#he’s just shocked that the two sources of his migraines now go in pair

[drenched-in-sunlight]

miguel daily life

[pinkprimrose05]

GX Month Day 7: Ojama Delta Thunder!!

@gxmonth

"That’s right! You know what today is! Today we celebrate The Chazz, the one and only Manjoume Thunder! Give sparky boi a hug!"

...I'm not giving Manjoume a hug. I...*cackles evilly* am gonna make him suffer as much as the actual Duel Links players do, maybe even more. And I'm not the least bit sorry, because hey, he gets something out of it in the end!

Manjoume Jun was not having a good day.

The Ojama Duelist grumbled to himself, kicking a non-existent pebble into the air as he made his way to the Duel Studio. The picturesque environment of Duel Links -too clean, too perfect- never ceased to amaze him and many others, but right now, he was too damn pissed to care about that.

After all, it's hard for one to appreciate the technology behind a game's setting when that same technology had just fucked up their entire collection of cards- And in the middle of a Duel no less!

The door slid open as he walked through, revealing rows upon rows of multicolored tables placed on either side of the massive ground floor that was the Deck Editor section, leaving a clear path to the spiraling staircase of clear blue glass that led to the Card Catalog and several other, more obscure sections. After all, the Deck Editor was the single most popular part of the Duel Studio, if the couple dozen Duelists buzzing around all day long were anything to go by.

Manjoume plopped down on a chair at the first empty table he could find, fishing out the single Deck box in his pocket and dropping it on the yellow, round surface. The twenty cards inside the box spilled out over the table (he had hundreds of those for fuck's sake!), and their owner groaned in frustration as he rifled through his completely reset Deck....Scratch that, it wasn't even his own Starter Deck. Battle Warrior? Flame Manipulator? What the hell?!

Briefly, he considered the benefits of marching up to Isono and demanding an explanation and solution to what happened, but that idea was shot down almost immediately. It's not like the guy would be of actual help; the last time someone asked about a bug in the game Isono had literally told them, quote unquote "Please ensure that no other house utilites are interrupting your connection, such as a microwave oven.", and while Manjoume was no tech expert, even he could tell how much of a half-assed excuse that was.

Stupid Duel Links and its stupid customer service-

"Manjo-kuuuuuuun!!"

Startled out of his thoughts, Manjoume only had enough time to gasp before a familiar blue blur put him in an unexpectedly tight headlock, already rambling at rapidfire speed straight in his ears.

"I'm so glad I could find you today!!" Kylie squealed "Had no idea I'd see you here, but that doesn't matter- do you wanna Duel?? I've been working on a new Deck and combos for days now and I can't wait to show you-" the second-year abruptly paused when she caught sight of the cards spread on the table, letting go of Manjoume in favor of taking a better look at them "Waaiiiit a minute, what's with those cards? They don't look like anything you normally play-"

"-It's Manjoume-san." He sharply interjected in a mix of annoyance and exasperation, shooting a glare at the oblivious blunette standing next to him as he massaged his neck "And yes, those aren't my cards. The game just randomly decided to reset my connection in the middle of a Rank-Up Duel of all things, yeet off all my Decks into nonexistence, and then gave me a shitty Starter in exchange, so now I'm stuck with almost zero gems and no way to recover my progress, which is just fucking splendid considering how close we are to the next KC Cup."

Manjoume sighed "Fuck this. Just, fuck this."

Truthfully, he wasn't as mad about the progress he lost as he was about losing his cards. It hadn't even been thirty minutes and, while he'd never admit it out loud, he already missed his trio of obnoxious Ojamas. They've been through thick and thin together, and it felt unnatural to have them just up and disappear like that. The last time they've been away from him wasn't exactly something he wanted to remember, and while the situation here was nowhere as severe as the Dark World, it still felt wrong for the air around him to be so quiet.

Kylie, who was uncharacteristically quiet as she listened to her 'friend' ranting about his current predicament, nodded along "So you...basically got your account reset?"

"No shit, Sherlock." Manjoume deadpanned in response. Kylie put a hand to her chin, humming thoughtfully with closed eyes, before suddenly slamming a hand on the table and nearly shocking him into falling off his chair.

"I GOT IT!" She exclaimed, snapping her fingers with a bright grin "This reset bug happened once to someone I know- I don't know if you remember Ruby from Heartland Academy, but anyway, she also lost all her progress a couple months ago after she got booted out of a Duel, and it turned out that her cards were just scattered all around the Duel World, so we went around asking everyone we could if they saw them, Dueled those who had some, and we got all her cards back in the end. It must be the same with yours, so let's get going and find them all!!"

Without warning, she grabbed the Legendary Duelists's hand, hauling him up and out of the Deck Editor before he could even get out a word. Manjoume gasped and spluttered along the way, trying to tell his companion to slow down a bit to no avail; as talking someone like Kylie out of anything was like trying to build a Deck around Cold Feet.

That didn't stop him from actually looking around and asking, though. If there was even the slightest chance of him finding his cards this way, then he'd be damned if he didn't at least try and go through with it. Compared to staking it out at the North Pole for a barely synergic mishmash of a Deck, to going down a haunted well in an empty forest for a bunch of 0-ATK monsters that were -figuratively and literally- bottom of the barrel, Dueling a couple chumps and scavenging for some lost cards was nothing, and he was ready to do so much more to get his partners back.

"See? I told you Aniki would come find us in the end!"

...I take back everything I said, Manjoume thought, cringing in disgust as Ojama Green and Black hugged each other and began prancing around him in circles, babbling and crying tears of joy while they were at it How could I ever miss this shitfest?

He just did, somehow. It hadn't taken too long to find the two Ojamas anyway; the sound of them banshee screeching weeping their asses off by the fountain was all he needed to know they were somewhere out there, and by some lucky miracle, their cards didn't get sprayed to oblivion with all the water by the time he came to retrieve them. As for his other cards, he and Kylie had stopped by the Shop, the Card Trader, the PvP Arena, the Gate and the Duel School, asking everyone they could about his cards, and beating the shit out of those who had some and refused to give them back

(Well, Manjoume was the one who did that, and only to Evan and Zachary, but that wasn't the point here, was it?)

By the time they decided to return to the Duel Studio for a small break, they'd gathered practically all of his key cards. He couldn't care less for the bunch of staples he lost -he'd just reroll the Selection Box or whatever-, so the only missing card that actually mattered, as much as it stung his ego to admit it...

...was Ojama Yellow. And after what happened with his brothers (and with Fairy Dragon, which he found resting on top of a very inconveniently high branch of a tree), Manjoume fully expected the third Ojama to be sleeping in the trash can or somewhere equally stupid. Because if he wasn't, he'd have found him before any other card by simply following the sound of high-pitched crying mixed with a lot of screaming and weird Ojama noises-

-A sudden rattling sound interrupted the noiret's thoughts for the second time that day, and when he stopped to locate its source, he let out a long, drawn-out sound between a sigh and a groan. Surely enough, the sound was coming from the trash can by the cliff, which was shaking wildly and practically begging to be opemed. Feeling a migraine coming up, Manjoume turned left, walked up to the can, and with some difficulty, pried the lid off.

"ANIKIIIII!!"

He instantly regretted it (he didn't) when the snot-faced creature that was Ojama Yellow exploded in his face, crying uncontrollably as he tried to hug Manjoume (keyword being 'tried'). His brothers all but sprang up from their cards, meeting him in a hug midair and effectively plucking him off his master for a bit as they all laughed and cried and did everything in between.

"Aww, look at how happy they are!" Kylie gushed, eyes almost sparkling. She lightly smacked Manjoume's back "You sure have a funny bunch of spirits, luckyyyy~"

Swatting away the Ojama trio and a pair of Catnipped Kitties before they tried sneaking up on him for a hug, Manjoume folded his arms and snorted in response "Yeah, sure."

But regardless, he found his lips quirking up in spite of himself. If it were me from three years ago, he mused I wouldn't have bothered with any of this in the first place.

But this wasn't the him from three years ago. This was the him of today, the Manjoume Thunder who'd gone through so much shit and learned from it to become a better Duelist, a better Duelist, and a better person. And while he had many people to thank for that, he also had to give credit for the monster spirits that followed him through all of the aforementioned shit, because as cringy, messy, bombastic and obnoxious as they might be, they were his partners, and he wouldn't give them up for anything in this world-

"WILL YOU FUCKING STOP THAT??!!"

-Unless they tried to hug him again. Pissed beyond reason, Manjoume chased after the quintet of Level 2's, ignoring Kylie's hysteric laughter and the surprised yelps from other Duelists as they dashed around the area in circles, all the noise merging into a cacophony of angry hollering and frightened squeaking, among other sounds.

