing look that says ‘we both know what I have to do.’

He is quick and gentle when he swipes his tongue across the deep cuts in your hands, not wanting it to sting more than necessary.

A teasing grin fills his face when he looks up to see the tired pout on your face, “just like the one on your leg, there won’t be anything left than a bruise if you just wait like an hour,” he’s sincere in his words, and you know it works, but you still feel all wounded and tired.

“Take me home,” you demand, wrapping your slowly healing hands around his shoulders and leaning until your head rests against his shoulder.

“Hey now,” he contradicts his tone by wrapping his arm around your waist and helping guide you walk to your apartment, “you still have to feed Oscar, and take a shower, and I’m not even full yet so you have to let me play with you until I wear you out.”

His tone is far too genuine and loving for the words he says, and you swat weakly at his chest in annoyance, but all he does in response is a laugh.

[shyvioletcat]

I have no idea if you’ve seen NCIS: LA, but they have an episode just like your fic Treacherous of two agents posing as a married couple in the suburbs!! It’s season 3 episode 22 for reference!

Prompt based on that: A comes home and sees blood, panics and follows the trail thinking B has been hurt/killed. Carefully pushes the door open and finds A has simply cut their foot and didn’t hear B

I have watched some and I did go looking for this episode but came up bust in my search. It could have provided some good inspiration I’m sure. We all love a good fake relationship.

*EDIT: TAGLIST DONE. Sorry if you’ve already seen it and are getting the notification.*

Treacherous Masterlist

~~~~~

Grabbing the shopping bags out of the boot of the car Rowan swept his foot under it to activate the automatic close, all the while suppressing a yawn. He was dead tired. Aelin had gotten her revenge after the pen incident, setting an alarm clock in his room to wake him up at exactly 3:47. The damned thing hadn’t been within reach so he had to get out of bed to turn it off. And from copious missions together Aelin knew once he was up, he was up so he’d hadn’t bothered to try and get back to sleep. Knowing her she might have set others up in the room anyway, even if he had tried to sleep again paranoia would have kept him awake. All the while she slept blissfully across the hall.

Being just the two of them in the house they hadn’t bothered to keep up the bed sharing part of the charade. They slept in separate rooms and thank the gods for that. If he didn’t have that space to himself he might have never been able to get away from her and have some quiet. Aelin seemed to fill every room she was in and it was suffocating for him… most of the time. She had a way with people he had admired at times, it was what made her such a good agent, especially when undercover. Not that he would ever tell her any of that. No need to inflate her already insufferable ego.

When he had grumpily asked her over his third cup of coffee why she’d chosen 3:47 exactly she’d smiled at him, bright and cheery as ever after sleeping in until 8 o’clock, and alluded to some lockeroom talk she’d heard about certain measurements—in millimetres. When he had rolled his eyes she had gone on to clarify she was talking about 30 and not just 3 he’d promptly left the room, well and truly done with her immaturity. Her laughter had chased him out.

Shifting the shopping bags so he could open the back door, Rowan entered the kitchen expecting to find Aelin in there preparing the food for the ridiculous party tomorrow while listening to some obnoxious music very loudly just to piss him off. But she wasn’t, in fact the house was silent.

“Aelin,” he called, stepping around the length of the counter.

That was when he saw the blood.

Rowan dropped the bags, things crushing on impact. The blood pooled in one spot, then splatters made a path across the tiles. He didn’t have a gun on him, but there were enough stashed around the house and he found one in a low kitchen drawer. It was pointed and ready in moments and Rowan made sure he didn’t disturb the blood on the linoleum floor.

“Aelin,” he called again. “Agent Galathynius.”

Still silence. He followed the trail of blood towards the small bathroom that was on the bottom level, his heart pounding in his ears. There wasn’t enough that the situation looked dire, but the assailant may have dragged her off to another location, hidden away from windows. Why hadn’t the team been alerted to anything? Where was the back-up? Panic started to fill him, but his training kept it under control. If something had happened to Aelin…

He shook his head to shake out the thought. She was a perfectly capable agent, one of the best. Rowan was overreacting and he needed to calm down. A deep breath in and he nudged the door, when there was no reaction he kicked it open, gun ready. Eyes darting around the room, his gun dropped to the side when he took in the scene before him.

Aelin was seated on the floor, holding wads of toilet paper on a wound on her foot, wincing from what he gathered to be pain. She hadn’t noticed his entrance and was still focused on her foot.

“Aelin,” Rowan said, but got no response, so he tried a little louder. “Aelin.”

She jumped looking up at him. “Why do you have a gun?”

“Did you not hear me calling out?” Rowan asked, putting the safety back on the gun.

Aelin took small earbuds out of her ears. “What?”

Rowan rubbed a hand over his face, panic turned to exasperation. “I called out to you and you didn’t answer.”

“Podcast,” she held up her earbuds in explanation. “But the gun?” Aelin then asked him, her attention going back to her foot.

“The blood trail…” he said but didn’t elaborate.

Aelin straightened where she sat and looked up at him, then laughed. “Did you think I’d been murdered in the bathtub?”

Rowan didn’t answer her question. “Would you mind telling me what happened exactly?”

Aelin sighed. “I was trying to cook and I knocked a knife off the counter and my hands were full so I couldn’t catch it. It nicked my foot and now here we are.”

“Okay,” Rowan said, the adrenaline finally settling and he knelt down to assess the injury.

“What are you doing?” Aelin brows were furrowed in confusion.

“Inspecting the cut, you can’t get at it from the right angle,” Rowan said, turning her foot and earning a hiss.

“I can do it myself,” Aelin said and tried to pull her foot away but Rowan held firm. She relented with an over dramatic sigh and leaned her back on the bathtub.

Aelin had already got down what he needed, so he cleaned the cut up and foot, putting a large bandaid on it to stop the bleeding. “There,” Rowan said succinctly, brushing a thumb unconsciously along Aelin’s arch before letting go, making her suppress a laugh. She was ticklish.

“Hmm,” Aelin said, looking at him curiously.

“What?” Rowan asked, standing and washing his hands. When he turned around to dry his hands on a towel she was still looking at him.

“Careful Whitethorn, someone might think you were concerned for my well-being if they found out about this.”

“Not likely,” Rowan scoffed. “It was the paperwork I was concerned about.”

Aelin snorted and walked past him, Rowan taking a moment before he followed. There had been a moment when… He shook his head. Concern for a partner was only natural, no matter the feelings of enmity between them. The two of them couldn’t stand each other, but that didn’t mean he wanted her hurt or dead. Rowan left the bathroom, headed for the kitchen to put away the groceries when he heard a frustrated exclamation.

“Are you serious, Rowan?”

Any concern he had felt evaporated at Aelin’s tone. Entering the kitchen he found her holding a carton of eggs, leaking yellow and clear goop. They must have cracked when he dropped the bags in his panic at the blood.

“You need to go get more,” she told him, dropping the ruined eggs in the trash.

“No, I am not,” Rowan groaned. He was tired, he didn’t want to take another trip to the grocery store across town.

“Oh, you are. I needed those eggs for the barbecue tomorrow, so because of your overreaction over a little bit of blood I am now eggless,” Aelin explained. There was no answer from him as Aelin unrolled some paper towel to clean up both egg and blood. “Off you go.”

Too tired to fight anymore Rowan just grabbed his keys and left to get more precious eggs.