In the end, some things never change....for better or for worse.

~~~~~~

Screw the actual Duel Links game for not including most of Manjoume's low-ATK monsters in his Starter/Lv 10 Deck (why tf is Catnipped Kitty a main Box card 4 years after his release?), and double screw them for splitting his Ojamas and Dragons into separate Decks.

I hate how his higher level Decks in the game completely disregard the former half of his cards; those are the ones that actually stuck with him in a meaningful way, not the Armed Dragons...they deserve some more recognition, so why not mix both archrtypes and slap in Ojamatch?

Also, yes, Standard Duelists actually exist here, so I decided to throw in my favorite GX girl AKA Kylie and have her interact a bit, and boy is she fun to write.

Headcanon: Kylie considers Manjoume (and everyone else, but especially him) her best friend because she basically has Yuuma's mentality of 'Anyone I Duel becomes an amigo!', and by sheer dumb luck, the two keep logging in at the same time and often get matched up in PvP Duels.

That's part of why she's so familiar with him (and also why she calls him Manjo-kun) and as you can see, Jun does not approve.

Aaaand this would be everything for Day 7! Expect to see me again...in a week from now. By Day 15 to be exact. In the meantime, if you’d like to follow my prompts for the month, I’m posting them all on ArchiveofOurOwn: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33473653/chapters/83489824

[solastia]

Call Of The Sea

Pairing: Jungkook X Hoseok

A/N: So, I went a little crazy. Instead of a tiny drabble this became an almost 4k work. *shrug* As for the smut itself, it’s oviposition (meaning eggs for those that don’t know), so there’s a bit of breeding/impreg kink as well as implied mpreg. I spent way too much time thinking about the mechanics of breeding a human male with a male merman and it shows. Anyway, enjoy!

****

There were a million excuses he’d given his roommates about why he felt the need to visit the beach so often. Most of them bullshit. 

He felt more inspired to draw there - which that one was slightly true. 

It cures his super frequent migraines - he wasn’t sure he’d ever had one his whole life. 

He was interested in marine biology - but not for reasons they might think. 

He could never actually tell them the truth: that he spent all of his free time in a beachside cave in Busan because his boyfriend of seven months was a merman. 

For one that would sound insane, and he knew that if he ever told Yoongi he’d probably storm down here to save Jungkook from someone that was obviously a scammer. And Seokjin was probably related to someone in the military and would have the merman become a science experiment in two seconds flat. 

No, he couldn’t tell them. At least not yet. 

So he simply ignored his guilty conscience and let his plastic bag swing as he strolled down to the beach like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

He pulled his hoodie tight around his ears to ward off the cold. It was getting to be late in the winter season and the trips to the beach were practically hazardous for his health at this point - good thing his boyfriend's smile was as bright as the sun. 

Fuck, that was so cheesy. What the hell was wrong with him? 

Anyway, despite what the temperature read, he still wasn't as cold as he should be. Actually, he was almost toasty and he felt like he was just bundling up out of habit rather than need. His temperature had been strange for a few weeks. 

He shook his head and turned onto the path that led to his secret cave. Well, not that secret. Sometimes older kids came out here to party, but not often and definitely not in the middle of winter. 

Once he reached his cave, he pouted silently over it being empty. He must still be out swimming. Maybe with the water being such a freezing temperature, it slowed him down.  

He sighs forlornly, hoping he won’t have to wait too much longer. He lets both of his bags drop to the sandy floor and unzips the pack back, pulling out the two blankets he’d decided to bring. One for sitting, and one big fluffy down blanket so he wouldn’t get pneumonia. 

He snorts to himself as he gets comfortable and observes the water lapping close to the cave entrance. It’s not likely he’d even get pneumonia without the blanket, though. Beyond his strange fluctuating body heat, he’s been putting on so much weight recently it was ridiculous, like a bear getting ready to hibernate. 

Just this morning he’d tried to wear his sexiest pair of jeans for his boyfriend, only to find that his hips had widened so much he couldn’t pull them up. He’d even had to double up shirts and throw a hoodie over it because his pecs were basically tits now. They were so swollen and sensitive, he didn’t know what was going on. 

And don’t even get him started on everything in the plastic bag. He sighed and brought it closer to him as the urge to protect his bounty overcame him. The same overwhelming urge that had caused him to buy all the food in the first place. He sometimes brought his boyfriend little treats here or there because he got so excited, but this had been some primal urge to shower the merman in foodstuffs. 

He finally heard the sound he’d been waiting for - the nearby shriek of a waterproof whistle. He grinned excitedly and pulled the whistle he wears around his neck up to his lips and blew. It was a signal that alerted his merman that it was safe to show himself. 

“Jungkookie!” 

Jungkook grins as the graceful form of his boyfriend appears at the edge of the cave. He beams up at Jungkook from the shallow waters, his silky long black hair a cloud around him and his tail an iridescent blend of oranges and yellows. He’s so bright in the winter gloom that Jungkook’s spirits are instantly lifted. 

“Hoseok! I missed you!” 

“It’s only been two days, silly human,” but despite his words, he looks pleased and bashful by Jungkook’s unashamed neediness. A neediness that never seemed to go away, not since the moment he’d met the merman in this very spot. 

“Whatever,” Jungkook pouts, pulling his blankets up to his chin to hide his blush. “I’ll just keep the things I brought you then since you don’t care.”

“What?! Gimme!” 

The merman smiles sunnily, his lips shaped like a heart. Jungkook melts and relents, peeling the blankets off of himself and striding closer to the edge with his bag. He crouches and ruffles in the contents as Hoseok eagerly leans over to peek inside. 

“Let’s see, lots of things you said you liked before. Cherry tomatoes, tangerines, fish sausages...a bunch of stuff,” Jungkook shrugs, blushing as he realizes yet again that he may have gone a little overboard judging by the bulging contents of the bag. 

Hoseok looks over the bounty with awe, a gleam in his eye that Jungkook wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before. 

“My mate has provided for me during the winter months,” he says softly, rummaging through the bag like it was filled with gems. 

“That’s a good thing?” Jungkook asks, surprised by Hoseok’s strange response. He’d known the merman would be excited because he liked human food, but he’d been expecting screaming and huge smiles not...whatever this was. And he’d even used the ‘M’ word again - just like he had the last time Jungkook had let the other rut all over him, leaving him with the bite mark that itches on his thigh. 

Instead of answering, Hoseok slowly looks up at him with an intense gaze. His jaw is clenched like he’s deep in thought and then finally he nods - before turning away and diving under the water. 

“What? Hoseok, where are you going?” 

He fucked up somehow. Did he offend the merman? He’s brought him treats before. What did he do wrong?

Nearly ten minutes later Jungkook is close to leaving. The cold is finally starting to annoy him and Hoseok hasn’t come back. He wasn’t sure if he was ever going to. 

He sighs and stands up, deciding to leave the bag where it was. Hoseok could come back for it if he wanted to. Jungkook turns and grabs his blankets, intending to throw them into his backpack when a sudden metallic thump startles him. He looks towards the source, his eyes growing impossibly wide as he takes in the sight. 

Hoseok’s rainbow-hued bag he’d made from discarded netting was familiar to him. The awe-inspiring pile of what can only be termed ‘Treasure’ was spilling onto the rocky ground was something new. Precious gems, ancient coins, golden bangles and crowns, all touched by the sea but still glittering and obviously valuable. 

“Hoseok, what’s all this?” 

“Is this enough?” Hoseok’s voice was intense as he watched Jungkook inspect the goods, his eyes alight with some emotion that he couldn’t interpret. 

“For what?” 

“To provide for you and our young.” 

Jungkook whirled around and gaped at the merman in shock. “Our what now?” 

Hoseok nods briskly like it was just a fact. “Our young. It’s mating season and you accepted my bite. Then you provided me with food to keep my strength up in the winter and able to breed you. By spring, we’ll have our first young!” 

Jungkook drops to the cold ground in shock, staring at Hoseok. 

“Babe, I hate to tell you this, but in the human world a man cannot get pregnant.” 

“Haven’t you noticed the changes to your body since you accepted my bite? Your body widening to better hold my eggs? Your chest filling out so you can nourish our young?” 

“I’m...I...what the fuck?” Jungkook grabs at said chest, feeling their newly acquired plumpness. “Is this permanent? Can I make it stop?” 

Hoseok drooped, his excitement falling from him like a cloak and his eyes radiating hurt. “Yes. You’ll go back to normal after the mating season, whether I breed you or not. Do you...not want me to?” 

Jungkook thought for a moment, going over the past events between the two of them. He supposed he should have known something was up. Hoseok had been getting more...enthusiastic about touching him lately. He’d chalked it up to them getting closer and Hoseok becoming less shy about affection. He’d just assumed that sex wasn’t on the table because of their different anatomy, although Hoseok certainly loved making out and getting Jungkook off. During their last heavy petting session, Hoseok had given him a very intense blowjob that had ended with him biting into the meaty part of Jungkook’s thigh. 

He was definitely crazy about the merman and based on what Hoseok was telling him, he’d basically done everything to make him think that he was down for being his real mate in every way. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Jungkook begins carefully. “But I didn’t know that’s what we were leading to. I didn’t know about the food or the bite.” 

Hoseok’s eyes widen and he clutches a hand to his chest. “I did bad! I forgot you wouldn’t know...I...I’m sorry. I just...it’s instinct and I’ve never found a mate before.” 

“It’s okay. Umm…” Jungkook licks his lips nervously and asks shyly, “What all would this entail?” 

“Entail? Oh...you mean how would I breed you?” 

“Uh, yeah. And like, how would it come out. And what would happen...after.” 

Hoseok searches Jungkook’s face, his smile slowly growing as he takes in the shy interest in Jungkook’s eyes. 

“Well, first I would make out, as you call it. I like doing that a lot. No one touches lips down there,” Hoseok swims a little closer to the cave edge when Jungkook finally smiles a little. “Then I’ll pump you full of my eggs.” 

“EGGS?! I’ll have to lay eggs? Like a chicken?” Jungkook exclaims, his hands flying to his ass like he could protect it. 

Hoseok chuckles. “No, silly human. My eggs will nestle in your womb and absorb your DNA until spring. Since you’re a human, only one or two will be born and the rest of the eggs will be absorbed as nutrients for you and our young. If you were a merman as well, you could have easily given birth to ten or more. My sister had thirty.” 

“Okay, but how are they going to come out?” 

“You’re not done growing,” Hoseok smirked. “The bite is still working on you and helping your body evolve to handle our mating. If you decide to deny our bond, you will completely go back to the way you were before my bite. If you let me breed you, most of the outer changes will go back to normal until next season, but your new internal parts will stay to keep you compatible for the next season. You are growing a womb and a birthing slit.” 

“Jesus,” Jungkook stares at the merman in surprise and trepidation. “You must like me a whole lot to want babies and stuff.” 

“I do,” Hoseok nodded vigorously. “Bunches and bunches. I’ve never participated in the mating season before. My family called me odd because I was “picky” but now I’m happy I was. My mate is the human Jungkook.” 

“How...uh...how will you get the eggs in me?” 

Jungkook blushes when Hoseok pierces him with an assessing gaze. He was surprised with himself that the thought of walking around with Hoseok’s eggs - while still fucking weird - also got him rock-hard. Like he could keep a piece of the beautiful man with him on land, and one that he could feel inside of him. 

“I have an organ like yours, it just looks a bit different. It’s kept inside until I’m ready.” 

“And...are you?”

“Ready?” Hoseok quirks an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “I’m always ready with you, but do you want this?” 

Jungkook swallows nervously, but the image of finally being fucked by this beautiful person was enough to get him wanting to scream “Yes.” 

Not to mention, the more he thought about it, the more the idea of having a child - no matter how strangely they were made - that was a little bit of him and Hoseok....he found the idea appealing. 

“Okay. Let’s do it.” 

Hoseok’s heart-shaped smile was as bright as the sun. “Okay! Lose all those silly clothes. My bite should be keeping you warm, especially once you get in the water.” 

Jungkook pauses with his shirt half over his head. “I’m going to be in the water? In the middle of winter?” 

Hoseok shrugs, “For a little bit.” 

Jungkook eyes him dubiously. “Uh-huh.” 

Still, he strips, throwing his clothes away from the water as far as he could. He was already embarrassingly hard, his cock barely shaking as he walked towards the merman. 

“Lay down and make out!” Hoseok declared, and Jungkook did so with a chuckle. The merman absolutely loved kissing. He’d been wide-eyed with wonder the first time Jungkook had impulsively pecked his lips, then demanded more almost immediately. One time Hoseok had even challenged himself to kiss every inch of Jungkook - every inch. 

Jungkook laid on his blanket close to the water’s edge and Hoseok pulled himself up to hover over the human. He quietly studied his face, a tiny fond smile gracing his lips. 

“Hi there,” Jungkook giggled. Hoseok grinned and lowered his face more. 

“Hello,” he responded quietly, then pressed his lips to Jungkook��s. 

The human moaned into the soft kiss, loving the slight tang of the sea and chilled skin against his. After Hoseok had received his fill of lips he moved lower, peppering tiny kisses until he reached Jungkook’s neck. 

He growled lightly into the skin, nipping at it playfully. “Hoseok, come on.” 

“Yeah? You need it, precious? Need to be bred?” 

Jungkook’s breath hitched, not expecting the low husky tone of Hoseok’s voice. He growled into Jungkook’s neck, the words sounding like filth dipped in honeyed caramel.

“Want it. Breed me,” he begged in a hushed voice, still battling his shyness. 

“Anything you want, precious. My precious mate,” Hoseok answered, his voice tinged with awe as he stroked his hand all over Jungkook’s soft skin. 

He slid away until he was once away fully in the water and held out a hand. “Come join me in here, Jungkook. You’ll be fine.” 

“Really?” Jungkook asked, eyeing the water with doubt. It was the middle of winter and the water had to be cold enough to kill someone. 

“My bite protects you. Come here.” 

Jungkook scoots to the edge and grabs Hoseok’s hand, letting the merman help him into the water. He’d been expecting a shock, but it merely felt lukewarm to him. Comfortable enough, he supposed. Hoseok held him close then turned him towards the rocky edge of the cave. 

“Grab onto the ledge,” Hoseok whispered teasingly into his ear. 

Jungkook did as he was told, grasping onto the ledge for dear life as Hoseok’s hands traveled down to grab him by the hips. 

“Umm, I’m not prepared. We need stuff.”

Hoseok cocks his head curiously, “Stuff?” 

“Like, slippery stuff. So, uh, it won’t hurt.” 

“OH! No, that happens naturally. I have everything you need. Do humans need extra fluids? How strange.” 

Jungkook chuckles, “Yeah, humans are the weird ones here.” 

“Hey,” Hoseok playfully frowns. “I’ll leave you to drown.” 

“Sorry, sorry. As you were.” 

Hoseok made a ‘hrumph’ sound and tapped Jungkook’s ass lightly. He can feel something floating underneath him and he sneaks a peek. It’s long and wide, a fleshy pink with bumps and ridges covering it in a strange pattern. He glances behind him to stare at Hoseok’s tail, noticing the open slit in the middle of it where the pink...oh fuck that’s his dick! It was at least ten inches long, maybe more, and as wide as Jungkook's arm. 

“That...that’s supposed to fit inside of me?” Jungkook asks breathlessly, staring in wonder at the monster cock growing out of the merman. 

“Mmm, I have to get really deep to protect our eggs,” Hoseok mumbled, pressing a reassuring kiss to the back of Jungkook’s neck. 

Jungkook turns his head and stares at the cave ledge, waiting for the first press. He nearly jumps when the bulbous head touches his rim, forcing himself to breathe as Hoseok slowly forces the head inside. 

The merman sighs happily and rubs his chin into Jungkook’s hair. “You feel so nice inside,” he hums as he holds still, letting the human’s walls work to contain him. 

After a couple seconds Jungkook feels something shooting inside of him. He turns back to glare at Hoseok incredulously. “Already?” 

The merman chuckles. “No, precious. It’s just secretions to help you handle me. It’s a while yet until I fill you properly.” 

“Oh,” Jungkook gulps. 

Hoseok moves his hips again, forcing more and more of his monster cock into Jungkook with every pump. Whatever he’d filled Jungkook with made the slide painless and he felt barely any discomfort. 

His cock continued further and further, until it grazed his prostate and went further still. He wasn’t even sure that a dick was supposed to reach that high without hurting him, but he couldn’t complain too much when the outline of Hoseok’s cock bulging from his stomach made his own twitch with need. 

“Hold on, Jungkookie,” Hoseok rasps, before slamming to the hilt. He only had a second to grip the ledge with all his might before Hoseok started pounding with such raw power that he wanted to scream and they’d only just started. 

He’d never felt so full in his life and the way that Hoseok was hammering into him felt like he was rebuilding his body to fit only him. Jungkook could only whine and sob as his senses were overwhelmed. 

“Precious?” Hoseok grunted, “Are you close, sweet thing?” 

He was. He was so embarrassingly close but he didn’t want to be. Mere minutes of the merman slamming into him like his life depended on it and he was ready to burst. 

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” Jungkook begs with a sob. “Don’t ever fucking stop!” 

Hoseok chuckles lowly. “Never? You want me to keep filling you up forever and ever? My sweet precious mate. So perfect,” he growls. “I want to stay inside you forever too. Fill you to the brim with my eggs until your belly is round.” 

Jungkook whimpers as Hoseok’s teeth graze his neck and he feels his cock growing impossibly wider. 

“Bigger?” he moans, “Why? I can’t…” 

“You can, precious. Your body is mine. I have to keep you in place so I can fill you up.” 

Hoseok’s dick stretches him more than he’d ever thought possible. The bumps and ridges on it rubbing the inside of his walls until he thought he would go crazy. 

“Hoseok, I’m gonna…” 

“Yeah? Release for me, precious.” 

And Jungkook cums with a loud cry, his hips bucking into nothing as he shoots into the sea. 

“Good job. Here they come now, sweetness. I’m going to breed my mate.” 

Hoseok groans huskily as he grinds against Jungkook’s ass like he was desperately trying to get further inside but couldn’t. He didn’t feel anything different at first, besides the massive river of cum that painted his insides. Then...then he felt something rippling along Hoseok’s cock, making the already large organ wider still. 

“Yes, yesss…” Hoseok panted into his ear as he shallowly bucked, seeming like the act of releasing his eggs made him feel even better than an orgasm did. 

Finally Jungkook felt the first foreign object enter his body and travel up, up, and up. It hadn’t felt that large, perhaps the size of a lemon, and round. However, with the release of the first egg it seemed the others weren’t far behind. 

One more traveled from Hoseok’s cock into him, then another, and another, until he’d lost count. He was unable to do more than rest his forehead against the cool stone floor and try not to be overwhelmed as the little eggs stroked his insides and traveled to their new home in his womb. And he knew it was there because he could feel them settle inside, bulging his tummy and pressing down on his pelvis. 

Hoseok hadn’t been able to stop groaning and bucking as each egg was released, seeming to be in an endless state of euphoria. 

Jungkook realized that somewhere along the line he’d gotten hard again, the feeling of the eggs jostling his sensitive body too much to handle. It wouldn’t take much to cum again. 

Hoseok sighed and finally stopped his grinding, leaning his head onto Jungkook’s shoulder to rest. 

“So good, precious Jungkook. I’ve never felt such bliss in all my days.” 

Jungkook wanted to respond, but he was trying to reach down and tug himself to completion without slipping into the ocean. Hoseok notices and chuckles. 

“Again, my sweet? You like being filled that much?” 

Jungkook whimpers and nods, letting Hoseok bat his hand away to replace it with his own. 

It only takes a few tugs of those long, nimble fingers before he shouts and cums, his cock slightly pained from sensitivity. 

“There we go. And out of the water with you.” 

Hoseok slides out of him and his cock is once again sheathed into his tail slit. He helps to heave the human onto the ledge and lets him catch his breath as the merman strokes Jungkook’s bulging stomach. 

“So big and full. How do they feel?” 

“Um, nice. I like it. I feel...warm and safe.” 

Hoseok glances up in surprise, “Yeah? You like it a lot?” 

Jungkook nods vigorously. “I can’t wait to meet them. What are we going to do when they’re born?” 

Hoseok stares thoughtfully at his hand on the human’s stomach. “I suppose if they have split fins like you they’ll live on land. If they are mer then they’d have to stay with me. At least until I find a way to be with you.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widened in surprise. “With me? You want to be on land?” 

Hoseok shrugs shyly. “I don’t have much to hold me here, and I’ve always wanted to meet your friends. You speak so highly of them.” 

“Yeah,” he muses, only to freeze two seconds later. “Oh fuck, you knocked me up. Yoongi and Seokjin are going to kill you!” 

“What?” Hoseok asks in alarm. 

“Don’t worry. I think we can get Namjoon on our side, but be prepared for a scolding.” 

“You mean, you want me to join you on land?” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook grins happily. “You’re my family too, and we’re going to have...young. We’ll figure it out.” 

“Yes. Yes, we will.” Hoseok settles and sighs, laying his head onto his mate’s belly. 

[itsclydebitches]

You all want to hear a shocking secret? I’m still writing these 😅 

Drabble #3 for @valasania-the-pale! 

Reckless Conversation 

Pairing: Future Geralt/Dandelion with pining Dandelion and references to other ships

Word Count: 3,581

How'd it go? Geralt would ask, head bent over his blade like he wasn't hanging on Ciri's every word. 

I think I broke Dandelion's nose should produce a fun reaction. 

That was an enjoyment only future Ciri had access to though. Right now, present Ciri had to deal with the damn thing. 

"It's not that bad," she insisted, even as blood soaked through the rag she'd given him. She winced as Dandelion all but stuffed the material up his nostrils in an effort to stop the flow. Ciri was pretty sure she'd last used that to mop up some drowner slime... best not mention it. Besides, it wasn’t like he was breathing through his nose right now. "It's fine. You're fine." 

"I'd like to be the judge of that!" came the muffled reply. Dandelion staggered to a nearby water trough, blinking down at his own reflection. When he straightened his face was curiously blank. "You've ruined me." 

"Oh please." 

"I'm done. Through. My career will never recover. I hope it was worth it, little miss witcher, I really do." 

"Okay, first of all you're fine. Second, I doubt a bruised nose will hinder your poetry—" 

"I am speaking of my romantic career, dear, keep up!" 

Ciri rolled her eyes to the heavens, half hoping they'd open up and drown her. Dandelion had dropped plaintively to his knees, staring into the water and bemoaning his bloodstained shirt. She bit down on the urge to point out the new mud on his trousers. 

"Maybe," she said, rocking back on her heels, "you shouldn't go grabbing little miss witchers from the depths of alleyways. They have a tendency to hit first and ask questions later." 

The glare didn't surprise her. The words though... 

"Well, I was happy to see you." 

Oh. 

Shaking her head, Ciri pulled Dandelion to his feet and straight into a hug. "And I'm happy to see you too. Drama and all." 

The sounds emanating from her shoulder were curiously wet, though whether that was due to injury or emotion she couldn't say. "Friends pay for ruined clothes, you know." 

"Not when one friend has a monopoly on Novigrad's entertainment district and the other barely has two coins to her name. Plus, I'm pretty sure one of them is counterfeit. I owe someone else a broken nose. Sorry you got it instead." 

With a laugh Dandelion pulled away. "In truth I'm happy to receive anything you might give me, Ciri. Though I'd really prefer a strong drink." 

"I think we can manage that." 

After checking that his nose truly wasn't broken — just blooming a display of color that would put many painters to shame — Dandelion took Ciri's hand and led her into the city. He wasn't a native, but he might as well have been given the number of years he'd spent here, moving between high society circles and dangerous slums. Ciri knew there were few who could show her Novigrad like Dandelion and after months on the Path she was more than happy to let someone else call the shots for a while. 

She shouldn't have been surprised when, just minutes later, she was steered into a small alcove, the entrance so dark even she might have missed it passing by. An elf stood off to the side of a door, the bulk of his arms contrasting the ornamentally styled tunic. He inclined his head towards Dandelion as they slipped inside. 

"Milireth," he whispered, though the sudden onslaught of chatter made that unnecessary. "Great chap. Bit taciturn for my taste, but then I have plenty of stirring conversation for the two of us. He had some trouble finding employment a while back — you know how inhumane those Eternal Fire folks are and yes, I use that term deliberately — so I called in a favor with Julia and got him a spot here. Perfect fit. Now Milireth, in turn, lets me in without Julia being any wiser." He dropped her a wink. 

"Dandelion. Are we going to get kicked out halfway through our drinks?" 

"Absolutely not. Probably not. Provided we keep to the back. Or provided Julia has gotten over her most recent grudge. Either way I'd consider those excellent odds. Come on!" 

He led her through the establishment with impressive skill, weaving among the closely packed tables, dodging feet and legs. As Ciri's eyes adjusted to the low light she realized why Milireth was a good fit for this place. While Novigrad tended to divide its species rather strictly by districts and boroughs, here there was a diverse mix Ciri had only ever seen among her own friends and family. Dwarves, humans, elves, and, she suspected, a doppler or two made up the majority of the crowd, largely keeping to their own tables but still intermingling to an almost unheard of degree. They were literally sharing elbow room, leaning into one another's space with a confidence that said here, at least, everyone was welcome. A figure all the way in the back was shrouded in their cloak, but claw-like hands brought a mug to their lips. A woman with slit eyes smiled as they passed. Another was giving off pheromones — if the men draped in her lap were any indication. Monsters of all manner took refuge in shadows, fortifying themselves with good food, better drink, and even, if any would admit it, the company. 

Dandelion gently pushed Ciri into an empty seat. Her legs felt loose as a water hag's stew. 

"What — ?" she started to say before realizing that she knew precisely what this place was. Ciri shook her head. No one liked stupid questions. "How does this place exist?" 

Dandelion waved a hand. "Well, the philosopher might spout something about life finding a way, no matter what might stand against it. The Captain of our guard would say that the scum of the city are unerringly skilled at meeting in clandestine places. I suppose that both are right in their own way. Me? I might wax poetic about the stunningly skillful enchantments that keep this place from prying eyes." 

Ciri's gaze dropped instinctively to the Cat medallion against her chest. It lay quiet as a grave. Well, a grave post-witcher contract. 

"Very sophisticated enchantments," Dandelion said. 

"I'll say. I'm surprised you and the other humans aren't buckling with migraines." Ciri wasn't sure what protected her exactly. The Elder Blood, early exposure to magic, the fact that she was a Source... who could say. Except maybe Yen, and the last time she'd brought it up she'd gotten a mind-numbing lecture for her trouble. Better to simply let some things remain a mystery. 

Dandelion shrugged. "We will. Eventually. In an hour or two, but by that point one should be three sheets to the wind, so who can really tell the difference?" With a grin he waved down a passing barmaid who unceremoniously dropped two mugs on their table. Apparently one didn't order here. Or if you did, best be quick about it. The barmaid paused only long enough to peer closely at Dandelion's face. By the stretching of his grin he no doubt thought her a suitable distraction. Ciri suspected she was just interested in the growing bruise. 

She ignored them both to try the drink. Bitter and frothy, but it went down easier than most of what she'd had in the last year. Ciri took a long swing and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. 

"Which means," Dandelion continued, waving the barmaid away, "that we have more than enough time for you to tell me everything you've been up to. Don't spare the details! Though you may not have my knack for storytelling, dear, I know you're not entirely without talent. If you leave even a morsel out I'll be devastated." 

"Well, far be it from me to devastate you." 

"Precisely." 

So Ciri told Dandelion all, keeping her voice low in case a room full of creatures didn't take kindly to a list of her contracts. A few had eyed her swords upon entry, but said nothing, seemingly content to keep out of her way provided Ciri kept out of theirs. It was only too bad she couldn't say the same of her travels. Drowner infestations were one thing, even if the sailors too often tried to get handsy instead of paying her in coin, but a pack of werewolves had given her trouble for a solid month. All born into the curse, they possessed the ability to transform at will and had used it to their advantage as bandits, terrorizing a collection of villages. Solving the problem without indiscriminate slaughter had been a tricky business, demanding that Ciri pull from her knowledge of negotiation and mediation: neither of which were her strong suits. 

The werewolves at least would live out their days as members of a community. The rampaging godling out in Kaedwen was another matter entirely. Ciri hadn't had the privilege of meeting one until then — and she'd always assumed it was a privilege based on Geralt's teachings. "Not a beast to be put down," he'd say, eyeing the aggressive drunk. "Just mischievous. Respect them and at the very least you'll finish your contract without bloodshed. At best you'll come out of it with a friend." Well, she'd been more than respectful. Especially towards a being whose mischievous nature had resulted in families terrified of their own dreams, to the point where one newly minted wife had walked out her window. Another strangled her infant, thinking it an intruder. Ciri had tried to establish if the families had moved into what the godling perceived as her territory, if she had some sort of grievance towards young wives and mothers, even if it were possible for their species to fall under spells... all of it came to naught. Her inquiries were only met with laughter and, in time, more death. When a member of the Viper school had passed through and casually mentioned burdock root for navigating dreams, she'd bought him a drink, crushed a whole stem up in hers, and met the godling in another reality. Ciri couldn't swear she killed it, though as the Lady of Time and Space she suspected she'd had that edge. Either way, afterwards the women had slept soundly for a fortnight and it had felt safe to move on. 

There were others, of course, though no encounter quite as thrilling. It seemed like no matter how much people sneered at the trade — Geralt for his yellow eyes, her for being born a woman — everyone had a nest of something in need of extermination. Or a haunting to be put right. Or even, on occasion, just a particularly nasty job that no one else wanted to do. Ciri didn't mind mucking about in the sewers, provided her payment got her a bath at the end of the day. As well as, weeks later, the humor in watching Dandelion's face twist in on itself. 

"You didn't," he murmured, taking a large gulp of his drink. He swirled it as if to wash away an imaginary taste. "You drank from it?" 

"It was either that or die of thirst. I don't have a witcher's mutations. Sometimes you've just got to make do." 

"You poor, wretched thing." 

“Oh I know. Buy a poor, wretched thing another drink?” 

Speaking with Dandelion was easy. Even when he interrupted to supply what he considered to be the superior description, or went off on his own, thrilling tangents — forever stealing the spotlight. They were just the quirks of talking to him and after so long on the Path Ciri found herself welcoming the familiar. More than that, or the warm interior, or even the satisfying drink, she soaked up the feeling of family that permeated the air. 

It was a funny thing that, family. Funny, at least, if you shared her sense of humor. If anyone asked about her parentage (and plenty certainly had) they were in for quite the explanation. Born to the lovely Pavetta and Duny, though orphaned at a terribly young age. So really, in spirit Ciri’s parents were her grandparents, nothing less than the Lioness of Cintra herself and her devoted husband, Eist Tuirseach. But oh, haven't you heard? Her father hadn't really died. Why, he was no mere Lord, but the Emperor of Nilfgaard himself! Emhyr var Emreis, The White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of his Enemies and so on and so forth. Surely then he would be the one she referred to as 'Father'? Well, not when one considered a slew of complexities there, including her status as a Child Surprise. Duny, Eist, and Emhyr may have all vowed for the title of 'Father,' but destiny gave that dubious privilege to Geralt of Rivia and time proved one a wise man and the other a fool. So it was that Ciri found herself with three fathers, technically, though four if one considered the childhood emotions she'd attached to the Urcheon of Erlenwald. Two mothers as well, with the third arriving along with Geralt: Yennefer of Vengerberg. Sorceress. Visionary. Protector in the extreme. 

Yet the irony was that it didn't stop there. Who were the other witchers if not additional fathers, given joke names like 'Uncle' and 'Brother' to avoid confusion? What else made up the Lodge but mothers when it was they who taught her everything from magic to the ungodly chore of managing her blood each month? For an orphan Ciri had an uncommon number of parental figures... including the man who sat across from her. 

"Who's raising who?" she'd once heard Dijkstra mutter while Geralt and Dandelion had argued over her. It had been about something inconsequential, the disagreement lost to time, but Ciri, hardly a teen, recalled thinking that they were indeed like children in their bickering. 

Now, as an adult, she was inclined to re-term such moments as... frisky. In the absurdly strange way of all witchers and bards. But really, what friends argued so strongly over the raising of a daughter? 

Their interactions across nearly fifteen years hadn't exactly escaped her notice, even if childhood had often mischaracterized what precisely those interactions were. Nor, of course, could Ciri have missed how Dandelion kept speaking of romance without naming any new paramours. 

"So," she said, leaning across the table. This time a young man passed with drinks and Ciri snatched one, enjoying the spicy scent. She dangled the brew before Dandelion's nose before taking a sloppy sip. She was no lightweight, but they didn't skimp on the alcohol here either. 

Dandelion leaned forward to meet her. "So?" 

"Don't tell me I've been blathering on and you haven't thought of a single thing to share? No exciting adventures of your own? No... new friends?" 

In the shadows of the establishment Dandelion's face fell, then grew soft. In an instant the performer was gone and in his place sat a man closer to fifty than forty, a little tired, a little stressed, but more happy than anything else. He took the mug out of her hands and stole a drink for himself. "Can I share a secret with you, dear?" 

"Always." 

"Promise not to tell?" 

"Witcher's honor." 

"Your skillfully thrown punch may not have been the death of my career. I fear that's coming along just fine on its own." 

"Come on." 

He chuckled, so light and airy it floated away into the conversation around them. Ciri only knew he was laughing because of that smile and the shake in his shoulders. 

"All right, all right. You've caught me. There are still many men and women alike who flock to my side post-performance. Even a few who have asked for a private staging, if you catch my drift." 

"Dandelion. I've 'caught your drift' since I was fourteen and you gave me a lecture on avoiding venereal disease." 

"Did I?" 

"You were drunk." 

He took another massive gulp from their shared mug. "Well, that would explain it. But yes, I'm still popular — thank the gods for that — but I'd be a fool not to acknowledge that most of that stems from my unparalleled musical talent and a hefty nest egg. I'm not as limber as I once was, dear. I have wrinkles." Dandelion shook like a dog shedding water. 

Ciri smiled. Slow. Syrupy. "You're still the most handsome poet I know." 

"Oh thank you. I should hope so! The others are all cads..." 

"And you're dodging the question. Or the implied question, since I know you like to get technical." Dandelion scoffed. "No new friends? No last hurrahs before your golden years? Come off it, Dandelion. The last two times we've met up you haven't mentioned a single new 'acquaintance' and we both know you'd be talking up any encounters whether they'd been good or not. A girl's got to wonder." 

"A girl's gotten nosy." He slammed the now empty mug back on the table. "Let's go." 

"Ah — look. Sorry. If you don't want to talk about it — " 

"I don't want to talk about it here." Dandelion rolled his eyes with such fervor that Ciri worried for a moment that they'd leave his head. "Come now. Have I ever kept things from you? I'll tell all with a master's flair, but I'm doing it out of their earshot. Besides, that headache’s starting up." 

A few patrons cast them looks, which Ciri could only interpret as confirmation that they'd been eavesdropping. Then again, she'd been doing the same. There was a certain amount of camaraderie as they left the establishment, Dandelion passing a hand over all he knew (and dropping reminders not to mention him to Julia) and even she got a few nods of recognition. Changling, bard, vampire, or un-mutated Witcher, it seemed so long as you kept yourself to yourself all were welcome. 

She'd have to come back sometime. 

Ciri took note of the street as they ambled away, Dandelion's arm comfortably tucked into hers. They'd nearly reached the market before he spoke. 

"I know I just promised a tale, but are you really going to make me explain this?" His petulance drew out a laugh. 

"No," she admitted. "What's to explain? I’m not blind. You've spent the last twenty years following Geralt around and very nearly losing your head for the trouble. Or your voice. Your arm. Your balls, if some of those stories are to be believed."

"Oh, believe it, my dear."

"So I think that speaks for itself. Mere friends don't go to such lengths."

The toe of Dandelion's boot found a small stone, sending it soaring ahead of them. "Yet you forget one crucial detail."

"Enlighten me."

"Future loves do not have poetry worthy relationships with a sorceress."

She ground them both to a halt, the sudden loss of momentum drawing a curse from Dandelion. "Are you kidding me?" He squawked as Ciri reached up to knock some sense into him. Try to, anyway. "Oh, I knew immersing yourself in that exaggerated, destiny-laden, overly dramatic drivel would cause problems someday."

"One moment now! Drivel?"

Ciri ignored the outcry. "Yes, Geralt loves Yen... Just like Yen loves Istredd. Triss loves Geralt. Triss and Yen both had that weird thing for Philippa and don't even get me started on Fringilla. What do you think it means that Geralt spent months with Regis and Yen still dragged him up to that unicorn the moment he returned? Or that they casually talk about a 'sorceress' work' over the breakfast table? Dandelion, he's past his first century with so little family left. If you think that leaves less room for you in this mess than you're not nearly as smart as the masses claim. You’ve been listening to your own ballads too much."

She supposed this was some kind of accomplishment: leaving the most verbose man in The Continent utterly speechless. The alcohol still burned in the back of her throat and Ciri could admit that, in a more sober, everyday moment, she probably wouldn't have said as much as she had. But it was all true and dammit, if she'd learned anything since the Frost it was that a short life could be just as cursed as a long one. She was sick of people — herself included — letting things pass by.

"I don't know which is harder to believe," Dandelion murmured, raising a hand to his brow. "That you have twice assaulted me on this beautiful day. That I am being egged into a relationship with a witcher by his uncouth daughter..."

"Or?"

"Or that he remains that stunningly handsome at over a hundred years old."

Ciri snorted, tugging him along. Dandelion stumbled a moment, a testament to her words, but did quickly regain his feet. "You know we've never shied from discussions of sex in this family. Love though? Absolutely... so go slowly there."

A blush stained the great poet's cheeks, though no one else would have caught it on such a hot, sunny day. He delicately cleared his throat. "Any suggestions?"

"Hmm." Ciri pretended to think, tapping her chin. "We've been apart so long and really, our day has only just started, so I suggest that you come home with me. The three of us can start by having lunch."

The blush turned into a conspiratorial smile. "Where you will unexpectedly disappear, leaving the two of us alone?"

"But of course."

"My dear Ciri, I'll make a storyteller out of you yet."

A story she was more than happy to work on. How'd it go? Geralt would ask, trying to hide both face and curiosity. She'd done enough telling for today and Ciri looked forward to dragging Dandelion into their home, shoving him forward, and letting two of her dads work that out for themselves.

[damn-the-dark]

Vampire Damien??? Vampire Damien!!!!!

Yes? Yes!! owo)b I whole-heartedly agree!! 

>:3c

(oop almost forgot to tag @boopymooplier ;w;)/ )

Words: 3200

Pairings: Damien x Reader (Y/N the DA)

Warnings: Blood, Blood drinking, Descriptions of death, Cursing, Vampires, Actor being a binch, my writing if it can be called that, sadness, my uwu’s

——

“Wake up, Damien.”

His eyes struggled open, unfocused, searching for the source of the voice. A playful hum came from above him and he strained to tilt his head to see a blurred smile leaning far too close to him.

“Ah there you are my friend, I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t come back.” Damien could only blink and try to clear his vision further…but just by the voice he began to realize…

“Mark?” His own voice was hoarse and dry.

A hand brushed dark locks from his face.

“In the flesh.” Another smile, this time showing his friend’s perfect teeth. A smile for the movies he so liked to star in.

He pushed himself up to an elbow, finding he was in fact at home, in his own bed. His mind searched for a reason…Last night, they’d gone drinking hadn’t they? Did Mark have to bring him in here himself? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Dames had gone too far and had to be driven home, but how had Mark dragged him up to his second story bedroom himself?

He looked around, yes he was still in his day clothes, sans his blazer which was usually discarded for a night on the town anyway.

“Wild last night wasn’t it?” Mark stood upright from where he’d leaned over Damien. He’d have answered if he remembered anything about it.

“What exactly happened? I feel…” How did he feel exactly? Drained? Like he’d been hit by a truck? Air hit the back of his throat like fire with every breath. He must be more dehydrated than normal from the alcohol.

Though strangely, he began to realize, he wasn’t hung-over. Achy? Absolutely. Tired? Sure. But no pounding in his head. No beating migraine…no…

“I feel strange.” He said almost to himself.