~~~~~

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[heli0s-writes]

crystalline*

A/N: Instead of attending to the rest of my WIPS, here’s 1.6k words of Bottom Bucky and Service Dom reader. Throatfucking. Erm. Cathartic crying. 

Warnings: Bucky working out trauma. Please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

You teach him how to want things again.

His pieces from the past, the joys he used to have taken too soon— you tell him he can have it all back.

It started with food, predictably. No longer being tube-fed slurry, Bucky quickly embarked on discovering all the new flavors of the 21st century.

Chocolate alone was a month-long passion as he attempted to scrub out the standard issued combat rations haunting his tongue. Chalky cuts like cold pressed gravel— fuck that. The first time you broke off a square of unroasted, dark, sprinkled with Himalayan sea salt chocolate, Bucky’s head hit the back of the couch with a pathetic mewl and a million things rushed through his mind of all the ways he could keep feeling this good.

Sleep came next— something he thought he’d had enough of, but the difference between getting perma-frosted every decade and lying face down in whatever memory foam’s made out of is lifetimes apart.

Bubble baths. Streaming apps. Nice clothes.

Attention and affection. Kisses. Braids in his hair. Tickles for extra laughs. His ego’s in overdrive because he has half a thought about anything and you’re fulfilling it like his personal genie. You say he needs all the dopamine he can get and you’re gonna give it to him.

And you give it to him in spades.

Orgasms. Jesus fucking Christ, he’s spoiled rotten.

Morning sex, afternoon sex, sex before bed. Blindsided in hallways and under conference room tables. The compound pool’s been properly christened more than once, and if Tony ever found out just exactly how many of those precious luxury cars have seen the imprint of Bucky’s ass, he’d set them all on fire.

But, reconciliation comes for him eventually. Spend long enough feeling all good he figures it was about time he starts screwing it up. He turns greedy, he starts wanting for too much. His girl’s an insatiable little beast, but even beasts have limits.

-

Bucky went shy when he asked, stuttering about how it’s okay if you didn’t—if you weren’t—it’s kinda strange— but you’d put your hand over his and tilted his chin up.

“Bucky,” you said fondly, “Baby,” and then a sweet smile curled over your pretty pink lips like spun sugar, “I’d eat your ass like a five-course meal. I’ll let you fuck me on the moon. What is it, huh?”

He could’ve kissed your dirty mouth silly.

“I want you to use a toy—"

“We do all the time.”

“—on me.”

And that sweet candy pink smile turned red hot and wicked. No limit in sight.

-

You approach the bed like a fever dream and all the blood in Bucky’s body congregates south.

Nothing on but the 2-day-shipping-because-the-phone’s-a-genie-too leather harness sitting snugly on your hips and a grin. The heaviness between your thighs hangs like both an offering and a weapon.

He asked for it. He wanted it. Just—maybe, to start— can you be rough with him. Then, stuttering once more because he doesn’t know how to justify why. It doesn’t make any sense and it’s hard to say out loud that with all the things you let him have, that after nearly a century of being out of his own body, he… wants to give it away.

He’s messed up, baby. Sick down to his rotten core.

You only shushed him. If it’ll make you happy, I’ll rough you up real fucking good. No why’s necessary.

Fleshy weight brushes against your inner thigh, swinging idly from one side to the other. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, still dressed at the edge of the mattress, skin beginning to prickle, nerves taking a hard left into arousal. When your hand finds rough landing in his hair, he thinks he must be the luckiest bastard in the entire world.  

Bucky drops on his knees like dead weight, nearly tearing off his clothes, feeling the upsurge of heat in his cheeks and chest. His eyelids are fluttering, your face going fuzzy but he can still see that look of adoration you reserve for him.

He’s pondering if that old saying is true—if there can be too much of a good thing, if he’s become spoiled sick, or if he could overdose on pleasure when you start thumbing the edge of his mouth.

“Pay attention,” you say with a glimmer in your eyes. “Open.”

He’s tingling when you put two fingers in, moving around his tongue, scissoring them against his inner cheek. They explore for a while, bolder each passing second. He can tell you’re getting excited too, your chest heaving gradually, watching him with curious intent.

“You like this?” You ask, lip between your teeth, and Bucky nods, leaning further in, spit following the path of your hand down to his neck. You palm the cock like it’s always belonged to your body and he’s mesmerized at how it rises from your grip, moving over his face to rest on his cheek.

“It’s big, baby.” You warn, full on now. You stroke the outline of his jaw with it, leaving a burning path in its wake. “You sure?”

He quietly likes that you ask—honey-toned and patient, needing to hear it, knowing that he needs to hear it from himself. All those things he’d been made to say with his body and not with his mind.

Now he gets it back, as you said. Gets a part of himself back, too.

“Yes—ah—yes.”

Bucky’s words are slurred into your hand, but he’s begging with his eyes. Yes. I want it. Please let me. Please make me. Please fix me.

You replace your fingers, sluicing up the cock with his spit. Then, you fuck his mouth slow, feeding it to him inch by inch before dragging it away. Bucky’s lips are quivering for more, jaw slack, panting hoarsely. He feels overcome at how you stand over him, mesmerized by him, too.

“Yeah, honey,” you croon, and Bucky’s heart swells with pride. “You’re doing so well, pretty boy.”

He’s licking blindly and sucking between ragged gasps when he attempts to say your name, knowing full well he’ll never get the whole word out before you wedge back into him. And god, it’s hot. It’s dirty and filthy and so fucking sweet.

You grasp the base of his skull, keeping his head still and laying into his mouth rhythmically. The cockhead hits Bucky’s throat, pushing into the soft palate, reaching further. His eyes are rolling, whimpers catching where the toy ends, caught in the breath of air in his mouth.

“Take it, baby,” you command, and Bucky gags. One hand scrambles for your thigh, other clawing his own, pressing red crescents into the flesh. It hurts. It hurts good like it never did before and Bucky chokes it down, eyes squeezed shut now, tears prickling from the ducts and collecting at the corners.

“Oh, you’re so good,” and his body just keeps lighting up. “You good boy. You perfect, perfect boy.” And he’s nodding desperately, needy, gut coiled tight like a spring.

“So fucking dirty,” you hiss, pulling hard on his hair, “Look at you— leaking all over yourself.”

He is. He’s a goddamn mess, sticky lines of precome down his shaft and collecting at his base.

“Drooling all over my cock like this. You’re hungry for it, aren’t you?”

“Uhhngg— hnnng—” He moans weakly at the things you do to him and for him.

“That’s right, you are. Keep going, show me how much you want it.” Jesus, the way you make him feel— like he could be exactly who he is and never have to apologize for a goddamn thing. Broken and ruined but you’d still give him the whole fucking world.

The noises Bucky’s making are muffled and obscene as he fists himself, shuddering and pumping erratically. One more final drive from your hips and he’s bursting at the seams, shattering to pieces, coming with a strangled cry.

You don’t let up, taking his throat unrelentingly, watching him sob and fall apart. He’s going limp in your clutch, letting his eyes well up like pools, your smiling face so beautiful in the crystalline light.

If he’s sick, then you must be the fever he can’t sweat out. The fire burning through his bones until he’s nothing but smoldering bits of debris afterwards. Grains and soot of him floating in the steady flow of your faithful current.

When he’s made a perfect mess of himself, come-covered and quivering, you finally let him breathe again, pulling out wetly.

“There you go,” you say, kneeling to kiss his panting mouth, “Did that feel good?” 

Your lips are a cool balm on his swollen ones and Bucky hums a response, body still thrumming. “Yeah,” he sighs, sensitive like a wound, raw and open and tender. “Real— good.”

You rub his back and run your fingers through his hair, letting him rest in your arms. You wipe away the tears on his cheeks and over his trembling eyelids.

Gentle words tumble from your lips. Promises of love and of good memories to replace the bad ones. More kisses. More affection. More reclamation.

All those little granules of fractured time, you collect in the soft surrender of his mouth. Wet and salty, they fall together there, and Bucky feels himself clicking into place. Perfect and whole and treasured like an iridescent pearl.

[hauntedfalcon]

living in midnight

for day four of Nile Freeman Week: "Nile & Struggle" plus a fantasy AU in which superheroes exist, Nile isn't one of them, and she doesn't let that stop her. 1700 words, rated M for swearing. content warning for wounds and needles because it's Nile's turn for sapphic patching up, as a treat

the title is from Lianne La Havas’s “Midnight”. many thanks to @flightsofwonder for beta reading <3

read on AO3 or below

Nile opens her eyes to see an unfamiliar ceiling. There is an unfamiliar pillow under her head, and she is recumbent on an unfamiliar sofa. Above it is a window, where streetlights reflect in the sinuous trails of raindrops.

Rain. Knives. Three attackers. She fought like hell, might have broken someone’s arm, but they landed one good hit. They left her for dead in an alley. She watched her own blood run into a puddle.

She bolts upright--and hisses when a wave of agony breaks over her, starting in her abdomen and shooting everywhere.

“Please don’t move,” says a softly accented voice. “You’re safe here. I haven’t seen your face.”

Nile collapses back down to the pillow and touches her face, just to be sure. Her mask is still in place. She drops her hand and forces one eye open, blurry with pained tears, to get a look at whoever dragged her in from the alley.

A white woman. Dark shoulder-length hair. Youngish, maybe Nile’s age. Dressed all in black, much like her--not for stealth but for soft goth vibes. Cute, if she’s honest, but this isn’t the fucking singles bar, get it together Freeman.

“I staunched the bleeding,” her rescuer says, “but I was waiting until you were conscious to do the stitches.”

“Do we have to?” Nile groans before she can stop herself.

A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile. “I’m afraid so. Would you like some fortitude?” The amateur surgeon holds out a bottle of Everclear.

Ugh. Nile takes the cap off and drinks deep, leaving enough in the bottle to sterilize whatever needs to be sterilized. It tastes like ass and lingers at the back of her throat.

Before the alcohol can set in and obliterate her senses, she says, “Can I borrow your phone?”

The woman hesitates. Very wise of her.

“Listen,” Nile says. “We had two leads come in at the same time. Al-Tayyib took one and I took the other, and mine was a decoy, which means...” She can’t, won’t, say it aloud. She hates how feeble she sounds. “I just have to check in with him. Please.”

The woman hands her a smartphone, unlocked. Nile hits the keycode to make the call anonymous, then dials Joe’s shitty flip phone from memory. He keeps it on silent when he’s on the rounds, and he’ll only answer if he’s safe.

Pick up, she wills him, because if she has to hear his stupid cheerful voicemail greeting now of all times, she’s going to scream right in front of this poor woman who didn’t ask for any of this drama in her life. Pick up, pick up, pick--

“Pronto.”

Nile’s gut tightens (painfully, but that’s not what matters right now) at the sound of another unfamiliar voice. The assassin. Joe walked into a trap.

“Where is he?” she demands, trying to sound hard and not like she’s lying on a stranger’s couch with an open wound.

A gust in the speaker. Is he laughing at her? She strains to hear anything that would give away their location: traffic, a clock tower, machinery, anything. There’s nothing else. No hint of Joe yelling in the background, either.

“I will return him to you presently,” says the asshole. Very formal.

“What, after you shank him like your goons did to me?”

“They were instructed not to kill you,” he says in a voice that wouldn’t fog a window in January. “Did you die?”

White-hot rage flares out of her with no place to go. “Where is he, you son of a--” But he has already hung up on her.

Nile resists the urge to growl. If this was her phone she would throw it against the wall. Instead she quickly deletes the record of the outgoing call, and hands the phone back to the woman, who pockets it. “Thank you,” she says tightly.

“I’m sorry to say so,” says the woman as she holds the tip of a curved needle in a candle flame, “but you are in no condition to save anyone right now.”

She blows out a sigh in answer. When she pulls the hem of her shirt up and peels away the medical tape and bandage pad, she discovers that the woman is absolutely right. This isn’t the worst Nile has been hurt and still fought, but it is pretty bad.

And it’s one thing to trash a gang of traffickers while she’s actively bleeding. It’s something totally different to track down a guy who has been three steps ahead of them this whole time, and seems to have removed his sense of morals with an ice cream scoop.

There’s only one thing left to do: say a silent prayer. The way she learned to pray feels insufficiently casual for the circumstances; she wishes she knew more about the format of the rakat. All she remembers is, “God hears the one who praises him,” so she starts on the Lord’s Prayer because praise comes before petition.

In place of, “Give us this day our daily bread,” she substitutes, “Get Joe out of this with his head,” and then she has to hold back a giggle at the rhyme. She must have lost a lot of blood.

The woman wipes the needle down with Everclear. “You know, I met the old Guardian too.”

Nile eyes her carefully. She won’t say Andy’s name in this woman’s presence. She won’t say Joe’s name either, much less her own. She won’t slip no matter how much blood she’s lost or how strong the alcohol is or how fundamentally good and trustworthy this woman seems or how much this is going to hurt. “Not under the same conditions,” she presumes.

“Very similar,” the woman says with another fleeting smile. “I hope she’s well?”

“She’s good,” Nile hastens to reassure her. “She retired.” And she left Nile her nom de guerre and all the weight that went with it.

“I’m glad she made it that long.”

“Probably thanks to you,” Nile says, and she gets a longer smile for it.

Then the needle bites into her skin and Nile whimpers softly and throws an arm over her eyes. She’s hard. She’s tough. This is what she does.

The woman’s gloved hand pinches the wound closed as she stitches. She works quickly, professionally. “I’m really glad you found me,” Nile manages. “I can’t exactly go to a hospital.”

“I think you would be surprised,” the woman says. “You are well loved in this city. People would protect your identity.”

That’s not it. Nile can’t go to hospital because there’s a chance her mom would be on shift, and the only thing worse than keeping her alter ego secret from her mom is the idea that she would find out because Nile came in on a gurney. She can’t do that to her.

A tug, as she ties the thread off, and then a snip of the shears. Nile lifts her head and looks down at a slightly puckered, neatly stitched, no longer bleeding knife wound.

Her laugh sounds brittle, just this side of hysterical. The woman glances at her. “I have work tomorrow,” Nile says weakly.

The woman tapes a fresh bandage over the wound. “Me too.”

No rest for the righteous. “The struggle is real, huh? Sorry for keeping you up late.”

“I will call in if you do,” the woman offers.

But going into the office in the morning might be the soonest opportunity to make sure Joe is okay. Nile pulls her shirt down and zips her bomber jacket over it. “I should go.”