“You’ll get used to it my friend, why I bet you’ll be right as rain as soon as we get you something to eat.” He stopped to press the little buzzer above the night stand and spoke into the intercom, “Send up the butler will you please, dear?”

It replied with a staticky ‘right away sir’.

Used to it? Mark was acting about as off as Damien felt. He carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat upright. The curtains were drawn, but he could see soft light filtering in from the window around the edges. Yet, somehow that was too bright. He rubbed his face, yes maybe breakfast would help his condition.

“What kept you here?” He didn’t mean for it to be so direct, but his mayorly political filter wasn’t yet functioning, “Surely you’d have liked to go home and rest yourself.”

“Oh I couldn’t leave you like that! Wouldn’t want you or anyone else to get hurt now would we.” Upbeat as ever, and deflecting. Damien had known this man long enough to see through his ever-present façade. He was withholding something. A prank? That was certainly like him, but Dames couldn’t shake the bristly sensation there was something wrong here…

He breathed in to speak again. It burned.

“Come now Mark, what did you do, slip something in my drink?” He mocked a friendly grin, trying to pry a straight answer from his friend. “You can’t pull the wool over my eyes, you’re up to something.” The words felt like sandpaper.

A knock at the door.

“Ah! Come in please,” The actor chimed, again avoiding Dames’ inquiry, “and, close the door behind you, would you?” His tone lowered.

Gabriel, the butler of 2 years came inside a little hesitantly, but did as he was told. “Good morning sirs, how may I be of service?” With a click, the door slid shut behind him.

Before he received a reply, Gabriel’s eyes grew wide and mouth gaped open in a gasp, “Sir! You’re hurt I-“ He’d only just begun to point in Damien’s direction when Mark…well…appeared behind him and clasped his hand over Gabriel’s mouth, silencing him to mumbles and frantic eyes.

“Shhh shh, that’s quite enough my good fellow.” His tone was dangerously sweet in contrast to his actions. “Don’t spoil it for our mayor. Especially not before his meal.”

Their mayor was just barely even processing what was happening. He jumped up to stand, a little unsteady still, but needing to protect his staff from his suddenly deranged friend.

“What the hell are you doing? Let him go this instant!” His hand began to trail up his torso, searching for what Gabe had been trying to tell him. He touched a spot where his shirt collar clung to his neck and shoulder and rubbed off some of the flaky, dry substance.

In horror, he saw it on his hand. Blood.

“What the fuck did you do Mark?” Shock raised his voice an octave. His heart should’ve been in his ears with panic.

And then he saw it. Mark smiled from behind the struggling butler, in that award winning smile grew long and deadly sharp fangs.

“Why, I’m saving you my dear Damien!” His features took on a feral quality. “I’ve found proverbial fountain of youth, as well as much, much more.” He stroked the butler’s cheek and tightened his impossibly strong hold on him.

“When your sister left me I was broken, I couldn’t bear to go on without her. I tried to die my friend, but you see the world had greater plans for me. I have conquered death itself! This is my gift to you friend, we can go on into eternity, it would be so lonesome without my one true good friend by my side. The only one who didn’t betray me.” The last sentence was barely above a growl.

“So drink up! A toast to our eternal youth!” Before Damien could even react, in a single motion, Gabe’s throat was slit open. Thick red oozing blood spilled from the wound. The man’s choked cries were now desperate gargles.

He wanted to run. To yell, scream, hide, do anything except what he was doing. Staring. Blankly staring at the disgustingly…delicious looking fluid now staining the man’s clothes and dripping onto the floor. The air was thick now in that delightful and disturbing scent. He parted his lips to say something, or yell or scream or…taste the life slowly pooling on the floor. Through those parted lips now peeked freshly grown fangs of his very own.

“Ah, that’s it friend! And I must say what a beautiful and terrifying creature you’ll be!”

Damien could only gag in response, his thoughts were disconnected and wild. He managed to slump over to the wall, unwilling to let himself get any closer. Deep in his chest, he knew. He knew that so much as a step in that direction all rational thought would be lost. He would kill Gabriel. He would gorge himself on his lifeblood and become the monster his good friend so wanted him to be.

His eyes darted around the room. Something. He had to do something. The light from behind the drapes had grown in intensity and hurt to look at.

Wait.

Not sparing a moment to consider the consequence, Damien grabbed hold of the curtain and ripped it from the rod above, unleashing daylight on the room.

The fabric fell on Damien, partially shielding him, but not from the piercing cry of the actor.

“How dare you, after all I’ve done for you.” His voice was a hiss. Damien crawled away from the sound, to the farthest corner of the room. Only then was he brave enough to look back.

Mark, or whatever he’d become, had scaled his wall to another dark corner. Skin was draped off of him, leaving large open wounds on his face and arms. He still clutched the butler, now nearly a corpse. Overpowering light drew a barrier between them.

“Well Damien I won’t waste the food I’ve so graciously prepared for you.” His eyes were black and angry as he lifted the body up to his face and proceeded to ravenously feed from the limp Gabriel. The missing flesh on him began to knit itself back together as he ate.

Damien could only watch in horror. And hunger.

The vampire tossed the body aside, landing with a hollow sound on the floor. “No matter Dames, I’ll return for you later.” His face finished patching itself together. “It seems you’re just a little …lost, take your time, you’ll realize soon enough the favor I’ve done you.” He mused and straightened his dress shirt.

And with that, he was just… gone.

Damien huddled into the corner. Emotions wreaking havoc on him. Fear, anger, confusion, betrayal. A friend. A dear friend. A monster. He clenched his fists, noting the dull color his skin had taken on. He made me a monster.

Gabriel’s glossy eyes gazed into nothing. The smell of blood hung like lead in the room still, but it had soured and offered no more temptation for Damien.

Covering himself in the drapes, he worked his way to the intercom.

“Everyone,” He rasped into the speaker, “Please, go home for today. You’re all excused.” He tried to manage normally. Should they think something were wrong…they might be tempted to check on him. To come in here and walk across the barrier of sun, smelling sweet and decadent and and-

He stopped his thoughts and sank back to the floor.

The mayor didn’t know what to do.

—

You thumbed open the front door lock and stepped inside. Good thing Dames had given you that spare key, you knew he wouldn’t mind if you let yourself in. Often you had to -to retrieve important paperwork from his home office.

The rooms were dark and swathed in the last remnant of the evening sun. You switched on the light in the entryway and noted the servants had apparently left early. Odd, but it wasn’t unlike Dames to give them the evening off, he was always kind to his employees.

You wondered why he hadn’t been in the office today, his secretary said there hadn’t been a call from him this morning. She mentioned he had plans with Markus Iplier, the actor, with whom he’s been friends since elementary school, and didn’t really expect to hear from him. Those two really knew how to party, she’d said.

But you were worried, and decided to check in on your old friend and fellow graduate of the same college. You knew how bad he always feels in the morning after a night of festivity, you’d been with him through quite a few in college.

Never mind the fact that you fancied bringing him gifts at work and followed him around the office when he stopped in. You were just friends, and yet your smile never faded when he was present and heart skipped a beat when he offered to take you to dinner last week. 

Just friends.

You ascended the steps up to his office, usually where you found him when he was working late. The mahogany desk was empty.

Dare you poke your nose into his bedroom? Only after giving a few raps on the door first, of course.

“Damien? You in there?” No response. “I stopped by to check on you. Missed you at the office today.” Silence.

It couldn’t hurt to look in, after all it seemed he wasn’t even home.

The door groaned as you opened it. You peered in. The last rays of light sunk below the horizon and left his room in twilit darkness. The room was in disarray, the curtain rod pulled from the wall and in the dim light, something laying on the floor on the other side of the room.

What in the world had happened here? “Dames! Are you okay?”

Movement in the corner by the intercom. “Please…leave.” Barely above a whisper and full of pain. At that you didn’t hesitate to enter.

“Damien!” You swung the door open and began to rush to him, heart beating fast in your throat, was he hurt? Oh god did you need to phone an ambulance? What-

You stopped in your tracks. You were regarded by the corpse on the floor, Gabe’s eyes had clouded over in death. His neck was coated in thick dry blood. You made a choked noise.

“What the-“

-

“Go! Please!” He whipped around, forcing his cracking, dry voice louder. God why you, out of everyone why had you of all people…

By your terrified look, he could only guess the creature you saw in him. He felt the points poke his tongue when he closed his mouth. The sunlight had gone. There was nothing stopping him from crossing the room, irresistible scent guiding him, the pulse in your veins beckoning beckoning just a taste just a taste just a tas-

“Damien…” The way you said his name was so tender, so caring. He loved the sound of your voice. He loved the way you chatted happily to him when you brought him trinkets from gift shops. He loved how you teased him for his mayorly political-isms. The way you softened when he asked you to dinner. He loved your eyes, your hair, your blush, your beating heart your beating heart your beating heart your-

-

What was momentarily your friend, your quiet love, desperately pleading for you to leave, was no more. He stood from his hunched position on the floor, the normally neat and well kept mayor looked disheveled and wild. His dark hair scattered over one eye, jaw slack and eyes sharply focused. Like a predator. Like a monster.

You stepped back, instinctively. You knew your eyes didn’t deceive you when he flashed his teeth. Sharp. Too sharp. 

An animal growl rolled from his lips, a drawn snarl completing the picture your mind had already begun to piece together.

A vampire.

You had not a moment to care about the how when or why of the matter. You were already in his grasp. 

If there was any conflict about his actions you couldn’t see it. Your darling. Your warm sunny day at the seaside, soft whispers in the study long past curfew, the one your heart beat for…was nowhere in the beast that pinned you to the floor with an iron grip.

Your breath was caught. Unable to sob or scream or beg, tears flowed in their stead. He forced your head to the side, exposing your bare neck to his waiting, hungry lips. The lips you had desperately wanted on you for so long, leaving tender trails of kisses, perhaps maybe, in another life.

But not this one. 

His fangs tore into your flesh easily. You found your breath enough for a yelp of pain that echoed through the room. It didn’t stop him, he greedily drank from your punctured artery, you felt drops and rivulets trace your collarbone. He fed from you sloppily, like a starved animal. Licking and biting at the already open wound.

As your vision began to dance and your struggles grew weak, you didn’t find yourself angry. You knew that this wasn’t who he was. Something had happened to him. He wasn’t to blame. You could never be angry with him. Confusion and heartbreak clouded your thoughts as your surroundings slipped into darkness.

-

Damien was narrowly cognizant of what he was doing, but through a thick haze of bloodlust. You were sweet on his tongue, though not in the way he’d ever wished to be tasting you.

He swallowed hungrily, feasting himself on your delectable essence. In the back of his mind he shuddered at how good it felt. Deplorable…yet natural to his new state of being, he could only continue to feed, helpless to override his new instincts and the sensations they rewarded him with.

When his better, more human senses, slowly began to return to him. He wished they hadn’t, for the sight of you, limp and encrusted with gore was simply too much for his stilled heart.

His screams of agony came from between bloodstained lips. He clutched you close and wailed.

“My, my, I see you’ve come to your senses and ate.” Damien’s head snapped up instantly at the voice. Mark was perched neatly on the window sill. “And it’s that lovely little crush of yours, I’m surprised Damien, I thought you’d have better control of yourself.”

Tears still wet on his face, his features contorted into a snarl, hot red rage boiled in his chest. The intensity of the feeling would have scared him at any other moment. But now, staring at the man who betrayed his trust, the monster that caused him to hurt one he loved so dearly…he let it drown him.

“You. Bastard.” Oh how he would’ve hated to hear the venom in his own voice.

Damien made a move to stand. But the actor motioned for him to stay put. For some reason he did so.

“Now, now,” he tutted, as though scolding a child, “I don’t think you’ve realized the picture I’m putting together here, dear sweet Damien.” Mark leaned casually against the window frame, “Your friend there isn’t quite lost to you forever. If you promise to play nice, I’ll tell you how you can bring them back from the brink.” A pointed devil’s smile graced his lips. “Why, I’ll bet they’ll make a wonderful member of the cast.”

His flash of anger evaporated into confusion. The mayor couldn’t think, what should he do? Agree to whatever sick game his former friend was getting at to bring you back…as a vampire too no doubt. He could just say yes now…just long enough to see the life back in your eyes…he knew that you couldn’t possibly forgive him. Just as he will never forgive Mark. But, maybe there would be a way…to live in dignity with this curse…this disease…

He could only hope. Because even the life of a creature such that he now was would only be bearable with you in it.

“Fine then…just tell me.”

A dastardly look. “Good boy.” He brought his wrist to his face and made a biting motion at it, “simply open a vein, you’ll find that your blood can work miracles on the recently drained if you offer some of yours in return.” He stated whimsically.

“I’ll be seeing you Damien,” Mark turned as if to go, then paused to look back, “And, you should leave your hair down like that more, it really gives me the ‘brooding villainous creature of the night’ sort of vibes.” His parting laugh echoed across the room and rattled into Damien’s very core.

He didn’t have time to think about what the hell Mark was blathering about, his only thought was of you.

He did as Mark had said, feeling stupid and selfish and upset that he wanted you back so badly. Biting his own wrist offered very little pain. His own dark colored blood slithered out of the wound, as if the night itself had taken up residence in his arteries.

Drip. Drip. Each drop fell into your mouth, and the burn of his fresh tears rolled down next to them.

Damien cradled your body, waiting in the cold silence. In that silence he vowed, the red burning fury briefly returning, Mark will regret the day he made him immortal. Because he will use every day into eternity to find him and make him feel every ounce of pain he felt here tonight.

That was a promise.

It could’ve been half a decade, or only after a few minutes, the body in his arms stirred.

He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t beg your forgiveness, he couldn’t do anything but give you the truth. Damien could only hope as your eyes opened, reborn in death, that you could somehow understand.

[tales-unique]

QUARANTINE

—Question from Ellie: I just came across your drabbles here and this chapter had me thinking... What if they all got sick at the same time??? I'm imagining them all stuffed into a big bed together so their Human can keep an eye on them like my mom used to do with my brother and I when we were sick. Like would they bicker and fight with each other cause they all feel bad and want their humans attention? I can imagine War and Strife doing something like trying to fight or arm wrestle over their human's attention to the point where Fury tries to kill them both for keeping her up and Death tries to pretend they don't exist until he finally snaps. Poor human would be exhausted trying to reign them in but it sounds hilarious!

Chapter 1

Impossible; it’s the only word that comes to mind when you step into your living room and survey the scene before your eyes. Never before have you had the company of all four of the Riders at once, especially when they are all showing the telltale symptoms of illness.

You’re somewhat thankful that you’ve cashed in your leave days with work because no doubt you will also be sharing in their suffering before long, even though you had been planning to use the time to travel. With a soft huff you dispel your own negativity and return to Strife’s side, where he sits morosely on the floor with his back propped up against the back of your couch. It seems Fury’s outed him from his earlier place on it, content to lounge there like a house cat. You snort at the notion, finding it rather fitting in its irony, before passing Strife yet another blanket to try and calm his chills. “Thanks,” he talks weakly and it still startles you that he sounds so nasally and frail. If anyone had told you that the Horsemen were susceptible to illness you would have straight up called them a liar, but now? Now, not so much. With a small smile you gentle pat his covered arm, glad that you’re able to help at least one of them. Strife is the most Human out of all of them, it would seem, at least when it came to being ill. He whined and struggled, fought against the symptoms, while his brethren simply endured. “Oh, cease your whimpering, Strife! It’s infuriating!” Fury hisses from her spot, coiling up like a snake about to strike. You frown, moving around to the front of the couch so that you can see her properly. She has her fingertips pressed against her temples and her eyes are closed, face taut with pain and annoyance. A headache? No, more a migraine you surmise with a thoughtful hum. “Did you take those tablets I gave you, Fury?” You try to be as quiet, soft, as you can, but she still grimaces when you talk, muttering a small ‘no’ and it’s then you notice the two little white capsules on the side table next to the glass of water you set there a good while ago. Huffing in frustration you turn to the only source of help you’ve had during this whole escapade; Death. The eldest of the Riders sits in the corner of the room on an old recliner chair, silent as the grave as he too battles his own illness. Surprisingly he’s still very resilient and has helped you with the task of caring for his kin. Though, when he speaks there’s a hoarseness to his voice that betrays his own illness and you frown when he utters a small cough when he catches your gaze. Raising a hand dismissively towards Fury, he forces a small chuckle. “Leave her, she cares little for human medicines,” he states, causing you to nod slowly; you’d known this, of course, but she seemed so in pain that you had to try at least. “I gave her a tincture while you were tending to Strife,” he continues, voice tired and irritable, as though merely talking aggravates him, “give it time to work and she’ll be more tolerable.” “I don’t want her tolerable, I want her better,” you frown again, sparing a glance at the others before looking back to him, “I want you all to get better, it sucks seeing you all so... miserable.” It was the truth; seeing them all so low had brought your own mood down considerably, but you were making the best of the situation by helping as much as your mortality could allow. You had let War sequester himself in your spare room with your classic book collection, you gave into Strife’s every whim despite yourself, and for Fury you had turned on that awful incense plug-in she seemed so fascinated with, the one an old friend brought for you and insisted that you use, forcing the room to smell like an old church. The only one you were unable to find something to help for was Death. He had no mortal trinket that he enjoyed that you knew of and, unlike his middle brother, didn’t actively strive for your attention; he simply required your company, in passing, and watching you tend to his siblings seemed to soothe him in its own way. “We’ll be fine, now stop your worrying and go about your business,” Death reprimanded lowly, though his voice didn’t seem to hold the same conviction as it normally would have. You’re unsure whether it’s because he’s sick or if it’s his small fondness for you showing through. Either way you offer him a small smile and nod, noticing briefly as his gaze seems to soften a fraction and the corners of his eyes crinkle in what you assume is a smile. It wasn’t so difficult to go about as your normally would as it was to do so with the company you kept there. Strife is, by far, the worst for it. He tugs at the hem of your dressing gown to get you to look at him and clamps his hands around your ankle so you stumble and he can catch you, all so he can hold you close to his feverish form. Once you’re caught he makes a show of keeping you there in his lap, even as you pout and try to wiggle free. “Strife,” you try scold him but you can’t help the laugh that spills forth as he holds you as if you were a cat nestled in his lap, “I have things to do, you heard Death, let me go about my business!” “Can’t do that, little one,” he hums lowly, sniffling despite his best intentions. He still has that damn helmet on even though you’ve told him dozens of times to take it off, but you know that there’s a fond look on his concealed face from the way his voice dips and his hands clutch at you a little tighter. “Come on, Strife,” you try to be softer, hoping you can appeal to some higher nature in him, “I need to go check on War, too, y’know.” For a second you think he’s actually considering letting you go but such hopes are dashed by his stubbornness to share; a trait he seems to only show so openly when ill. His grip tightens and you let out a frustrated growl. “Strife!” You whine in frustration, but your own annoyance is cut short when a shadow is cast over the two of you, and you both quickly look up to see the angered self of Fury looming over you from the couch. It’s clear your shenanigans have disturbed her and you feel somewhat better knowing that you’re still in Strife’s grasp, aiming to use it as a means to protect yourself from her wrath. “Strife,” she