The woman sets one hand on Nile’s arm. “Please stay. You shouldn’t be out alone tonight.”

“They might have been watching when you brought me inside,” Nile warns.

“Then I will need your protection, won’t I?” the woman says without blinking, as if she’s not the one that just saved Nile’s whole life.

Nile cracks an incredulous smile but the woman just gazes at her solemnly.

“Okay,” she says at last. “Okay, I’ll stay. Thank you. And I’m sorry for bleeding on your couch.”

It’s not enough, but the woman just sets about cleaning up her supplies. Nile settles back against the pillow and wills her muscles to unclench.

“May I ask,” the woman asks as she washes her hands, “why you do this? You don’t have superpowers.”

No, and none of the people who do have taken this city under their protection. Flippant, lazy answers parade through Nile’s mind, because she’s not in a charitable mood. Anger issues. No one else is gonna do it. I’m a giant masochist, actually.

But when she opens her mouth, the first thing that comes out is Andy’s answer, from when Nile asked her years ago. “Because there are people worth fighting for.”

Then Joe’s answer: “People who won’t get justice any other way.”

And, finally, one that’s all hers. “I have a responsibility. This is my city”

She’s going to pass out any minute, but beneath her fatigue there’s still a live coal of the feelings that made her put this mask on in the first place. This is her damn city. She spends so much time in the guts of its shitty justice system, and the rest of the time punching assholes, that she sometimes forgets her city is full of ordinary, decent people. Good people. People who will bring someone in from the rain. People like…

“What’s your name?” Nile asks, and then catches herself. “I can’t--give you mine. Sorry. It might be safer if I don’t know yours.”

“Celeste,” says the woman.

Good people like Celeste. How comforting that is.

Her pain is down to an ache instead of a burn, and her eyes drift closed. In the morning, she’ll be out of Celeste’s hair. She’ll shower at her apartment, carefully, and she’ll go into Legal Aid, and Joe will be there, a little banged up but alive. He’ll hug her, quick and tight, and they’ll loiter by the coffee maker and speak in low voices and sort out their next play. And when the work day is over, they’ll go with Andy and Quỳnh down to Booker’s for drinks and darts, and Nile will order a bouquet of flowers sent to Celeste’s apartment in thanks. Everything, for given quantities of everything, will be fine.

Confident in her safety, secure in her purpose, Nile rests.

[agent-cupcake]

yuri with yandere prompt number eight? i feel like thats the most accurate for him

This ask is old but I’m never gonna quit these yandere prompts. Try and stop me. (aka, here’s 5k of unhealthy pining and Yuri “I want to confess my love but I don’t feel like I deserve you” Leclerc)

//

A sharp, frightened gasp was what pulled you awake. Terror gripped your thoughts as a memory overrode all rational thought —the scent of tread packed filth and chalky, tangy, sharp stone filling your nose with each shallow, bloody, gasping breath. Cold, cutting gravel scraping against your cheek, your scalp, the sharp pebbles embedded into your skin with the force with which you had hit the ground. You couldn’t move, couldn’t fight your collapsed chest into expanding for air to fill your lungs. Escape, you had to escape, that was the only real, solid understanding in your dazed brain as you struggled against the blankets.

But then you blinked a few times, your eyes rolling as you focused them, and realized that was nothing more than a dream. You were safe. Sore, uncomfortable, in an unfamiliar bed and wearing unfamiliar clothes, but safe. And confused, still entangled in the cotton fog of unconsciousness.

You had been… Where had you been? Your head was foggy, your thoughts blurry, almost enough to convince you that you were dreaming. If only you weren’t so uncomfortable. Something was wrong, more than just being sick. There had been… Blood? Pain?

Agony. A blunt, overwhelming ache that had slammed against the entire right side of your body when you hit the ground. A whine had escaped your mouth alongside a glob of bloody saliva. The pain was all-consuming. You could remember that in the same second the pain registered so did the panic of knowing that you were going to be sick right there on the street. Nausea had seized your stomach and you had been helpless to its violent, urgent, undulating undertow. Rocks cut into your palms as you wrenched yourself up to avoid choking as you sputtered and heaved and coughed out the acidic bile. When you blinked, your sight clearing from a dozen fragmented frames into a single dizzy, tear-blurred picture, all you saw was blood. Blood in the watery puddle on the ground, scarlet staining your side, oozing up between your fingers as you pressed a panicked hand against the slash across your ribs as if that would force the blood back where it belonged.  

But there was no blood now. No wounds to validate that terrible living nightmare.

Everything came flooding back into your mind as your thoughts cleared up. You remembered accepting Lev’s offer to ignore Yuri’s orders and perform a secretive strike on an opposing gang. You remembered going along with the plan and taking the dangerous role of getting everyone into the Vanargand base despite the risk. You remembered nearly died in the escape.

You remembered thinking that you were dead. In that moment of laying on the street in a puddle of your own blood, you had clung to the pathetic thought that you didn’t want to die. Even though you already had, you didn’t want to betray Yuri in this way, too. He didn’t want you involved in any of this, he did everything he could to keep you out of it. He promised your brother, he made a vow. But even that tragic, horrible thought had become cloudy as cold disseminated ice throughout your body, piercing all the way into the marrow of your bones and numbing your limbs, pulling you closer into the creeping void. That was the last of what you could remember.

Now, the only remaining evidence of your brush with death was the bruised shades of puce plum and rotten currant covering the entire right side of your body. Someone had used white magic to heal the direst of your wounds. Presumably, the same someone who had saved you. You were pretty sure you knew exactly who that someone was, too.

Your hero.

Yuri Leclerc with his violet eyes and smiling mouth and sweeping, dramatic cape who came to you after your brother’s death and told you of the promise he’d made as his boss and friend. Yuri Leclerc, the nearly mythical Underground Lord, the unaging Savage Mockingbird. Your hero, your knight in armor of shadow and subterfuge. He promised that he would protect you. And he had saved you. Again.

With a soft groan, you turned from laying on your back to your mostly uninjured left side. The bed was comfortable enough, better than your own. The room was smaller than yours, however, easily lit up by just a single lamp. By all standards, it was far from lavish, but you were covered in a thick comforter with two pillows plumped beneath your head. The four-poster frame was made of an attractively dark solid wood that matched the bedside table, writing desk, and chair. It looked an awful lot like the impersonal room of an inn, although there were clear signs that someone lived in here. Books and paper and feather pens were stacked on the desk, a glass rainbow of bottles lined up on the shelf above, a colorful swath of clothes on the rack.

Most telling was the way that the room, the bedding, and the clothes you wore all smelled like Yuri. An intoxicating embrace of spring rose and lilac, plush amber musk, and heady sweet vanilla. Achingly familiar, desirable, wonderful. Now it just made you sick. While the previous day’s actions could make a case for your intellectual deficiencies, it didn’t take a genius to figure out where you were. You groaned softly, closing your eyes.

Yuri was going to be mad. You had justified following Lev before by telling yourself that if the job went off without a hitch, Yuri would be so impressed with your skills that he would have no choice but to recognize you as a member of his gang and stop coddling you. Now you realized that it was and always had been an act of petty rebellion. Yuri would never respect your reckless disregard for his orders and your own life, not even if it had gone well.