hisses lowly, fingers digging into the fabric of the couch so tightly that you distantly fear she’ll rip it, “let her go, this instant!” The Horseman’s eyes glare vibrantly at her sibling and after a momentary glare-off between the pair he reluctantly loosens his hold on you, grumbling under his breath as he does so. You quickly scramble to your feet, straightening your pajamas and dressing gown accordingly. While he sulks you use the time to check on War, carefully treading to your spare room where the behemoth currently dwelled. Peeking your head inside you spot War easily, his large back facing you from where he sits on the bed in relative peace, save for the occasional sniffle. He’s the only one apart from Death that is manageable and actually allows you to help, though he seems perplexed when you offer him a steaming cup of tea or something similar. The thought makes you giggle; human remedies have little effect on the Horseman, but it’s the thought that counts and he seems more than happy to let you be happy while you help. The sound of your laughter catches his attention and he turns slightly to acknowledge you, you face softening as you notice the slight redness to his cheeks. Unlike Strife he has shed his obstructive armour without much fuss and was dressed in simple underclothes, and yet he still smouldered to the touch. Your smiles melts into a troubled frown when you come to touch a gentle hand to his forehead, watching his brow crease once more at your actions. “You’re so warm,” you whine, feeling defeated. Nothing you were doing was helping, not that he seemed particularly bothered by the troublesome cold he had. “It’s nothing to be so concerned with,” he breathes out, simply watching you as you scowl. Even now he’s the least talkative of them all and this saddens you because he’s ( secretly ) your favourite. Despite being the youngest, and having a temper, you find him the easiest to open up to and the least judgmental, at least in your opinion. Humming lowly you settle at his side on the bed, pulling your legs up to your chest to wrap your arms around them as you take a moment to simply breathe, and he's more than willing to allow you the peace and quiet. Of course, after barely five minutes has passed you hear movement and, realizing you had dozed off with your head awkwardly leaning on your knees, look up to spot Strife pushing the door open ungraciously, his helmet now removed so his golden eyes can narrow suspiciously upon you and his younger brother. "Strife—" Before you can even begin your protest the Horseman steps forward, reaching out to scoop you up into his arms, and takes you away with him to your living room. Shocked by his clear disregard for the situation you simply blink owlishly up at him, grunting at the force in which he then flops down upon your sofa, blatantly ignoring Fury's hiss, which sounds like a tired, angry cat, as he disturbs her from yet another restless snooze. Even Death's attention is caught as he watches his younger brother lie back, his legs dangerously dangling over Fury's curled up form, holding you to him like a child would clutch at their favourite stuffed toy. When you're finally free of the fabric of his scarf and have maneuvered into a more comfortable position you let out a huffing breath, realizing that there is no escape and that this is where you'll likely spend the rest of your day, at the very least. "Strife?" You sigh, now laying with your back against his chest, head resting back into the crook of his neck. It's not that comfortable, but it's better than being scrunched up in his grasp. "Mhm?" He hums, as innocent as the cat that ate the Canary. "You're a brat," you huff, rolling your eyes when he simply chuckles at you. Feeling his arms tighten around your waist as he lays there with you, absent-mindedly playing with the ties of your dressing gown, almost distracts you from the feeling of hands touching your legs. At the sudden realization you jump, legs twitching, while your head shoots up to look at what had you in its grasp. Fury. She looks oddly enchanting with her floating hair looking bigger, messier, than usual and her eyes are somewhat drowsy and unfocused. You calm despite the wicked snarl on her lips, knowing that she would have already unleashed her wrath if there was any to be had, but it seems that Death's tonic is working and she's much more tolerant of the intrusion. In fact, she seems to almost welcome it as she uses her grip on your legs as a means to pull herself up the lengths of your body until she's practically on top of you. Her body weight forces a whine to come from your lips and it prompts her to ease off to the side, slapping Strife's hands away so that she can hold you close instead, busying herself with taking in the scent of your hair; she enjoys the scent of your bed head almost as much as that plug-in you loathe. You blink owlishly between the pair, feeling yourself begin to burn up from the heat that resonates from them both as they clamor at each side, subconsciously fighting for your attention even as the lull of sleep tugs at them. Awkwardly you try to shimmy out of your dressing gown , but only succeed in getting your arms free before Fury has you trapped again, enjoying the feel of your skin against her own. Like War, Fury has also traded in her armour for something less restrictive. However she decided to steal one of your oversized t-shirts and an old pair of shorts that barely fit her rather than simply dress down. It’s a better choice, at least. A low grumble soon catches your attention as you, again, attempt to wrangle free from your own clothes, causing you to pause and look up, directly into the almost glowing gaze of War. It’s clear from his face that he’s irritated from Strife’s behaviour and at being disturbed, and you offer him a sympathetic smile from where you lay. The youngest Horseman spares a glance to his eldest sibling, who has been watching the commotion from his seat with a smirk upon his face, hidden behind the impassive expression of his bone mask, before he circles around the couch. His intention is clear, he wants in on the cuddle-the-human pile, but there’s barely any room since your couch is small and is already overcrowded between Strife and Fury already, nevermind you being there too. No, this will not stand. With a determined expression you wriggle free, or at least as much as the grumbling Horsemen would allow, so that you can try and make room for War. It takes effort to convince Fury to tuck in her legs and even more to convince Strife to move about so that the behemoth can join you all, and by the time you’re done your cheeks are flushed and you heave a sigh of relief for now you all fit, sort of, on the couch and you are pleasantly nestled, finally free of your dressing gown altogether, in the middle of it all. “Finally,” you groan, feeling tired from the dizzying heat that now encased you. As your eyelids grow heavy you spread out much like a cat, briefly looking over the three contented Horsemen and realizing that this is the closest you’ve ever seen them all together. Save for Death, that is. “Death,” you call softly, tilting your head to look at the eldest Horseman, who is still settled in the same place he had been since arriving at your home that day, your slender hand reaching out to him, “come over here.” You wiggle your fingers, motioning for him to come over. He always seems on the outside, or at least to you he does, so you want this time to be different. He raises an eyebrow from behind his mask and eyes you curiously, flicking his amber gaze between the soft yet wistful expression on your face and your outstretched arm before sighing deeply in defeat. Your smile falters at the weariness in his pace as he comes over to you but it’s reignited anew when your feel the cool digits of his fingers cover your own, enjoying the warmth that spreads from them as he settles down onto the floor. He sits there with his back pressed against the base of the couch, one leg stretched out before him while he uses the other to lean his arm upon, head leaning back to rest against the well placed cushion you gave him, a low rumble escaping him at the feeling of your fingers drifting through his hair. For once his hair is soft and clean, no doubt he used your shower while you were out getting medicines for them all, and it makes you feel at peace as your stroke through the locks. You breath a gentle sigh of contentment and your ministrations slow, no longer as deliberate, as you too finally succumb to the tendrils of sleep, joining the Four Horsemen for a well earned rest.

[randomfandomimagine]

Losing Your Memory (Merlin x Reader)

Character: Merlin

Fandom: BBC Merlin

Categories: Reader Insert, Female!Reader, Angst, Memory Loss

Title: Losing Your Memory

  Requested by @milleniumxhan:

Could u do a bbc merlin x reader one shot fic thing where Morgana captures you and puts a spell on you and you loose your memory and then she sends you back to Camelot and Merlin finds you but u don’t remember him (you two were hella close) and it’s rlly angsty and he tries everything to get you back and eventually does with an antidote or smthg. Thanks!

A/N: I know you requested this forever ago, I’m so sorry! TOT I’m really terrible with writing imagines quickly. but I hope it was worth it and that you love it :)

When Merlin lovingly pecked her cheek, she felt herself blushing. He giggled because of the effect such a simple kiss had on her and they smiled softly at each other.

“Merlin!” Arthur complained, definitely having witnessed that innocent interaction.

“Sorry, sire” The young man replied, still lovingly watching her.

Merlin then jumped off his horse and offered his hand for her to help her do the same. Hand in hand, they stood close to one another as soon as she stepped on firm ground.

“Remind me once more why it was necessary for Y/N to come” The prince rested his hand on his sword as his eyes scoured the forest.

“Well, you sire are the brawn. Merlin is our mag-“ The aforementioned stared at her in shock, though she corrected herself in time. “Magnificent compass, and I am the brains!”

Merlin chuckled in relief, partly amused by her carefree attitude. Arthur glared at them, not amused by their corny attitude. Nonetheless, he tilted his head to the side in consideration.

“Three heads certainly think better than two” He sighed, already leading the way. “As do three pair of eyes see better”

“Precisely, my lord” Y/N replied with a smile, not letting go of her boyfriend’s hand as she followed after Arthur.

“Or perhaps I can’t stay away from her” Merlin grinned, making her giggle.

“Very well” Arthur briefly looked over his shoulder to them. “But do not kiss, I will charge you with treason”

His two friends laughed at his comment, still diligently navigating the forest in search for what they had come for.

“What are we doing here again, sire?”

“Investigating”

“See, Y/N, Arthur heard there were traces of magic in the castle close by”

“Oh, I see”

Exchanging a grave glance with Merlin, she thought back to him. To his secret, to the fact that he was accompanying Arthur to hunt the very thing Merlin himself was. But also about the source of that very magic in the castle. There was a slight possibility that it was druid in origin, but something told her that it was not the case. A nasty churning in her stomach told her that it was Morgana.

“Y/N?” Merlin called her, noticing she had stopped walking.

The young woman felt something strange, something she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Seeing the confusion and worry in his blue eyes, she realized his magic wasn’t grasping it.

She opened her mouth to speak, though a noise that only she seemed to hear caught her attention. Looking ahead, Y/N realized Arthur had stopped too.

“Is something the matter?” The prince asked her, intently peering at her.

“I… Go on without me” She reluctantly let go of Merlin’s hand. “I want to check something”

“What is it?” Merlin insisted, frowning at her.

“It is not important” Y/N dedicated him an eloquent look, hoping he understood it was magic related. “I wouldn’t want to slow you down”

“I don’t think it wise to split up” Arthur shook his head, yet his eyes remained attentive as they darted around the forest.

“Arthur is right, Y/N” Despite seeming to understand her motives, Merlin did not give up.

“It will be just one moment, I will be alright” She smiled at them. “Trust me”

The prince gave a resigned sigh, waiting for his servant to speak up.

“Don’t take too long” The latter told her, earning a head nod from her.

While Merlin and Arthur carried on with their path, Y/N walked the opposite way to investigate that strange magic that seemed to lure her and her alone.

There was an unusual silence in the forest, broken only by the distant sound of the two men’s voices. Y/N’s boots were loud against the dry leaves that covered the earthy floor. As her friends walked away, she could only hear her own breathing now. There was no wind, no birds, no nothing.

That harrowing feeling took over Y/N again as another sound came not too far away from her. She turned around to where it originated from and yelped at the unexpected sight.

However, any sounds got stuck in her throat as a figure held a hand up to silence her, her green eyes shining with a magical golden grow. Morgana smirked at Y/N.

“That was easier than I thought” Still not breaking the spell, she took ahold of her prey’s arm. “Perhaps you can help me, Y/N”

“M-Merlin…” She tried to call him out, although it came lower than a whisper.

“Yes, Merlin” There was an eerie hint to Morgana’s grin. “You will help me make him suffer”

*

Merlin kept nibbling at his fingernails, pacing up and down the chamber as two pair of eyes idly followed all his movements.

“Relax, Merlin” Arthur told him, leaning on a table filled with books. “I am sure Y/N is alright, my knights will find her”

“No” The other replied, not even looking at the prince. “It’s been too long, I knew we shouldn’t have let her go on her own”

Gaius sighed, knowing him to feel guilty. Knowing that the very reason he did was because she was protecting someone innocent that might have suffered Arthur’s punishment for possessing magic. Someone that very well could have been Merlin under other circumstances.

“It is not your fault, Merlin” Gaius felt the need to say, although it was not the first time he uttered those words to him that afternoon.

“It is my fault” The boy stopped walking, watching the physician with teary eyes. “Now she’s lost and alone in that forest, and if something happens to her…”

“Nothing will happen to her” Arthur seemed confident in his belief. “Y/N is smart and brave, I know she will be alright”

Merlin watched his friend, truly hoping he was right, but he had a very bad feeling. The dreadful silence that established in the room only worsened his anxiety.

“What if she’s not?” He spoke up, needing to voice his unease. “What if she doesn’t come back? I couldn’t stand it if she…”

“They will find her” Arthur repeated, needing to interrupt Merlin’s dark thoughts. “And if they don’t, I personally will go look for her and bring her back”

Merlin nodded, grateful for his concern. He knew Arthur cared about Y/N too, but not nearly as much as Merlin did. For him, Y/N wasn’t only his girlfriend. She was a friend, she was a kind soul, she was his beacon, his anchor, his everything.

The room was filled with a heavy silence once more. The three men were too busy lost in their own heads to say anything further. There wasn’t much left to say other than small lies to keep each other hopeful.

A knock suddenly came to the door, causing the three of them to look up to each other and then to the closed door. Arthur lifted one finger, heading for the door.

He swung it open, feeling Gaius and Merlin looking over his shoulders, to reveal a figure standing there. When the person wobbled, the prince was quick to hold her up.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed, wrapping an arm around her to keep her upright. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yes” She replied breathlessly. “But I’m... exhausted...”

“Y/N” Merlin ran to her side, aiding Arthur in bringing her inside. “What happened?!”

He frantically looked her up and down, searching for any signs of injury. Luckily, he found none. Yet that didn’t completely ease his worry.

“I-I don’t know, I…” Y/N shut her eyes tight, seemingly dazed and confused. “I… Was alone in a forest so I… Tried to find my way back”

Between Arthur and Merlin, holding one of her arms each, they helped her sit down on a stool. She heaved a sigh, blinking repeatedly as she rummaged through her memories trying to make sense out of it all.

“I’m glad you’re back in one piece, Y/N” Arthur rested a hand on her shoulder, causing her to look up at him. “I will tell the knights”

“Thank you” Merlin told his friend as he left their chambers.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Gaius asked her, concerned about her state.

“I… Don’t know…” Y/N drove a hand to her head as it boiled with thoughts and gave her a migraine.

“Did you hit your head?” Merlin rested a hand there too, gingerly palpating and looking for any visible bumps.

“Perhaps?” Tiredly, she leaned her head against Merlin’s stomach.

“It would explain the disorientation” The old man held one finger up. “I will take a look at you”

“Do you remember anything at all?” Merlin inquired, holding her hand while Gaius gathered a few items he needed.

“No, I… We were leaving Camelot for the forest” She looked up into his worried blue eyes. “Arthur, you and I”

“Nothing after that?”

“Not really…”

“What happened before you parted ways, Merlin?”

“She insisted on checking something, we never knew what”

“Something to have to do with magic, perhaps?”

“Magic…” She repeated, confused by their conversation. “Yes…”

“Did you remember something?” Merlin asked, absently watching Gaius get closer once more. “About magic?”

“No, I…” She paused for a moment as the physician took her chin and lifted it up to take a good look at her. “Just a feeling… Dark magic?”

Gaius stopped, exchanging a preoccupied glance with the boy. Morgana.

“Don’t worry, Y/N” Merlin picked a leaf out of her hair, which must have tangled there during her forest wandering. “We will look after you”

*

Now that Y/N wasn’t there to witness it, Merlin felt the need to properly vent his anxiety. He paced up and down the chambers, until Gaius exited the room and approached him.

“Is she alright?” The young man asked him. “Can I stay with her?”

“I would say she is in shock still” The older man replied. “She needs to rest, but I do think you should stay with her”

“What do you mean, is something wrong with her?”

“Y/N seems… disoriented still, even though there are no signs of head trauma”

“That is to be expected… Isn’t it, Gaius?”

“Yes, but, Merlin” The physician paused. “She couldn’t remember my name”

Merlin gulped, having a very nasty feeling. If Morgana was indeed behind all that, she probably did something to Y/N. And it couldn’t be good at all.

As that bad feeling spread within him, Merlin hurried to visit her in the room. He stopped at the threshold, merely observing her and searching for any worrisome signs. She took a few seconds, but smiled at him.

“Hey” He sighed in relief, seeing as her hazy memory seemed in order so far. “How are you feeling?”

“Still a bit tired, I suppose” Y/N shrugged, although that carefree gesture didn’t ease his unease in the slightest.

“Can I do something to help?” He said, sitting at the edge of the bed she was lying in. “A bit of magic, perhaps?”

Y/N laughed, taking his hand and squeezing it fondly.

“I know you’re worried, Merlin, but you don’t have to treat me like a child”

“Like a child? I don’t understand” He frowned, noticing a distant hint in her otherwise kind and warm eyes.

“Magic?” She repeated, tilting her head to the side. “Truly, there is no need for such childish horseplay”

Merlin took several seconds to reply, completely astonished as he was. His lips moved yet didn’t utter any sounds. He tried again, watching her closely in the hopes that she was perhaps joking. She didn’t seem to be.

“You know what I meant” He urgently placed his free hand atop hers. “My magic…”

Y/N frowned, noticing the serious hint to his expression. A dreadful silence established in the room, internally filled with Merlin’s heart pounding in his chest.

“What are you talking about, Merlin?”

“You don’t remember my…” He couldn’t quite finish the sentence, heartbroken as he was. “Gaius!!”

The elder man quickly made his way into the room, alarmed by Merlin’s urgent call. The two men exchanged a glance, and Merlin quickly stood to his feet.

“She… She can’t remember I have magic, she wouldn’t just forget” He explained in a rush, wildly gesticulating as his thoughts raced.

“It must be Morgana’s doing” Gaius pensively said. “It only makes sense, after Y/N separated from you and felt dark magic in the air”

Barely understanding the conversation that developed in front of her, Y/N lied down on her side and closed her eyes in an attempt to get some deserved rest to also calm her headache.

“You don’t understand, Gaius” When the aforementioned peered at his protégé, he noticed his blue eyes had turned watery. “She was the only person other than you to know I have magic, I can’t lose that”

“Merlin…”

“And… Why would Morgana do such a thing to her?! Y/N is far too kind to ever wrong anybody!”

“Merlin, don’t you see?” Gaius interrupted him, putting a stop to his friend’s panic. “She didn’t do that only to her, but to you too”

The young warlock frowned, although the realization of what those words meant hit him quite quickly. Of course it wasn’t about hurting Y/N, it was about hurting him. As per usual, Morgana used innocent people to punish him and Arthur.

“What will happen to her now, Gaius?” He asked him, desperate to fix it.

“I can’t quite tell” The elder man sighed tiredly. “For all I know, she could lose her memory completely!”

Merlin felt weak just with imagining a world where Y/N wouldn’t remember him. Where he couldn’t spend every second of his life with her, be close to her. It was painful enough that she didn’t remember his magic, that greatly heavy secret that he kept not only from Arthur, but from many other people he cared about.

The fact that Y/N used to know his secret was incredibly liberating. It made him feel normal because he earned her love despite the entire world, including the prince he admired so much, telling him that there was something wrong with him. In spite of it all, Y/N deeply loved him and accepted him. She accepted not only the simple servant everyone saw in him, but also the powerful wizard he truly was. She accepted him exactly like she was, because she loved him. And now Merlin was going to lose all of that, and he couldn’t stand it.

“She won’t remember…” He meant to continue talking, but his voice broke.

“I-I wish I could help, Merlin, certainly” Gaius frowned, desolated. “Though I had never seen such magic before, I don’t know how to cure her”

Merlin bit on his bottom lip, fighting the sobs that threatened to make home in his throat. He shook his head and ran outside of the room, even if his legs felt shaky and unstable.

Gaius followed him, watching how he desperately went through the many books in their chambers in search for a solution.

“I will not let her forget” Merlin was saying as he urgently placed a book on the table and ugently flipped through its pages. “I will fix this, whatever it takes”

*

Hours passed, though nothing had changed.

Arthur paid them a visit, concerned at the sight of a frantic Merlin and a resigned Gaius. The elder man told to him about Morgana’s involvement, explaining that he had no knowledge of any medicine that could restore Y/N’s memory, or stop the dark magic spreading through her.

Merlin didn’t pay any attention to the prince, as he was too busy reading still. The medicine books seemed of no use, and so he turned to the magic books instead. It only made sense, to fight magic with magic.

The silent felt deadly loud as only the sound of paper rustling filled the room. After several more minutes, long after Arthur was gone, Merlin heaved a big sigh and looked up from the pages.

“I think I’ve got it” He smiled for the first time in hours.

Rushing back to reunite with Y/N, Merlin handed Gaius the book. The physician eyed it, searching for the page the young man had been reading. When he found it, he vehemently shook his head and dropped the book.

“Merlin!” He gravely called. “You can’t do that, it would-“

“Gaius” Merlin gasped, standing over Y/N’s bed. “Was she so pale before?”

“I’m afraid not” He positioned himself next to the young man. “But Merlin, you can’t use that spell, it is too powerful! It may kill you”

Completely ignoring his words, Merlin leaned closer to Y/N and lovingly caressed her hair. Such contact awoke her, and her eyes met with his as soon as she opened them.

Y/N gasped, inching away from his touch. This gesture worried the two men, as they quickly locked eyes and eloquently frowned.

“Where am I?” She demanded to know. “What happened?”

“Y/N…” Merlin began, but she shook her head at him.

“How do you know my name?!” She quickly sat up, ready to run away.

Both Merlin and Gaius stopped her, taking ahold of her arms even as she wiggled in their grasp.

“What is happening?” The young woman struggled against them.

“I must do it, Gaius!” Merlin sobbed, holding a hand up. “I need to”

“Merlin, don’t” The physician practically begged. “It will kill you”

“Who are you?!” Y/N continued, now screaming. “Let me go!! Help!!”

“I can’t lose her” Tears were streaming down Merlin’s cheeks as he put his hand against her forehead. “I just can’t”

“No!” Gaius wanted to do something to stop him, but knew he couldn’t. He also needed to hold on to Y/N in fear that she might hurt them or herself.

Merlin closed his eyes in concentration as more tears filled his eyes, and murmured the spell under his breath. He never stopped crying, Y/N’s calls for help only fueling his weeping further, even as the magic slowly drained him from his energy.

The spell slowly became louder in Merlin’s mouth. Sweat filled his face as he strained, closing his eyes tighter. He stopped being able to also restrain Y/N from her thrashing, and so Gaius needed to hold her with both hands.

As Merlin finished the spell, exclaiming the last few words, the chaos immediately died down. Gaius gasped in apprehension.

Y/N fell limply against the mattress, once again lying down. As did Merlin, who fell onto the ground with a thud when all his strength left him completely.

“Merlin!” Gaius let go of her and immediately went to his aid. “Merlin, you reckless fool!”

The young man lied on the floor, rendered immobile and with his eyes closed. The only telltale that he was holding on to life was the barely noticeable rise and fall of his chest.

“Are you alright?! Merlin!!” Gaius shook his shoulder. “Answer me, boy!”

Exhausted, the young man managed to open his eyes ever so slightly. He began breathing heavily, but had no energy to even sit up. He peered at Gaius, barely able to stay conscious.

“I’m alright…” He whispered, having a difficulty with keeping his eyes open. “Y/N…”

“You’re shaking” Gaius pointed out, pushing him into a sitting position.

The elder man briefly left to gather a blanket, while Merlin shifted on his knees to approach Y/N. He lingered there, kneeling by her bed as he watched her in anguish. He barely noticed Gaius when he put the blanket over his shoulder.

“Gaius, please…” Merlin sobbed, even as his head tiredly leant on the bed. “Is she alright?”

Thousands of thoughts passed through his head, all bad. Did his magic work? Had it improved her state? Could she remember now? Or on the other hand… had he made everything worse? Was she healthy after his healing? Did it hurt her somehow? Could her fragile body endure such powerful magic?

Merlin felt weak and helpless as he anxiously observed Gaius. The physician attentively watched her, checking her vitals and attempting to wake her.

When her eyes slowly fluttered, so did Merlin’s heart. She parted her eyelids, moving to look at Gaius towering over her.

“What…?” She uttered in confusion, grimacing slightly at the sudden feeling of weakness and unwell. “Ga…Gaius?”

The man smiled slightly, cautious about the resolution. Y/N then shifted to the other presence in the room, as her head leaned to the other side to Merlin.

His face, covered in tears, earned a frown from her. He, on the meantime, waited in despair, attentive of her following words.

“Merlin!” She uttered, feebly lifting a hand to his cheek. “Why are you crying?”

Although a few more tears cascaded down his face, he breathed out and smiled bigger than he had in a while. He was still shaking from head to toe, but his heart slowed down at last.

“You remember me” He whispered, not wanting to build his hopes up. “And my magic?”

“Of course! And your magic as well, certainly” Y/N stuttered, taken aback by such strange event. “It is one of the many things that make you so special!”

Merlin continued crying, now of happiness, as his trembling hands held hers. His shoulders convulsed with silent sobs as he pressingly kissed her knuckles.

“Are you feeling alright, Y/N?” Gaius wanted to make sure.

“I… I suppose, although it feels like I haven’t slept in weeks” She breathed out, needing to catch her breath before she continued speaking. “What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter” Merlin wobbled as he stood to his feet, having Gaius to rush by his side to support him. “You’re alright now, that’s what’s important”

“You need to rest” Gaius almost scolded him. “That was a reckless effort”

“But it worked” He weakly smiled, only standing thanks to his friend’s support.

“Dear lord, Merlin” Y/N scooted to make room for him on the bed. “Lie down, you look like you’re about to faint!”

The aforesaid nodded, allowing Gaius to help him lie down by her side. As soon as he did, Merlin wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly against him.

“I will leave you two to rest now” Gaius smiled, endeared by the sight, and certainly happy that it all ended well. “It seems as though you need it”

“Thank you, Gaius” Y/N replied, her voice kind as usual even if clearly exhausted.

As soon as he left, closing the door behind him, Merlin shoved his face on her hair. He lingered there for several seconds while he calmed down.

“Merlin, dear” She called him, tugging at his hand in a silent inquire for him to look at her. “Did you save my life? It feels like you saved me”

Through half-lidded eyes, he nodded at her. That weak smile never left his lips.

“I did, I had to” He exhaled, closing his eyes to rest them. “I used my magic”

“Good lord” Gingerly, she caressed his hair to comfort him as he was clearly still mildly distraught. “You shouldn’t have! Gaius was right, it was reckless and you could have died”

“It was worth it” He said, smiling wider when Y/N rested her head on his chest. “It was worth it for you, Y/N”

She nuzzled his neck, feeling grateful to have him in her life. Then, she held his hand and intertwined his fingers with hers.

That way, the both of them quickly fell asleep. It had been truly frightening, but Merlin and Y/N had a happy ending.

Tag list: (BBC Merlin) @of-stardust-and-dreams, @caswinchester2000 (Merlin) @snowfire71 // If you want me to add you or take you off the tag list, go ahead and tell me!  

[blehbleehhhh]

Is This Love? ft. Eremika<3

Hello, my fine furry friends. I’m back with what I reallllllly hope makes up for being gone. If you’ve ever gotten a migraine, have POTS or EDS, or you’re a spoonie, whatever, you understand why more than most people. When I’m symptomatic, it’s harder to think straight, and it’s so fucking annoying :c Anyway, enjoy a piece inspired by this classic love song by Whitesnake. Ugh, love them! (But mostly Eremika 😍) Also, YES, you can still submit suggestions. I’m always looking for new ideas!! You can private message me as well, I’ve had a few people reach out that way, but do feel free to reach out this way, too. ❤️ Thank you for being understanding! Alright, lets do this, it’s a long one!

In racing thoughts she demands his attention at all hours of the day no matter what Eren is doing, or who he may be with at the time, there's no stopping them now that he's begun to question how he feels about Mikasa, so he can't push her out of his head even if he wanted to. Who the hell am I kidding? I've been aware of these feelings for years now. I don't know if I can fight it anymore. He tossed his dog's tennis ball in the air and quickly caught it in one hand with a long, drawn out sigh, thinking about how wonderful it would be to turn his chair around and see the most beautiful woman in the world laying in his bed, even if she's just sleeping. I'd give anything to hold her right now. There's gotta be more to this than I'm aware of because why else would I be thinking and dreaming about her? Mikasa has been out of town with her family for almost a month and, though she's gone on vacation for week every summer for as long as he can recall, the young man quickly found himself to be missing her a lot more than usual because the pair has never really been apart longer than a week or two at a time. However, since it's senior year, her parents decided to let their daughter choose a destination instead of a default visit to see family, and even extended the duration of their trip as well. Their flight home from Japan landed over an hour ago and all Eren can think about is calling her to see if it would be okay to drop in since he's much too impatient to wait until Monday morning. With a quick glance over his desk he reached for his phone and dialed her number knowing that, even at 12:30 am, she would still be awake from her pesky insomnia.

"Eren? Are you okay? What is it?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Can I come over?" He asked, giving the tennis ball another toss up into the air to catch it as he maneuvered himself to stand from his chair.

"Why?"

"I just need to see you."

"Oh! Well, alright -"

"I'll be there in a few minutes."

"But, Eren, I don't understand -"

"Just wait up for me, okay? Give me ten minutes."

Mikasa was sitting at her desk with a sketch book when he arrived, looking focused and determined with whatever she's drawing. Through the window, he can hear Aerosmith's Angel as he quietly observed the familiar and ridiculously sexy way she's pushing her fingers through the sheet of black satin that insists on falling across her beautiful face. God, she's fucking gorgeous. Eren lightly tapped on her window with his knuckles, and immediately felt his knees grow weak when she looked up from her sketch book, not even positive whether it's that pearly smile, the finger she's giving in request for a second more, or the sight of her bare, long legs as she rose out of her chair, flipping her hair over to put it in a messy bun that's throwing him off it’s so cute. She caught the perfect glimpse of Eren standing at her bedroom window when she came back up and, little did he know, his grin and the way he stands with his hands tucked deep in his pockets, the subtle waves of his shaggy, chocolate brown hair all make her weak at the knees, and always have for as long as she can remember. The elastic snapped in place to secure her hair as she pressed her hands against the window to push it open it for him, practically bouncing on her feet from excitement. "Oh my god, Eren!" Mikasa grinned, throwing her arms around his neck as she suddenly jumped to catch his waist between her legs and rested her cheek on his shoulder, stomach fluttering from the sound of his quiet chuckle and the feeling of his arms tightly wrapped around her petite frame as they stumbled back a step together. "I can't believe this! Why are you here?"

Well, this certainly hasn't happened before.

"I, uh," Eren smiled as she pulled back to look into his eyes and carefully helped her slide down onto her feet, anxiously resting a hand on the back of his neck. "I missed you a lot and I didn't wanna wait until Monday morning to see you." Her cheeks immediately blushed a light shade of pink as she bit her lip to disguise the automatic smile, timidly crossing her arms on her chest to rub her own shoulders.

"Really?"

"Mikasa," He cleared his throat from nerves, fighting the urge to grab that pretty little face and kiss her, his eyes flickering from those stormy grays to a pair of baby pink tulip lips. "There's something that I need to tell you."

"Sure, what is it?"

"I'm in love with you," Eren smiled as he carefully took her face in hands when her mouth fell open to express shock, listening to the wonderful sound of her giggle while she reached her hands up to carefully grab onto his wrists. Their faces slowly grew closer, allowing them the ability to lightly rub the tips of their noses together. "I’m crazy about you." With a large grin, she slid her nose alongside his just like she’s always dreamed of doing, squeezing her hands around his wrists.

"Say what now?"

"Did I fucking stutter? I said -" He smirked as she let out a soft giggle, carefully studying each other's eyes. "I'm in love with you, I think you're beautiful, and I think you’re sexy as hell."

"Wow..."

"Wow?"

"I-I just," Mikasa smiled as he lightly stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. "Do you have any idea how crazy -" But he couldn't take it anymore and crashed his lips against hers, neither of them giving a single damn about the brief bout of sloppy, inexperienced kisses. After tonight, there will be no more repressed feelings and occasionally pissing each other off from the sexual tension, just two new lovers falling into bed together for the first time. She happily lay beneath him as her hands slowly roaming his back, trapping him between her legs and kissing him like he was her only source for air, just as desperately as the way that they're being returned. Her fingers sunk into his hair as he slid his hands beneath her baggy night shirt until they were resting on top of her toned stomach, so smooth, soft and warm. How could he have been so dense not to notice how blatant her flags were, despite being waved directly in front of his face? This woman has always harbored these same feelings for him, but he was so ignorant to how she felt that he had missed all of them until recently and intends to make it up to her no matter how long it takes, and he'll prove such motivations tonight. Slowly, he pulled his lips away and pushed her shirt up to expose a pair of perky, braless breasts, watching those expressive eyes as he leaned down to drag his tongue on one of her hardened nipples. She sighed happily as she slowly ran her fingers through his hair and arched her back to push even more of her aroused, sensitive breasts closer to his eager mouth.

"So, I had a huge epiphany while you were gone," Eren flicked his tongue across her nipple and smirked as he gave it a kiss. "When I realized after a week that I had started to miss you. And at that point, I couldn't stop thinking about you," He paused with a smile when she started to blush, more than happy to hear the sound of her giggle. "That's when I realized how long I've had these romantic feelings towards you. For some reason, they were a lot easier to control and ignore until you left for more than a week.” She placed a finger under his chin and gently forced him to look up at her, smiling sweetly as she slowly pushed her fingers through his hair.

"I really missed you too, Eren..."

"So, if I were to ask you to be my girlfriend, what would you say?"

"I'd say that it's about damn time." Mikasa giggled as she gently played with his hair, content with allowing him to grope her naked breasts in his hands and roll his thumbs over her nipples, kissing the newly discovered erogenous spot on her neck with a quiet chuckle because she suddenly began to grind against his increasingly noticeable hard-on. Squirming this way and that, she sighed with pleasure from the electrifying feeling of his mouth suckling and nibbling on her neck, knowing very well that he can’t get enough of her already.

"I could do this all night." Eren squished her breasts together and smiled when she let out a tiny squeal, pressing her legs into his sides as he finally took one of the sensitive tips in his mouth, suckling gently or harder depending on her moans. He lay beside her on his side, carefully resting one of his hands across her stomach to slowly rub along the waistline of her red and blue flannel pj shorts as his mouth gradually released her nipple, looking up to meet those beautiful, hypnotic eyes. "May I?" He smirked when she giggled and nodded her head in response, eager to return his little pecks as she allowed him the privilege of spreading her legs, leaving one bent while the other was slowly pushed down sideways so his hand could easily slip beneath her shorts and panties to touch the heat.

"This can't be happening..." Mikasa grinned as he leaned in to kiss her once more and slowly reached up to cradle his cheek in her hand, all while one of his fingers slipped along the wet flesh between her legs. It's something that he's thought about in passing on occasion, fingering her to really get her going before burying his face between those gorgeous, long legs, thoughts he has more often when she wears shorts or something that eventuates her slim lower half. He slid his hand up an impressively toned stomach and kissed down her body so slowly, so sensually that it sent chills down her spine. "Oh, you don't need to do that.." The young woman managed to say through rugged breaths, watching through a half lidded gaze as he pulled her shorts and panties down until everything fell on the floor. He leaned in to kiss her smile before dragging his lips, teeth and tongue along her torso, kissing progressively lower and lower. Oh, how she's longed to see this man peeking up from between her legs doing precisely what he's about to do.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No! No, I just..." She flashed a most endearing, bashful smile and blushed. "I'm still a virgin, so I've never been..."

"Eaten out?"

"Yeah, that."

"Don't worry, you're my first time doing anything like this, too...” Eren offered her a comforting smile as he took one of her hands in his and laced their fingers together. "But it’s just like everything else we’ve encountered. We’ll figure it out together, right?" She bit her lip to hide a grin, feeling so flattered and wanted by him that it gave her a hot flash of nervousness, worsening the tint on her cheeks.

"Okay...” And it's immediately clear that she was entranced with his voice, finally experiencing the new sensation of someone else's fingers pressed on her absolutely aching clitoris. Mikasa reached up to push her hair out of her face and smiled, watching his eyes as he carefully slipped a finger inside the wetness with a smirk because her mouth has fallen open. She bit her bottom lip as he set a hand on her thigh, gently pushing that leg aside to prevent it from closing around his head, growing harder by the second at the sight of glistening skin.

"You're so wet..." He smirked, watching her grin become disguised with a lip bite as he leaned in so he could drag his tongue along her slit to get a good taste, and glanced up in time to see her head fall back against the pillow. "In case you were concerned," Eren whispered, wiggling the tip of his tongue on her clitoris before quickly lapping at any new fluids. "You smell and taste sweet." She moaned softly from the feeling of his flattened tongue rubbing circles on her little nub and gently tugged on his hair, slapping a hand over her mouth to catch a moan just as it came roaring out from the back of her throat.

"Erennnnnn..." There was an instant tightening of his jeans from her sounds, which became even worse when she grew juicer from his finger slowly moving in and out with the hopes of avoiding any discomfort, only to receive nothing but little, pleasurable sounds muffled by her hand. He carefully added a second finger, taking his time with pushing it deeper as her fingers accidentally pulled too hard on his hair, making him tear his mouth away with a quiet chuckle, planting a kiss on her cleanly shaven mound as his finger slowly slipped in and out of her.

“Ow.” Eren teased as he lifted his head to see that her face has changed significantly in the last few minutes from their intimate encounter, her head back against the pillow, and since she's finally aware of how he feels, he can admire her beauty without a single care if she catches him or not. He reached for the hand she has loosely tucked in his hair and laced their fingers together over her thigh to press it into the mattress. “You’re so beautiful.” The young woman hummed in response with a smile as she lightly rubbed her foot along his back and removed her baggy shirt to bare herself in front of him completely for the first time. His fingers moved faster as he sealed his mouth around her damp, pink flesh and suckled, having remembered overhearing from other guys that doing so will definitely drive her wild. Mikasa whimpered into her hand, squealing with delight as she squirmed in his arms this way and that, forcing him to remove his fingers and slide his arms beneath her hips, holding her still against his mouth. Moments later, she covered his tongue in her nectar, his head quickly shaking side to side as his lips rubbed her overly sensitive clitoris, making her tremble as he removed his mouth. He planted a kiss on the outside of her glistening slit and slowly trailed them up to her mound, finally opening his piercing green eyes to glance up at the woman he's always loved more than anything.

“Holy shit," Mikasa giggled as he slowly kissed up the rest of her body and gently squeezed her hand in his before releasing it to tuck his hands beneath her pillow. "That was amazing..."

"It'll only get better with practice you know.” He smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at her as she reached up to hook her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a brief, rapid succession of kisses.

"Can you stay tonight?"

"I'll have to leave really early but, yeah," Eren smiled as he leaned down to gently kiss the tip of her nose. "I can stay tonight."