Which it hadn’t. You had no idea what had gone wrong, you had performed your task without any problems, getting the small group of men into the compound without alerting any guards. Your brother had done well in teaching you to sneak around. But then there was complete and utter chaos and they all came running back as the compound was eaten up by flames, your so-called friends leaving you stranded on the top of the wall with a group of Vanargand men. So you jumped.

Even your vague recall of that particular agony made you wince, your stomach churning unhappily.

The sound of someone outside the door made your heart jump, your eyes instinctually closing to feign sleep. Maybe if you seemed like you were sleeping you could spare yourself a lecture. Or worse, his disappointment. The doorknob turned, the wood creaking, the metal hinges making the faintest squeak as they were pushed. You held your breath.

But nobody came in, stopping in response to the approaching sound of another, heavier set of footsteps. “Glad to see you back in one piece,” Yuri greeted whoever it was. With the door cracked the way it was, you could hear him quite clearly. His voice was friendly, matching the smile he must have been wearing, but it was sharp, too. You knew that tone, recognized the danger it hid. “I figured it would be you who led this little rebellion.”

“Rebellion?” Lev asked. “I acted for all of us. The Vanargand boys won’t be an issue anymore.”

Yuri laughed. Although the sound was oddly genuine, nobody could miss the fact that he was making fun of Lev. “You really believe that?” he asked, his voice lilting with disbelief.

Lev grunted, you could imagine his scowl. He scowled a lot. “If you knew what we did to them, you wouldn’t laugh.”

“All you did was kick the hornet’s nest,” Yuri said, unimpressed, “while ignoring my orders to standby.”

“I came here to tell you that I think things should change around here, I think-”

“I don’t actually care what you think,” Yuri said, cutting him off calmly. His tone was deadly smooth, dripping with the unique threat of his friendly malice. “I expect you to be out of here by the time the sun rises. That gives you, what, four hours? Plenty of time.”

“What?” Lev asked, his bravado faltering.

“Leave my city,” Yuri told him. “And pray that I never see you again.”

“You can’t kick me out,” Lev said. “Not after all I’ve done for you, for the gang.”

“No?” Yuri asked. “You directly disobeyed my orders and put my men at risk for the sake of your own ego. I’d say that’s a pretty good reason to lose any and all trust I ever had in you.”

“The Vanargand Street Gang have been a pain in the ass for too long,” Lev told him, his tone growing combative. “I decided to do something about it.”

“I had them under control,” Yuri said. “without stooping to such boorish and dangerous methods.”

Lev responded with a mocking bark of a laugh. “Nah, this is about the girl, isn’t it? You should know that she all but begged me to take her along. If you wanna talk about trust, maybe consider why your precious little pet would disobey you.”

You froze, a cold, nervous sweat beading up at the nape of your neck, anxious nausea once again closing in your throat. Either unfortunately or fortunately, Yuri breezed right past that comment as if it didn’t affect him in the slightest. “This has nothing to do with her,” Yuri said without missing a beat. “If you don’t think I’m a fit leader, challenge my authority directly. But I’m warning you. Think carefully about what you do next. Right now, I’m relieved enough that nobody was seriously hurt by your incompetence that I’m willing to let you go with nothing more than a warning.” His voice lowered dangerously, forcing you to strain slightly to make it out. There was no playful teasing injected into these words, no way to interpret them as anything other than naked intimidation. “Don’t mistake my benevolence for weakness, you won’t live to regret it.”

A long moment of tense silence passed between the two men. You could imagine Lev’s storming rage, Yuri’s cool demeanor. You didn’t dare move, afraid that either would hear and unsure which was worse. The moment was broken only by another set of thumping, rhythmic footsteps cresting up the stairs. There was only one man who could possibly make that much noise.

“I heard shouting. I’m not missing the party, am I?” Balthus asked. While there was nothing directly antagonistic about the man’s voice, there was no mistaking the threat he posed. There was a reason he was Yuri’s right-hand man.

“No,” Yuri said. “Lev and I are simply having a… Disagreement.”

“Oh yeah?” Balthus asked. “Anything I should weigh in on?”

“That depends,” Yuri said. “What do you say, Lev?”

“Damn you, Leclerc.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Yuri asked, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I’m already damned.”

There was another moment of silence, almost long enough to make you wonder if the trio had somehow disappeared, before Lev swore under his breath and retreated past Yuri and Balthus, his feet pounding a cadenced thump, thump, thump as he stalked down the stairs.

“Balthus,” Yuri said when Lev’s footsteps were completely lost. “Would you mind making sure our friend makes it out of the city without doing anything reckless?”

“Think he might?” Balthus asked.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Yuri responded, his voice was more honest than with Lev. He sounded tired. “I sure as hell didn’t think he would make a move like this just yet.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him.” Balthus paused. “What, uh, should I do if he tries anything?”

“Take him to the Vanargand. I’m sure they’ll be hunting him down regardless.”

Balthus whistled. “That’s pretty cold, boss.”

“It’s far better than he deserves,” Yuri said, his voice dark. “If she died, I…”

“No need to explain. I get it, pal,” Balthus said, saving Yuri from having to continue. As badly as you didn’t want to know what Yuri was going to say, you very desperately did, too. “I’ll make sure he stays in line. You look like you could use some rest. Or a drink.”

Yuri laughed, the sound a bit lighter than before. “You might be right about that.”

“Of course I am,” Balthus said. “You don’t live as long as I have without catching wise to these things. I’ll be off, then.”

“Good luck,” Yuri said, “and don’t do anything stupid. There’s only so much I can handle in one night.”

“Hah!” Balthus called, trampling right back down the hallway. “That big brain of yours will burst into flames if you keep on worrying about everything, pal. Better call it quits before you ruin that cute face with wrinkles.” Yuri laughed.

Realizing that Balthus leaving would mean Yuri would finally enter the room, you threw the blankets off of yourself and sat up. It hurt like hell, it felt like every single inch of your body was bruised, right down to the bone, but it was doable after the sickening dizziness passed.

You didn’t particularly want to get up, but you didn’t want to stick around and have the conversion you knew Yuri would start, either.

The way Yuri worried made your chest clench. You didn’t dare name it discomfort, but the feeling was awfully close. It was Yuri’s growing intensity that you noticed first. The way he’d get when other men got too close to you, the pointed questions he’d ask about your interactions with other people. How he worried when you had to travel or interact with people he didn’t trust, insisting that you tell him every single detail about what you were doing. Worse, the times when he seemed to know things he shouldn’t, things you didn’t tell him.

It was because of the promise he had made to your brother, he said, to keep you safe. Yuri valued the men under his command, and your brother had been a close comrade of his. And you bought it at first because your brother had always been protective, but Yuri’s behavior was different. He wasn’t your brother, but neither did you get the impression you were friends. Friends weren’t suffocatingly overprotective. Not friends, but not anything more, either. He never flirted with you as he did with everybody else, as he had before. Not even in a playful, teasing way. The tighter hold he kept on you, the more and more he maintained a distance.

Lev called you Yuri’s precious pet, and that struck too close to home. You hated it. You weren’t a child —you weren’t even a teenager anymore— and yet Yuri acted like you were made of glass. Like you couldn’t be trusted to look after yourself, like you were… Like you were a pet.

That’s why you had agreed to Lev’s job in the first. You wanted to change the dynamic the two of you had. You figured that if he saw that you weren’t as weak as he feared, that you were just as capable as the men in his gang, that he’d stop being so intensely and oppressively protective. But if he was willing to give Lev up to the torture the Vanargand gang would inflict on him for the sin of endangering you, you didn’t think it had been at all effective. Actually, it made sense that your near-death and horrible failure would have the opposite effect.

Steading yourself, you searched the room for your shoes. Someone, and you didn’t dare to think of who, had changed you into what you were pretty sure were Yuri’s clothes. While it made sense considering your own were probably nothing more than blood soaked rags, you weren’t incredibly comfortable with wearing his things. The smell alone was nearly overwhelming, but the level of intimacy it implied was something you didn’t dare consider. Even worse that you should wake up in his bed. His bed that was obviously big enough for two people, a bed that he had probably had company in because he was attractive and desirable and… And you couldn’t find your shoes.

“What are you doing?” Yuri asked. The door shut behind him, the metal latch clicking.

It occurred to you that while you’d been having a micro-meltdown, Yuri had probably been standing there watching.

“Leaving,” you responded, trying to maintain a neutral expression despite the way your voice cracked. That brave attempt fell apart with the way you burst into a coughing fit a moment later, hacking up sharp bursts of air against your scratched up throat, each breath sending aching pulses of pain against your bruised side.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Yuri scolded, rushing to the bedside table to pour you some water. So considerate, always. Guilt rose up within you. After he saved you, how could you be so rude and ungrateful? You knew he cared. He was your hero.

You averted your streaming eyes and took a few slow, careful sips from the cup as Yuri took a seat on the desk chair, sitting the wrong way with his arms draped over the chair’s back.

“Drink this, too,” he said, handing you a vial. You uncapped it to take a sniff it, wincing at the astringent scent.

“What is it?” you asked.

“It’ll help with the pain,” he said. You nodded, grateful for the idea of that, and pinched your nose to down the vial. It was exactly as disgusting as it smelled. At the very least, it wiped the smell of Yuri from your head for a spell. “You should lay back down,” he recommended. “Magic can only do so much to heal your wounds. Not to mention that you’ve had a hell of a shock. Honestly, after what happened, I’m surprised you managed to get upright. You’re full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?”

The implication, the reminder of what you’d done in such a banal tone, made you wince. Guilt or shame or embarrassment, you didn’t know. “I’m fine,” you said, staring at the floor rather than meet his eyes.

“It’s cute that you can say that with a straight face,” Yuri said. “Seriously, you look terrible.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled sarcastically, an instinctually petulant reaction to the way he treated you, “But I really am capable of taking care of myself.”

He didn’t even grace that with a serious answer, rolling his eyes. “Obviously.”

“I can’t stay here,” you said.

“You can,” Yuri told you, “and you will. You’ve lost a lot of blood and I don’t need a dead body on my doorstep. It’s bad for business.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Yuri said. You met his eyes, frowning as you tried to figure out what he was thinking, what he was feeling. He sighed, likely reading the further arguments you were going to make in the way you looked at him. “I’ve had a long night dealing with your mess. Stop being a fool and do what I say.” “Or what?” you muttered, looking away again as you fought against the guilt. He didn’t own you, you weren’t even one of his men. He couldn’t order you around.

“Or I’ll make you,” Yuri said bluntly. “I doubt that’ll pleasant for either of us.”

That answer sent a shiver down your spine, whatever complaints you had been trying to maintain drying up on your tongue because you kind of believed him. His cold, cruel tone of voice when dealing with Lev was still all too clear in your mind. Besides, he was right. He was usually right. That didn’t help the terrible sensation of being treated like a child, like an invalid.

Avoiding his eyes, you set aside your cup and did what he said, tucking your feet back under the covers, leaning down against the pillows. It was a lot easier on your aching side, better for the splitting headache gathered up behind your right temple.

“Did you save me?” you asked after a moment, staring at the quilted pattern.

“Yeah,” Yuri responded, his voice unreadable.

“And you healed me?”

“What do you think?”

It had been a dumb question. You couldn’t imagine Yuri letting anyone else see that much of your bare skin to heal those wounds. All the same. “You don’t have to be rude, I was just clarifying,” you told him with a frown.

“Right, right, sorry. I just about forgot myself,” Yuri said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “What I meant was that I was the one who rushed to your rescue and healed your wounds, fair maiden. Is that better?”

You frowned, refusing to be amused by his antics. Despite the joking tone Yuri took, those words set you on edge. He hardly ever teased you like that anymore, now it just felt off. “Who changed my clothes?”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Yuri asked. Was there amusement in his tone? At your embarrassment? You could feel that your cheeks were hot and hoped desperately that he couldn’t tell. “Well,” he shrugged apologetically, “it’s not like I had much of a choice and I couldn’t put you to bed in dirty clothes…” Yuri looked up to meet your horrified eyes, smiling. “Kidding. I do have some honor. I asked the landlady to help me out. Your virtue is intact.”

Virtue. You swallowed hard on that word, drinking the last of the water. Your thoughts were beginning to fuzz, becoming less clear. It made it harder to refocus after being caught off guard by his teasing. The pain wasn’t as crisp, more of a background ache rather than an insistent thud. That was distracting, too. You knew that, for some reason, he wanted to fluster you. But you couldn’t let him distract you, nor could you let your embarrassment deter you. So, clenching your fists, you looked up and met his eyes.

“Thank you for saving me,” you said carefully. “I’m… I’m sorry for inconveniencing you.”

Yuri didn’t answer right away, staring you down in his unnervingly piercing way. The intensity of his eyes was uncomfortable, but it was undercut with the swirling storm of concern amidst the individual strands of purple pigment, the void-like pool of pupil. “I’m glad you’re alive,” he said carefully. And that was honest, genuine. He looked so tired. He sounded tired.

“I owe you. Twice, for saving me and healing me,” you said, forcing the words out in as business-like of a tone as you could manage. They were slurred, slightly. Had he given you a sedative? Or was this just normal exhaustion finally taking you out? “So tell me how you would like to be repaid, and I’ll see that it’s done.”

Yuri’s head fell to the side in confusion, like the question threw him off guard. Good. “Excuse me, what?”

“That’s how it is in your world,” you replied. “Our world. Right?”

“Our world?” Yuri asked, his expression retreating into a mask.

“The real world. Altruism doesn’t exist. When someone does something for you, there’s always a price. If I want to be taken seriously, I can’t keep being naïve about that.”

“That’s pretty cynical of you.” Was it just you or did he sound sad about that fact?

“You taught me well.”

“Not well enough,” he said, frowning as his eyes lingered on the bruises. He sighed. “So, I take it that that’s why you went? You want to be taken seriously?”

“Yes,” you said slowly, surprised that he’d be able to cut to the heart of it so quickly. Then again, it shouldn’t have been that surprising. Yuri was all too good at that.

“Word to the wise,” Yuri told you. “Never act unless success is guaranteed. If you want to be taken seriously, you have to have results to show for it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said.

“And another thing,” Yuri added. “Never give out open ended favors. Not even to people you trust. You might not like it when they call to collect.”

“But I know you wouldn’t want anything bad from me,” you said, frowning and unsure if he was implying what you thought he was. He couldn’t be, not Yuri. Not to you.