"Good." She smiled as he flashed a devilish grin and dove into the side of her neck, reaching between them to mess with the buckle of his belt. "There's something that I've always wanted to do with you," Her breath tickled his cheek as her fingers tucked beneath the waistline of his opened jeans and boxers. "I wanna suck your cock.." Eren slowly looked up into her eyes, his widened out of shock because he's never pegged someone like Mikasa as having the desire to do such a thing, but mostly psyched having been getting the occasional dream where they engage in rough sex that always starts with her being passionately eaten out.

“Are you sure? I don't want you to feel like you owe me."

"No, I want to." Mikasa smiled sweetly as she lightly touched the sensitive head with her fingertips. "Because it’s your turn now, Eren..." He felt himself grow red at her proposition but also getting extremely hard and excited, rolling off of her onto his back so she could easily remove the clothing from his legs, tossing them on the carpeted floor in a nearly silent heap. Biting her lip, she gently slid her hands beneath his shirt in the hopes of encouraging him to sit up and remove it, impressing her immediately with how ripped he is while still being so slender. "Wow, and you say my body is incredible?" He just propped himself up on his elbows with a smirk, watching a string of her spit dribble out onto his well endowment as she began to slowly rub her hand along the length.

“That’s because your body is incredible and no, I haven't had my dick sucked."

"I'm honored to be the only one who gets to taste it..." Mikasa grinned at the man gazing at her lovingly as he reached for the sheet of raven hair shielding his view of her beautiful face. "You may have to help me." With a gentle touch, she swiped her thumb across the tiny, oozing slit and stroked his raging hard-on, smiling with those stormy grays as she leaned down to slowly lick up the shaft of cock once, twice, three times, his hand gathering all of her hair to one side. He groaned as she swirled her tongue around the head with a smirk, watching her allow more saliva to cover his entire hot length, lips slowly traveling along each side and pause so she could gently suck the sensitive head into her mouth.“Holy fuck, Miki..." Eren chuckled with a quiet grunt when he felt her sweet lips slowly massage just the head before she started following her hand along his length. Her hand came to rest at the base and gently gripped his balls as she slowly tried to swallow his length, only to gag and immediately pull away with a mix between a cough and a giggle. “Try relaxing your throat if you're gonna - just like that..." He half moaned under his breath and released her soft hair from his grasp to run his fingers through it the next instant, making sure to push stray hairs away from her face. But when she came back up, a hand replaced her mouth and made him feel dizzy from the pleasure of her head bobbing with her simultaneous strokes. His breath was now caught in his throat at the feeling of her hollowing her cheeks, slowing her pace to prepare for the inevitable as she slid a hand up his abs to hold the hand he has resting on his chest and laced their fingers together. He grunted and involuntarily bucked his hips with every spurt of hot seed shot into her mouth that were swallowed happily as he slowly rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand. When her eyes finally opened after coming up for air, Mikasa was pleasantly surprised to see his incredible green eyes already on her as she released him from her mouth with an audible pop. "Fuck, that was every bit as hot as I imagined." He chuckled, watching her tongue seductively swipe across her bottom lip and sit up on her knees, a finger scooping any leftovers from her chin as she swirled her tongue around the tip of her finger before sticking the small sample into her mouth, watching his smile quickly turn into a playful smirk. "'Oh, Eren, I've never sucked a dick before' that's you," She smiled as she straddled his lap and leaned down to slowly drag open mouthed kisses up his chest. "That's how you sound."

“I kinda just did whatever I thought would feel good and I guess it worked," Mikasa giggled as she licked up to the side of his neck, making him groan playfully as he rose to wrap his arms around her tiny waist. "I don't know what everyone's complaining about because it really isn't that salty..."

“I don't really eat salty stuff. I’ve heard that eating a crap-ton of fruit is supposed to make it taste better, maybe we can try that sometime?"

"Oooh," Mikasa grinned and snaked her arms around his neck. "I can't believe I'm saying this but I look forward to doing that." She watched his eyes, allowing him to slowly guide her slick heat along the length of his cock with a soft moan and leaned in to plant a kiss on his lips. "I’m on the pill but.."

“Don’t worry, I have no intentions of knocking you up quite yet.”

"Does that mean you intend to marry me someday?"

"Why not?" Eren smirked when she pressed her lips against his once more and flipped the girl on her back, making her giggle as she eagerly spread her legs for him then hooked one around his waist. He slowly pulled away just enough to look into her eyes, holding himself up with support from his hands being pressed into the mattress, making sure to take his time with inching his way inside and give her frequent breaks consisting of brief, tender, distracting kisses. With watery eyes, she whimpered into his mouth, making him pull away again as he brought a hand up to wipe her tears. “I'm so sorry, baby."

“It's okay." Mikasa offered a sweet smile as he leaned in to kiss her and slipped his hands back beneath her pillow, more than content with laying still so she can get used to his thick length buried inside of her after years of wondering what this moment would be like. She moaned softly into his mouth, letting him know that she's finally passed the worst of the discomfort, that it would be okay to start moving and he did so slowly, making her tear away with a quiet giggle against his lips. "Ooh, you're so big..." Eren just smirked, letting out a small chuckle as he crashed his lips against hers and slipped his tongue into her mouth, both of them fighting the other for dominance. She sunk her fingers into his soft, chocolate brown hair and allowed one of her hands to roam his toned, naked back as she deepened their kiss even further, totally unprepared for how good it would feel when his hips really started moving. The quiet moans that filled his mouth only served to make him want to thrust faster, their lips soon parting with an audible smack since she had erupted into a fit of uncontrollable moans as she arched her back and used her legs to pull him closer, looking up into his eyes with an equally half lidded, lustrous gaze. "Oh, Erenn!" The girl managed to say amidst her moans and smiled at his smirk as he dove in for the side of her neck to bathe her soft skin with kisses, his hand reaching back so he could slowly caress her leg while giving the most erogenous spot a much rougher kiss.

“I love how fucking tight you are..." His breath tickled her ear, and it made her squirm even more, smiling as she rode him from below because her climax is overwhelming and it has her drunk. She could tell how close he was because his breathing had gotten increasingly choppy and, being close to another orgasm, she decided that it would be fun to try talking dirty.

“Come for me, Eren,” Mikasa moaned to him, digging her nails into his back as he thrusted into her faster and faster. “Oooh,” Her voice was quiet as she tried to control her sounds, squealing with delight loud enough for the two of them to hear. “You can come inside me, ohh, yes, fuck me! Fill up my tight little -”

"Ohho no," The young man smirked as he propped himself up on his hands to watch her breasts move in tandem with her equally perfect body, their hips not once slowing down. "There's something that I have always wanted to do with you...” She giggled upon remembering what was said earlier before everything had started, when Mikasa mentioned something to him along the same lines. He took in a sharp breath and chuckled from the incredible feeling of her inner walls constricting or releasing him because it was simply intoxicating, and it sent them both over the edge into a blissful state. With a swift movement, Eren sat up straight as he pulled out and immediately hunched over her body again, pumping himself until his load squirted onto her stomach, making her giggle because she’s still in a little bit of shock that this even occurred, let alone the fact she just slept with her childhood best friend. “Cum on your fantastic abs.” He said breathlessly and quickly copied the smile on her face as he planted a kiss on her soft lips.

“Wait, really?”

"Totally. I've always been aware of how attractive you are, you know, especially when you wear a bikini. Guys come up to me and ask if you're single all the time."

"Well, now you can say, 'Mikasa Ackerman is my girlfriend, so go fuck yourself.'"

"I used to hate it when that happened but now I'm excited to brag about you being mine." Eren smiled, watching her eyes as she reached a hand between them to touch the evidence from their night of passion and seductively stuffed whatever was left on her finger into her mouth with a playful grin. "Seriously, Mikasa, you’re mega hot." Suddenly, a cellphone sitting on the nightstand beside them vibrated, which prompted her to reach for hers as he leaned down to press his lips to her neck. She smiled and wrapped her arms around his shoulders to see her phone screen, and then she gasped.

Levi: Oi, brat, I'm trying to sleep over here and it's really difficult with all of your incessant screaming.

[vcepsis]

HI I LOVED YOUR SHIRO WHUMP SO MUCH so here i am to request some more >_> if you're still doing the drabble prompts, D + 10?

AH thank you so much! I’m so happy you enjoyed it!

D (headache) + 10 (at work). I hope you will forgive my loose interpretation of “at work”. You didn’t specify a pairing so I went with my heart and did Sheith. Around 2k (because I don’t know what a drabble is apparently). Big shout out to @feverflushed for reading it over for me!

From this drabble ask (which I’m still accepting requests from!)

The light pulsed across the Black Lion’s screen, and Shiro’s head pulsed with it.

As the screen of his Lion showed the dizzying movements of Galra cruisers, Shiro was glad he’d skipped breakfast. He remembered Hunk’s questioning look when Shiro had handed back his full plate, and the way Keith’s eyebrows rose. Luckily, no one had the chance to say anything when the alarm went off moments later.

Shiro squinted at the screen, as if that would lessen the way the glare hurt his eyes. It felt like someone was drilling into both sides of his head, right at the temples. It hadn’t been this bad when he first woke up, after a mere three hours sleep; just a pulse every now and then behind his eyes. He’d hoped it would go away as the day went on, but it had only grown in intensity until he was on the edge of a migraine.

He bit back a groan as he swung his Lion around to meet the new wave of enemy forces. On his screen, he could only see Keith and Hunk as they beat back the Galra. The Red Lion was swerving through the lines of ships, leaving a red trail in its wake. Wait—was that right? Shiro blinked a few times, willing the image to focus. Hunk was providing cover fire for Keith, the two of them making a surprisingly good team. The Yellow Lion’s cannon would fire at a line of cruisers, while Keith would pick off the stragglers, weaving in between the explosions. It was almost…mesmerizing.

It also hurt to look at. Too many colours and sounds and lights and—

“Shiro, watch out!”

Someone called to him—Pidge?—and he swung his Lion around again, fighting the wave of nausea the sudden movement caused, just as a wayward cruiser smashed into him.

The impact threw his Lion across the battlefield. His head snapped back, hitting the head of his chair, and he couldn’t hold back his gasp of pain. His headache kicked into overdrive at the impact, vision going completely white. Taking his hands off the controls, they flew up to his head, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Shiro!”

Another voice called to him, but all it did was add to the agony that was spreading across his skull. The impact hadn’t even been that bad, and the helmet had absorbed most of the shock, but it pushed him over that edge into a full blown migraine almost instantly. The pain had gone from a dull throbbing to a sharp stabbing, and the noise of the battle threatened to overwhelm him. Distantly, he knew he was dead in the water, and while the Black Lion wasn’t seriously damaged, he couldn’t bring himself to look at the screen in front of him.

“What’s wrong? Why can’t we reach him?!”

Keith this time, voice cracking with panic. Shiro wanted to reassure him, wanted to tell him that he was fine, that everything was fine. But he didn’t have the energy to lie. Instead, he tugged off his helmet, throwing it blindly across the cockpit. The voices were making it worse. It didn’t stop the ones coming from the dashboard, but it eased the pain a bit, to not have them inside his head.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the sounds on the dashboard stopped, the lights powering down at the same time. The relief was instantaneous, though the pain didn’t stop. There was a familiar purr in the back of his mind, unsure of what was hurting him but trying to help nonetheless.

On some level, Shiro knew this was a problem. Black had powered down for him, but now he was worse than a sitting duck—he was a liability, a deadweight that his team would have to carry. But the purr came again, offering reassurance this time. Shiro was glad the Lion’s noises were in his brain and not physically around him; he wasn’t sure if he could handle any more sound.

Shiro wasn’t sure how long he sat there, curled up in a limbo-like state of pain. He didn’t even know how the battle was progressing. At that moment, his world was condensed to the feeling of his skull exploding between his hands.

Eventually, there was the familiar hiss of the cockpit opening, with boots pounding on the floor around him. When had he gotten back to the Castle? The noise stabbed into him anew, and he couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped him.

“Shiro? Oh, fuck—”

Keith. Shiro wanted to reach out, wanted to apologize, but he couldn’t bear to open his eyes.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

Lance, now, further away but no less loud. Shiro screwed his eyes shut even tighter.

“Shut up, Lance!” Keith hissed. Shiro was thankful he wasn’t yelling. It seemed like Lance and Keith always yelled.

“Shiro?” Keith said quietly. “Shiro, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Shiro shied away from Keith’s voice. Despite Keith’s attempts to be quiet, his voice hurt.

“Ok, ok,” Keith muttered, voice sounding panicked. “Hunk?”

“I got it.” Suddenly there were hands on him, arms around him, and he was being lifted from the seat and carried out of the Lion. The movement brought the nausea back, but it was nothing compared to the pain the lights of the hangar brought him.

Even with his eyes closed, Shiro felt like his skull was splitting. Instinctually, he tightened his hands slightly around his head, as if that could hold him together. He couldn’t help the noise that came from his throat, guttural and desperate. His breaths were coming too fast.

“Shit, the lights—”

“What’s happened? What’s wrong with Shiro?”

Allura, this time, sounding concerned. And loud. Were they all always so loud? Shiro wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. He almost wished the pain would be enough to make him pass out, just to escape it for a little while.

“I think it’s a migraine,” he heard Keith say in response.

“Is that an injury?” Allura’s voice was even more worried, somehow. “Can it be treated?”

“I don’t think a pod would work for that.” Pidge, voice just a tad shaky.

“He needs a dark, quiet place,” Keith said, sounding a little more calm. Taking control of the situation. Shiro almost felt a spark of pride, before it was drowned out by another pulse of pain.

And then they were moving. Shiro curled further into the arms around him, despite the fact that they were still covered in the armor. They tightened around him. “It’s gonna be ok.”

Hunk shouldn’t sound so frightened. Shiro should have made sure he didn’t sound like that. Or any of the team, for that matter. But right now, Shiro couldn’t do anything for himself, much less for anyone else. Distantly, he knew this was a bad thing, but there was no room in his mind for anything except the white hot pain.

It felt like they were moving for an eternity, but eventually he heard the familiar swoosh of a door opening. Hunk stepped inside, and the light vanished. Shiro let out a shaking breath as some of the pain receded.

He felt himself being lowered, gingerly, onto something soft and comfortable. His bed. Shiro allowed his hands to fall away from his head, half expecting to feel parts of his skull peel away.

There was some quiet  murmuring,  and then gentle hands were on him, unbuckling his armor and setting it aside. Eventually he was left in his black undersuit. He somehow felt better, even if it was just a little bit, like the armor had been suffocating him. He curled up on his side, away from the others, as if that would protect them from his weakness.

“Thanks, Hunk,” Keith was saying, voice low. “I can take it from here.”

“You sure?” Hunk’s voice was strained. Worried. Guilt cut through the pain again, if only for a moment. “I’ve never seen him like this before.”

“He’ll be ok,” Keith replied, voice farther away this time. “I’ll stay with him.”

The door closed with a hiss, and Shiro was alone. He was grateful, at least, that the others weren’t around to witness him in such a sorry state. Unfortunately, now he had nothing to distract him.

Soon enough, though, the door hissed open again, and there were light footsteps coming towards him.

“Shiro?” Keith asked softly. “Sorry, but can you lie on your back?”

Shiro didn’t want to. He whined softly, curling up tighter.

“I know, I know,” Keith said, voice almost gentle. “It’ll help, I promise.”

If nothing else, Shiro trusted Keith. So he rolled over onto his back, hissing through his teeth as the movement sent new waves of dull pain through his head.

Suddenly, something cool and damp was laid across his eyes. The relief was minimal, but was so very welcomed. Shiro let out a shaking breath at the feeling.

A cool hand appeared on his cheek, the thumb gently caressing the skin. Shiro couldn’t help but lean into it a little; he knew, on some level, that he should be embarrassed, but there was no room in his head for anything as self serving as that.

Time passed in weird chunks after that; Shiro may have slept a little bit, here and there, but he was more in a half awake doze of pain and exhaustion. Every now and then, the cloth across his eyes was removed and replaced, and the shock of the cold helped a little more each time.

Eventually, slowly, the pain faded from excruciating and debilitating to something slightly more manageable. Reaching a shaking hand up, Shiro pushed the cloth from his eyes, squinting a bit in the darkness. There was a strange, soft blue hue lighting the wall, and he turned to find the source.

Keith was sitting in a chair next to the bed, a pad on his lap. He scrolled through it lazily, cheek smushed against his hand propped up on the armrest. The light from the pad drew deep shadows across his face, highlighting the bags under his eyes. Shiro frowned in concern. How long had he been here?

Before he could say anything, Keith’s eyes flickered from the pad over to Shiro’s face. As soon as he did, Keith snapped up, eyes going wide with concern. “Shiro?”

“Hey,” Shiro said in response, voice creaky. He cleared his throat before continuing. “How long have you been here?”

Keith rubbed his eyes. “Dunno. A few hours? Doesn’t matter. How are you feeling?”

“Better.” It wasn’t a lie. The pain was still there, throbbing to the beat of his pulse, but it didn’t make him feel like dying. So, better.

Keith put the pad aside, then leaned over to take the cloth that was slipping from Shiro’s brow. “Coran said he has something you can try to take for the pain. If you’re interested.”

Shiro considered that. His stomach wasn’t as twisted as before, but he wasn’t sure it was stable enough for an alien painkiller. Besides, he’d managed to ride through the worst of it. “I’ll be alright. But tell him thank you.”

Keith nodded, like it was the answer he had been expecting. “Alright. I’m gonna go get you some water though. That’s non-negotiable.”

Shiro managed a weak smile. “Yes, sir.”

Keith blinked, then quickly looked away. It was dark, but the light of the pad illuminated the faint pink blush across Keith’s face. Shiro’s smile widened.

Soon enough, though, Keith’s face turned back to a scowl. “You should have said something. Before we went out to fight.”

Shiro’s smile dropped, and he looked away. “Sorry,” he said, voice quiet. “I just…didn’t see the point.”

“You shouldn’t have been out there like that.”

Keith’s words felt like a slap, and Shiro flinched from them. “I thought I could handle it,” Shiro said. “I usually can.”

Keith made a choking noise. “You ‘usually can’?” he repeated, voice somewhere between worry and anger. “How often does this happen?”

Shiro cursed mentally. He shouldn’t have said that. “It’s fine, Keith. Really.”

The chair scraped back, and suddenly there was another weight on his bed. Shiro looked over to see Keith sitting on the edge of the bed, staring intently at Shiro. He took Shiro’s natural hand in both of his.

“We just want to help you, Shiro,” Keith said softly, looking down at their joined hands. “I just want to help you. So next time, tell us when it gets like this. And if you can’t tell the others…” Keith squeezed Shiro’s hand. “Tell me, at least.”

Shiro felt his cheeks heat up, and hoped the darkness of the room hid it. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

Keith just nodded once before letting go. “I’m gonna get you that water now.”

He got up from the bed, turning towards the door. Just as he pressed the control panel to open it, Shiro spoke again. “Keith?”

Keith turned, eyebrows raised in question.

“Thank you.”

Keith smiled Shiro’s favourite smile, small and soft and genuine.

“Anytime.”

[scgdoeswhat]

Peanut - Jake x Cris (MC)

Summary: Cris has something very important to tell Jake... except that she’s having problems trying to do so.

Characters: Jake x Cris, Michelle

Rating: PG-13

Words: 1540

Author’s Notes: Set in the same ‘verse as the NSFW Alphabet, Mine (NSFW), and Hold My Hand, this Father’s Day inspired drabble turned into something a lot longer than anticipated! Jake doesn’t belong to me (unfortunately), but the story does. No Beta used.

Sorry if the “Read More” link isn’t working. It’s Tumblr’s fault, not mine!

The bright, midmorning light was unrelenting and not even the combination of the car’s tinted windows along with the darkest pair of Gucci sunglasses could keep the sun at bay. It had been two weeks since Cris had last seen Michelle for their weekly brunch, the former cancelling the previous week due to fatigue and an awful migraine that just would not go away.