“Is that a fact?” he asked. “I could be helping you simply to get one of those incredibly enticing open favors. Now I’ve got two of them, I wonder what I could ask for…”

“I’m being serious,” you said.

“You think I’m not?” Yuri smiled at you like he knew all the secrets in the world, like you’d never catch him without the trickster’s mask or even guess at what he had hidden beneath. But then your reply was eaten by a mostly stifled yawn that tugged hard at your sore jaw and all pretense fell away to the concerned expression you knew so well from him. “Alright, enough of that. You look like you’re about to pass out. Get some sleep. I’ll watch over you, yeah?” he offered, flipping the chair around so he could sit directly at the bedside.

You couldn’t argue with that, yawning again. It hit you all at once, it seemed. You were passing out, the need for sleep becoming more and more pressing with each breath. “Next time,” you told him, your words slurring like a drunk as you settled further down into the bed. Your body felt so heavy, the colors of the room smoothing out like butter, the smell that clung to the bedding and the clothes filling you with warmth. “Next time for sure, I’ll show you. Then I won’t owe you-” you yawned, again. This time you just gave up. He definitely had given you a sedative. Unfortunately, you were too far gone to be mad. Sleeping would be nice anyway. You were so tired.

“There won’t be a next time,” Yuri told you. There was something absolute in his tone, a hard edge that wasn’t to be questioned.

“Why?” you asked, trying to clench your fists to remain lucid for a moment longer. This question was important, important enough for you to fight against your heavy and scattered thoughts. “Why do you care... so much?”

“I don’t know,” Yuri said, his voice threadbare and exposed. He really looked so tired, so beautiful. He had more masks than anyone, but right then you didn’t think that it was a mask.

He didn’t know either.

Where did that leave you?

Floating, it seemed. Lavender and milk and shadow blurred in your vision, the colors of Yuri. Your eyes fluttered shut, filled with a kaleidoscope of him. The pain was gone, you couldn’t even find the passion to argue or to be mad or afraid or upset. It was enough to be safe, to be with him, to be warm.

Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow you would get answers.

“You remind me of something I lost a long time ago,” Yuri said after a moment. It would have been too much to open your eyes or respond, so you just listened, marveling at the way his voice created the words, the way it caressed them. Had you really never noticed how delicious his voice was? You could lose yourself in it, you thought. “Something even I can’t steal for myself,” Yuri continued, “something more precious than a Heroes Relic. As long as I can preserve that, I can live with the consequences.”

You didn’t fight when he grabbed your hand from where it had fallen on the comforter, pulling it up into both of his. Yuri’s hands were rough, his fingers narrow and long and nice. They were scarred and bloodstained. They held yours gently, tenderly.

“Heh, maybe I’m a coward to tell you now. I doubt you’ll remember this by tomorrow.”

“I’ll remember,” you mumbled mindlessly, your eyes remaining closed. How could you forget this warmth? The beauty of the colors in your head, the feeling of his touch.

Yuri pressed his cheek against your hand. The skin was soft, warm. “Maybe you will. You certainly deserve my honesty. But after tonight... Maybe it’s too late to anyway. I tried so hard to protect you, even from myself.” He laughed, a humorless puff of air against your knuckles. “Especially from myself. Sometimes I can’t help but think that it’s inevitable that everything and everyone who becomes close to me will be stained by the association. I didn’t want to see that shine in your eyes become dull. This cruel, cynical world destroys everything of value, but not you.” He paused, thinking. You drifted, the words rolling over you without sticking, without meaning. His voice was so lovely. “But you’re wrong, you know,” Yuri continued after a while, pulling you back. “Things done out of love don’t have a price. You don’t owe me anything, you never have.”

Yuri’s lips brushed over your knuckles, a kiss over each ridge, before one of his hands untangled itself. You leaned into the feeling of his calloused fingertips on your warm cheek, pushing your hair out of the way as they caressed your face. Even in your vague stupor, the touch was enough to make your eyes open. Half-lidded, your sight hazy. Yuri glowed in the candlelight.

A smile tugged at the corner of his pink lips, a melancholic expression. So sad. Did he always look so sad? So beautiful? It made your heart ache, a hollow, faraway feeling.

“Hey,” he said, meeting your eyes. You attempted a smile in return, a dozing, drunken, delirious smile. “If I told you tomorrow that I loved you, would you take me as I am?” You hummed. A yes, maybe, no. He was still stroking your face, holding your hand. You couldn’t recall the last time you’d been touched like this. Not since you were a child, you didn’t think. So nice, so soft. “That’s the problem, I don’t know. And I… I don’t act unless victory is assured. If I make a move and lose you for good…” He squeezed your hand, his eyes closing. “I don’t want to lose you. Not to the whims of the cruel world and not by corrupting you with my black heart.” Your eyes closed again, his words becoming lost in your fascination with his voice. Yuri’s fingers left your cheek, returning to wrap around your hand. “Even if can never have you,” he said, a soft resolution in his voice, “it’ll be okay as long as you’re safe. And I know that you’ll be safe as long as you stay with me.”

[schrijverr]

Tender

Trevor has bruised ribs. He doesn’t think it a big deal, but Sypha and Alucard are more concerned about him being injured and show him that he is cared for and that hurting is a big deal.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: injury, insecurity

~~~~~~~~~~~

It was dark outside and a fire was crackling. They had been on the road for some time now, trying to help where possible with the night hordes, now left wandering with no one to steer them. It was nice and comfortable to be out there for a while even if Trevor was bruised.

“Ugh, I don’t think I’m ever getting up again, my everything is blue,” he groaned as he dropped gently to the ground after returning from gathering some firewood.

“Stop being such a baby, Trevor,” Sypha told him, throwing a log on the fire.

“I can be as much of a baby as I want to with the entire forest ground trying to dig into all these bruises,” he pouted, not really meaning it.

“For a big bad hunter you do whine a lot,” Alucard picked Sypha side, because of course he did. Not that Trevor minded, it was hard to hold a grudge against the dhampir after taking down Dracula together and Trevor had found to his horror that he quite liked Alucard.

That horror had faded quickly and he had rolled his eyes at his ancestors, before happily befriending the other more along with Sypha. So he took their friendly ribbing with grace. Well… his form of grace that was. “You’re all so mean to me, I don’t deserve this.”

“Ahw, did we hurt your wittle feelings,” Sypha exaggerated a pout and put on a mocking baby voice.

“Is your ego now bruised as well?” Alucard added and both laughed as his misery.

It wasn’t that bad, just some bruised ribs, maybe cracked, but nothing more. A common injury on his part that he could function with normally at this point. Still, in the wake of their teasing he played it up, cradling his midriff as he pouted at them, which only made them laugh.

Sypha pushed his side gently with her foot, making him catch his breath slightly as she hit his tender ribs. “We haven’t even traveled that much today.”

He glared at her halfheartedly then snootily sniffed: “You obviously can just shoot beams at monsters instead of getting thrown around all day. That horde was large. And I got thrown into a tree, for your information.”

What he hadn’t expected was for them to look guilty.

“Hey now, what’s wrong?” he asked in confusion when both stayed quiet and the teasing atmosphere that had been there dissipated. “Aren’t you two going to make fun if my brittle little bones or something?”

“You broke something?” Alucard exclaimed wide eyes of horror.

“No, just bruised, maybe cracked them at worst, but I don’t think so,” he shrugged, wincing slightly at the action and completely unsure what to do with the reaction he was getting. “It’s nothing really, happens all the time.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Sypha practically demanded as she sat up, fingers hovering over his chest as if asking for permission to examine him.

“Guys?” He was now officially confused. “Guys, come on, you’re scaring me here. What happened? There is literally nothing wrong with me, no need to fuss. I’m fine. If it’s about the teasing that was fine too, I swear. I wouldn’t have gone along with it, if I was in any real pain, I promise. Just stop with those faces.”

Both immediately tried to school their concerned faces into something else as if to please him, but it wasn’t working and their concern was still prominent. Sypha broke first, recognizing in his face that he could still see the concern as she pleaded: “Can I at least check your ribs?”

“If that will help relax you again, sure,” he said, struggling into an upright position from where he had been slumped against his pack. In the corner of his eye, he saw them both wince with sympathy and he wondered why they cared now for something relatively routine.

The cross belts, once undone, were easily slipped over his head with minimum arm movement and pain and Trevor was glad his shirt buttoned at the front so that he could just slip it off, baring his chest to them.

When they saw they gasped. He looked down, but saw nothing too bad or out of the ordinary. His chest was obviously bruised, the outline of his ribs clear from where they had pushed against his muscle from the inside when he had hit the tree. It was swollen slightly, but it didn’t look too bad.

“Wow, it’s probably not even cracked. Nice,” he smiled, hoping it would lighten up his companions, but no such luck. They stayed passive, Alucard more so than Sypha, who looked upset. Still, she raised her hand to do what she had asked: examine the injury.

At the first press of her fingers he hissed. He couldn't help it and it was completely involuntarily, but she pulled her hand back as if burned nonetheless. He attempted a smile and said: “You won’t get to feel if it’s broken if you’re scared to touch. I can take it, Sypha, it’s fine. It’s probably not broken anyway, you won’t do more damage, promise.”

“How do you that?” she snapped, clearly upset.

Trevor didn’t know what to do with that. He had never seen her this upset over him and he tried to cheer her up, even if he didn’t know how. “I’ve cracked my ribs enough time to know what that looks and feels like. This is nothing. It just happens, no need to worry.”

“This happens often?” she yelled at him. Okay, so the comfort had not worked and he didn’t know what else could be wrong beside her thinking this was a bad injury instead of a regular one, so he looked helplessly at Alucard, hoping he would step in and save him.

Alucard was no help. “While I wasn’t a doctor, my mother was, and that looks pretty severely bruised. It will take four to six weeks to heal,” he said with a frown. “You said you bruise and crack your ribs regularly? Can you breathe okay?”

“What?” Trevor said, completely baffled. “I can breathe fine. A rasp or a stab here and there, but everyone has their aches and pains.”

“And pneumonia?” Alucard continued his interrogation as he crawled closer, now also examining Trevor’s ribs. “Are you easilysusceptible to pneumonia?”

“I would have died, if I got pneumonia regularly,” Trevor rolled his eyes. The dhampir must know hardly anyone survived that, especially since Dracula’s hordes has swept over the lands. The sigh of relief Alucard gave at his answer confirmed that the other was aware of that fact and had asked it out of fear that he did, which only served to confuse Trevor more.

“Then how have you treated this in the past? When was the last time this happened?” Alucard questioned him, hands ghosting over his ribs as Sypha watched along over his shoulder with great interest.

“I walked and lived on like a normal person,” he said, suddenly feeling very exposed under their heavy gazes and concern. “It’s literally just a bruise, we all have bruises constantly. I don’t- Can you fucking stop that?” he finally snapped.

Both froze with again that guilty, concerned look on their faces that Trevor was beginning to seriously hate.

“How many times do I have to tell you it’s fine? You’re both acting like I’m going to kneel over when it’s literally nothing. I’m injured all the time, this is just a little inconvenience to me and you two didn’t care before, so I don’t understand why you’re suddenly acting like it’s the end of the world that I got a little bruise now,” he ranted.

The gigantic bruise that covered a large chunk of his chest could hardly be called little, but those were not the details the others were concerned with in their reaction.

“You’re injured all the time?” Alucard frowned as Sypha exclaimed: “Of course we care!”

“Uh, yeah, I’m only a measly human, no regeneration for me and I don’t exactly get to stay out of the way of the big hitters. My whip may give me some distance, but it’s not really a shield,” he answered Alucard, because facing Sypha’s comment made him uncomfortable.

“Why didn’t you say so?” Sypha asked, genuinely hurt. “We wouldn’t have teased you, if we had known that you were in pain. And wounds need treatment, what if you got an infection? We could have helped, Trevor.”

“I- I-” What was Trevor supposed to say to that? That he was used to the hurting so much that it hadn’t registered as something notable? That he was used to pushing through alone? That he had thought they’d known, just hadn’t cared enough?

Something must have shown on his face, because Sypha’s fiery look softened as she gently took his hand. “Trevor, we want to know when you’re in pain. You’re our friend, we don’t wish to see you hurt.”

“Oh,” was his only stupid reaction to it.

“Indeed, oh,” Alucard said, before asking, “Can I look over your ribs? I trust you when you say you haven’t broken anything, but just to be sure.”

“Ye- yeah, sure,” he replied, still thrown off slightly.

Alucard pressed where the bruising was worst, making him hiss, but the vampire didn’t stop. He just worked on steadily until he nodded to himself, before leaning down and instructing Trevor to breath deeply, which he did even if it hurt slightly.

When he leaned back, Sypha urged him immediately to give the verdict with a curious and anxious: “And?”

“He is fine,” Alucard told Sypha what Trevor had already deducted, “He should heal perfectly if we keep him still for as much as possible and put ice on his ribs two to three times a day. There is no rattling in his chest and the only out of place rib seems to be old and already healed.”

“I can make ice,” Sypha said happily at the same time Trevor frowned: “Keep still?”

“Yes, Trevor, keep still so that it can heal,” Alucard said. “It’s a miracle your ribs are mostly in the right place still. And we don’t want you to hurt yourself while walking.”

Trevor was quiet for a moment, he really appreciated their concern and the fact that they did care and hadn’t just ignored him being in pain, but he was also a realist and hardened by the road, both with them and all the years by himself. So, he tried to gently break it to them: “Alucard, I appreciate that you care and all that, but we’re in the middle of nowhere and the best we have is a shaking cart while we’re getting attacked regularly. I don’t think resting is really an option.”

“Then we’ll camp here for a few nights,” Sypha demanded sternly. “We can set up here as well as any other place so that you can rest. It might not be the full recovery time, but a bit. Until you feel better. Wallachia can wait until you’re in fighting shape.”

He would deny it to his grave, but he chocked up a bit at that. And while he thought their concern was a bit over the top, it felt nice to be cared for again, that someone was willing to put aside more important things for him.

So, despite his mind telling him it was unnecessary, he gave in: “Sure, yeah, okay.”

The smile he got in return was worth the guilt he would later feel over leaving people to their fate with the night creatures still roaming around and he let them help him back into his shirt as Sypha summoned ice.

The night was still dark and the fire now burning low. The temporary camp would have to wait for the morning and the road for later. It was nice and comfortable anyway, to be out there, even while Trevor was bruised, because he also had Sypha and Alucard and that made it better.