Cris made her way through the crowded restaurant to their usual table in the back, the smell of once appetizing foods making her stomach queasy. Michelle stood up as soon as she saw her friend approach, her smile dropping when she saw how disheveled Cris looked. Her skin looked to have lost some color and she seemed gaunter than the last time they had seen each other.

“It feels like it’s been too long, Cris!” Michelle exclaimed as the two women hugged.

“Stop being so dramatic, Meech,” Cris replied, rolling her eyes with a laugh. “It’s only been a couple weeks.”

“Which is like, forever, considering we’ve been doing brunch every Sunday since we’ve gotten settled,” the doctor-to-be retorted as they took their seats. “I already ordered for us, by the way. Seriously, though. Are you okay? You look like death.”

Cris giggled.

“I most certainly do not. Trust me; I know what that looks like from firsthand experience. But yeah, I’ll be fine. I just need to work this bug out of my system and I’ll be okay.”

Michelle eyed her suspiciously, trusting her instincts to pry a little more.

“So what did you say you were suffering from?”

“Oh my God, please don’t go all ‘doctor’ on me right now while you try and diagnose me! It’s only a headache.”

“And fatigue?”

“And fatigue.”

“And vomiting?

“And vomiti – wait. I never told you I was throwing up!”

Michelle raised an eyebrow before choosing her words carefully.

“Have you thought about taking a pregnancy test?”

Cris froze, her eyes widening as she resembled a deer in headlights.

“Wha-what?!?” She stuttered.

“Oh, come on!” Michelle laughed at how obvious it was now that she had seen her in person. “It wouldn’t be that farfetched, would it? You two are like dogs in heat; you’re always telling me how great it is and how often you do it.” She shook her head. “By the way, I really don’t need any more visuals of you and Jake having sex. And let me guess. You’re not using protection either.”

“But it’s not like we were using condoms on the island! And since we’re married now, there’s really no reason to.”

“Honestly, it’s a miracle that it’s taken this long with you.” She paused thoughtfully before continuing, “Hmmm, maybe no one got knocked up on La Huerta because it might have something to do with all the time anomalies that happened. In any case, I think you should swing by the drugstore on your way home.”

Cris took a deep breath, a serious expression crossing her face.

“What am I going to do if I am? Jake and I haven’t really discussed kids. We just know we want them, eventually. What if we’re not ready for this?”

“Sweetie, just cross that bridge when you get to it. First, you need to find out if you are. Besides, is anyone ever truly ready for children?”

“I guess you’re right. If I am, I’ll have a few days to prepare how to tell him since he’s out of town until Friday on a job.”

Just then, their server dropped off the two mimosas that had been ordered earlier.

“And just in case you are, I’ll be taking both of these, thank you very much,” Michelle smiled as she grabbed the flute that was across the table.

“Bitch!” Cris laughed as she clinked her glass of orange juice with Michelle’s mimosa.

  Jake returned home that Friday as scheduled, but something had been amiss since he stepped foot through the door that evening. Cris had an unusual pallor to her skin and was skittish, as well as jumpy. It was now Sunday, and what frightened Jake even more was how withdrawn she had become during his absence for work. She was saying all the right things, showering him with kisses, yet there was a distinct wall that was erected while he had been gone.

He sat on the couch with some baseball game on the television, not paying any particular attention as to who was playing. He was focused on the hallway, where he knew his wife would soon be emerging from their bedroom after taking a rare afternoon nap.

Like clockwork, Cris came out of the bedroom; her hair swept up in the customary bun that she used to wear every day on the island. He found his breath being taken away, yet again. She looked over at him and gave him a tentative smile before disappearing into the kitchen.

Jake couldn’t take it anymore. He was hoping she would open up to him but it seemed that she was becoming more timid as each second passed by. She came back into the living room with a cup of peppermint tea in her hands, a nervous energy rolling off her. Her behavior was totally opposite of her personality and it started to alarm him the longer it was not addressed.

“Hey, Princess? Can we talk?” Jake broke the uneasy silence.

“Sure thing, Top Gun. What’s up?” She answered, her back to him.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” His features dropped while he ran a hand through his hair. “Did I do something wrong? You’re not leaving me, are you?”

Cris turned around quickly and looked at him, shock reigning over her.

“Oh God, no! Where would you ever get that idea from?!” She sat down on the couch next to him as she took his hands in hers.

“It’s just that… you’ve been so distant since I got back. And we haven’t even made love, either.”

Her heart broke a little after listening to him. Had she been so selfish and so consumed with everything else that could she not see how her actions – or lack thereof – were affecting her husband?

She looked at Jake, biting her lip as she looked down pensively.

“I… I just don’t know how to tell you this.”

Jake’s brow furrowed as tears began to well up in his eyes.

“I knew it. You’re leaving me,” his voice barely above a whisper.

“No! Jake, I’d never leave you! I love you! It’s just….” She took a deep breath. “Do you know what today is?”

He looked at her questioningly.

“Sunday?”

She gave him a real smile.

“Do you know what else is today?

“…Father’s Day?”

Cris took his hand and placed it over her flat stomach.

“Happy Father’s Day, Jake.”

Jake took a moment to process what his wife was telling him. The last five minutes had been a blur and if he was understanding everything correctly…. His eyes lit up as he looked at her, the tears in his eyes now ones of joy.

“I’m going to be a daddy?”

Cris nodded before leaning in to kiss him. His free hand cupped her face as he deepened their kiss, relishing the taste and feel of her. After some time had passed, they broke apart, breathless.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He asked, gently stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“I’m so sorry, Jake. I just didn’t know how to tell you and I didn’t know how you’d react.”

“Hey, there is no need to apologize.” A lazy smile formed on his face as he rested his forehead against hers. “This is some of the best news ever. We’ll figure this all out. I’m just relieved you’re not leaving me and instead, we’re having a baby.” He continued rubbing her stomach in small circles.

“I was so absorbed with how to tell you that I didn’t even think about how my behaviour was affecting you. How could I be such a selfish idiot?”

“Watch it, that’s my wife you’re talking about,” he laughed as he kissed her on the nose before leaning down close to her stomach.

Cris rolled her eyes, grinning, as Jake inched closer to her tummy and started to speak in a hushed tone.

“Hey there, Peanut. It’s your daddy. I know you can’t really hear me yet but I just wanted to let you know that we love you very much. Your mama is the most beautiful, gorgeous, smart, perfect woman on the planet. Oh, and one last thing. I’m going to make love all night long to your mama because she owes me for the last two days.”

“Oh my God, Jake! You can’t say that!”

“Why not? It’s true. It’s not like they know what it means just yet. Besides, I think you also owe me a Father’s Day gift.” Jake stood up, a new source of vitality coursing through his veins, before sweeping Cris into his arms and carrying her towards the bedroom. “And just to let you know, Cris, I intend to collect on all your debts, babe.”

He kissed her deeply as they crossed the threshold of their quarters before Jake shut the door behind them.

[okayyeli]

oh, baby! | jjk (07)

pairing: reader x jjk

genre: fluff, angst, humour, ceo au

summary: a social media interactive au where a hypothetical situation sets you on a highly illegal quest to help out a friend.

parts:  one  ★  two  ★  three  ★  four ★  five  ★  six  ★ seven ★

                                                           + + + 

jungkook isn’t coping well. 

He knows this, yet every single time he remembers what he’s done, he panics. It surges through him like wildfire, the severity of the situation, the consequences, the future and oh god, what if his father finds out? 

His grip on the vodka bottle tightens as he brings it to his mouth and downs a bit more, tilting his head back as the rush electrifies him, slowing his racing thoughts a tad more. 

“You’re going to poison yourself at this rate, Kook, slow down.” The younger looks up at the source of sound, eyes zeroing in on Jimin, the older staring down at him with a frown. “I’m serious man,” he grabs the bottle from Jungkook, ignoring his groan of protest, “you have to deal with this like the adult you are.” 

“I got a woman pregnant, Jimin,” he slurs, “and I’m twenty-fucking-two. I don’t know how to deal with this like an adult.” 

“Well, for starters,” Jimin places the bottle on his end of the table as he takes a seat opposite Jungkook, “consider some options. You could just pay child support and distance yourself, you could pay her off with some silence money, you could even ask her if she wants to keep the child—” 

“Absolutely not!” Jungkook is pointing at Jimin’s left temple, but his tone is firm. “I am n-not going to force her into abortion.” 

“I wasn’t suggesting that, I’m saying you should ask her what her take on all of this is. She’s young too, I doubt she’s ecstatic about being a mother. This concerns the both of you, especially given you’re reputable people. You bolted when you found out, which is making you looking pretty shitty cause it’s been a week. Talk it out. Start there.” 

“I’m not ready to be a father,” the younger wails, “why can’t I just keep it in my pants? Stupid, s-stupid me! I’m so weak for women!” He falls on his back, the soft, plush cushions of the sofa decreasing the impact as they mould to his frame. “I’m doomed.” 

“Alright, I’ve had enough of this pity party. Where’s your phone?” Jungkook pulls out his phone, obediently handing it to Jimin with an expression akin to that of a scolded puppy. “Don’t do anything stupid.” 

“Yeah, I won’t,” Jimin scoffs, “you should’ve followed that advice at the party, you idiot. Okay, now shut up, I’m going to make a call.” The taller hums in response, murmuring incoherent nonsense to himself as Jimin dials your number. 

You answer on the fourth ring, voice a little breathless as you say, “Hello? Jungkook?” 

“Actually, this is his best friend, Jimin.” Under his breath, he adds, “I’m basically a glorified goddamn assistant.” 

“Hi, Jimin,” you sound slightly alarmed, “is everything alright?” 

“Yes, yes, Miss Miller, everything’s peachy. I’m calling you on Jungkook’s behalf, he’s been booked all week and hasn’t had a chance to contact you, I’m sorry.” 

“No, it’s alright, I understand it’s rather difficult to process. I’ve been struggling myself. Is he busy at the moment?” 

“Yes,” Jimin answers quickly, “yes, he’s meeting with his father. At midnight. It’s their thing.” 

“Oh, did he tell him—” 

“Absolutely not, Miss Miller, he wouldn’t dare. Anyway, I know it’s rather late, I only called to arrange a meeting. Are you free this coming Tuesday, around eight p.m for dinner? The two of you have a lot to discuss.” 

At this, Jungkook begins to vocalize his protests rather loudly, to which Jimin shoots him a glare and places his palm atop his face to silence him, forcefully shoving his head into a cushion. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing! That was nothing, your answer?” 

You clear your throat, voice breaking as you say, “Yeah I, I can make it. The Ruby Grill again?” 

“No.” He quickly mutters, “I doubt he’s ever going back there again.” He says to you, “No, not the Ruby Grill. I’ll have him text you the details by Sunday. I hope you two figure this out and come to a reasonable compromise, Miss Miller. Sorry to have disturbed you, good night! Sweet dreams!” 

He hangs up and removes his palm from Jungkook’s face as the younger had begun to lick him in an attempt to free himself. 

“Why are you so annoyingly unhinged when you’re drunk?” He groans, wiping his hand down his pants as he grabs a cushion and smacks Jungkook with it. “You brat, why am I doing all of this for you?” 

“I can’t go home!” Jungkook pouts, “Pa will murder me if he f-finds out.” 

“Yes well, you’re making a mess out of my sofas, so get your ass up to the guest bedroom. I’ve left you some pills and water for you, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Get some rest. You’ve got one hell of a storm to battle through.” 

“I’m scared, Minnie,” the younger whispers, doe eyes glossy, “I’m scared I’ll fuck this up.” 

“There’s no way not to fuck this up, buddy,” Jimin smiles, “the important thing is that you handle it privately and quickly. Whatever you decide to do, I’ll support you. Just, just don’t make this anymore difficult, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“Good. Now, go to bed. I’ll figure out where you’ll meet her on Tuesday.” 

As Jungkook gets to his feet, he shoots Jimin a lazy smile. “You’re, you’re the best, Jimin.” And then he’s trudging his way upstairs to the guest bedroom.

“I know I am.” Jimin sighs, rearranging the cushions as he pulls out his laptop. “The things I do for you, honestly.” 

                                                           + + +

You’re sick. 

It isn’t the occasional cough or sneeze, you are bed-ridden, highly feverish and nauseous, and it’s a Friday night. Irene had offered to come over and take care of you and you fiercely refused, afraid you’d spread it to her and cause problems with her pregnancy. 

A part of you is slightly regretting that choice, because now you’re painfully ill, lying in bed alone and onto the third season of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, though you suppose the show is the only positive aspect of your day. 

Because everything else sucks. 

Your throat is dry and hoarse from coughing, nose stuffed and easily irritable, causing you to tear up every other minute. Which means of course, your left eye is swollen from constantly tearing up; to top it all off, your body temperature has you believing you’ve entered the seventh circle of hell. But hey, at least the migraine’s died down. 

“I’m a sad, sad person.” You whisper, coughing a little as you reach for your glass of water.

You have no idea if you’ll get better in time for your meeting with Jungkook on Tuesday, especially considering it’s only three days away. The thought of it makes you writhe with anxiety, because you know it’s going to consist of discussing your next move. There’s a looming, imminent fear of him wanting a paternity test carried out that has you sweating, a) considering you are deathly afraid of needles and b) because you are not pregnant and hence the paternity test won’t work. 

Hey, maybe this fever will take you before you have a chance to dig yourself in further! Maybe by the time you’re found, you’ll already be explaining yourself to the devil himself because there’s no way you’re ever going to see the light after executing something so absurdly extreme. 

You’re just about to shut the T.V off and take a nap to silence your thoughts when your phone rings, startling you slightly. Gingerly, you reach over and pluck the device from your bedside table and answer without checking the caller ID, assuming it’s Irene checking up on you. 

It’s obviously not Irene. 

“Hey, I’m doing better now, don’t worry—” 

“You’re sick?” 

You freeze. That voice, it’s definitely too deep for Irene’s timbre. Nah, nah it can’t be, surely your luck isn’t so fucked that—

“Hello? Are you okay?” 

—of course it fucking is. 

“Hi, Jungkook!”  You try your best to brighten up your voice, but find it extremely difficult when a familiar irritation begins to ring at the back of your throat. 

“Hey, hey, you don’t sound so good. You’re sick, aren’t you?” 

The cough you’re struggling to hold back forces its way out, leaving you to sigh in defeat. “Yes,” you admit in defeat, “yes I’m sick.” 

“And you’ve got someone taking care of you, right? I’ll drop by to get you some medicines, you’ll be alright—” 

“No, Jungkook,” you counter softly, “I can't take any medication, remember? I also can’t risk spreading it to people, so I’m alone. I just need to sleep through it, I’ll be okay soon enough.” 

“You’re, you’re alone?” His tone is one of pure shock, to which you raise an eyebrow. “Yes, because I can’t risk spreading it to someone else, I—” 

“I’m coming over.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“You live close by anyway, right? I’ll bring some stuff over and help you out. I’ve got a strong immune system, so I’ll be fine.” You immediately panic, scrambling to find some kind of excuse to keep him away. “No! No, there’s absolutely no need to come over, Kook, listen to me, I’m fine! I can handle it, seriously, don’t risk it.” 

“I promise I’ll be a good nurse, trust me. It’s just not wise for you to be alone. Besides, if do end up catching it, I can heal quickly because I can take medication. Let me help you, I just—I just kind of don’t like that you can’t use anything to speed up your recovery process. Plus, I’ll be good company too!” 

Okay, well, fuck. 

He’s got you backed into a corner, albeit unintentionally. The more you refuse him, the more he’ll insist, and eventually, he’s going to get suspicious. And hey, if you decide to come clean while there’s still an inkling of a chance, maybe he’ll go soft on you because you’re sick! 

Yeah, you definitely need to sleep. 

“Okay,” you finally reply, hearing him hum in glee, “okay, fine. You know the complex, right? I’m on the twenty-second floor, apartment two-two zero one. I’ll buzz you in.” 

“Great, I’ll be there in five.” 

He hangs up shortly after, leaving you to lie in bed with a groan, wondering why the universe is so hellbent on punishing you when you’re sure a fate much worse awaits you at the end of this ride. 

                                                           + + +

“Okay, so, make sure she’s drinking hot soups, and some easily digestible solids if she’s feeling up to it. Keep her hydrated at all times, and help regulate her body temperature. She’s bound to have bouts of chills and then feel hot, so keep some extra blankets and a cold compress nearby. Also, make sure you’re constantly sanitizing yourself to decrease chances of you catching it. If she’s not getting any better by Sunday, I’ll come over to check if everything’s okay.” 

“Thank you,” Jungkook exhales in relief, “thank you, you’re the best!” 

“Yeah well, you kind of have to be if you want a medical degree,” Seokjin chuckles, “just make sure she’s comfortable, alright? You can explain why you’re so concerned about this woman later.” 

It’s because she’s pregnant, Jungkook wants to say, and I’m fucking terrified. 

Instead, he says, “Yeah, I will. I’ll keep you updated through text, alright? Get back to me when you can.” 

“Sure, my shift ends early today, so I’ll get back to you on time. Good luck, and remember to sanitize.” 

“Yeah, Dad, I got it.” Jungkook rolls his eyes as Jin begins to chide him for being disrespectful when he was ‘saving his ass’ and being ‘generous enough to give him advice’ and that he could ‘potentially kill this woman if he didn’t have the right knowledge’ and finally that ‘he was going to beat his ass if he called him dad’. 

Finally, as he’s pulling into his parking spot, Jungkook manages to get off the phone with Jin, laughing to himself as he does so. His friend had always had a dramatic flair, and loved to bicker every chance he got. 

However, Seokjin was one of the most renowned doctors in the medial field, and Jungkook trusted him with his life. The older man had spent years on his passion and he was amazing at it, making him the pride of his family. 

And it was through him that Jungkook had met Hoseok and Yoongi, the hand-in-hand pair of cheery and composed, energetic and calm. He smiles at the memory of the two together, always in sync and seeming to share one mind when it came to their work. 

“Who are you off to see, sir?” 

He gives the receptionist a bright smile, silently admiring the sleek look of the complex you lived in. He gives the man at the desk your name, then signs his own on the guestbook and makes his way up, pulling his phone out to text you as the elevator surges upward. 

It’s only as he's walking down the hallway towards your apartment that you respond, telling him you’ll buzz him in once he rings the bell. Jungkook notices that there are only a maximum of four apartments on this floor, and he immediately realizes you live in a penthouse. 

The complex is close by to where he lives, so it’s on the wealthier side of the city, although not too close to the private estates. He gathers you must be one hell of a consultant as he rings the doorbell, hearing a whirring sound seconds later as a ding sounds and the door unlocks.

He enters slowly, immediately finding himself drawn to the advanced technology of the place, The door locks automatically behind him, the small screen above the handle now blaring red. The lights turn on as he moves, removing his shoes. 

Jungkook hears you faintly calling for him, and follows the sound of your voice, silently marveling the place as he does so. It’s a mix of modern, minimalist and urban, with lots of small decorative pieces and abstract paintings adorning the walls, either mounted or atop shelves. He thinks it’s so you, and that you’ve got great taste. 

When he enters your bedroom, he’s surprised at how similar it’s laid out to his own. There’s a queen sized bed at the center, with floor to ceiling windows to your right. As he walks further in, he sees a mahogany desk on the left side, papers strewn atop beside a rose gold MacBook. 

The last thing he registers before shifting his attention to you is how cold the room is. He remembers Seokjin telling him that your body temperature was bound to fluctuate and only speaks to you after increasing the temperature on the thermostat. 

“You’re going to make it worse by keeping your room so cold, you know.” He pulls your desk chair beside your bed to take a seat, fixing you with a warm gaze. “How did you even manage by yourself for so long?” 

“I just kept telling myself it was a couple more steps,” you reply hoarsely, “and it kinda worked.” He smiles, shaking his head. “It’s great that you’re so independent, _______, but it’s okay to ask for help sometimes.” 

“I told you,” your tone is whiny, “I couldn’t—I couldn’t risk spreading it to someone else. You didn’t have to come here.” 

“But I’ve done this before,” he gives you a teasing smile, “remember? You were always prone to intense colds during winter, and I was always the one who took care of you.” 

At the memory, you manage a weak smile. It’s so vague to you, the only thing coming to your mind is Jungkook sitting by you with a cold compress, keeping you engaged in conversation until you slept. 

“I guess h-history is repeating itself, hm?” You clear your throat, shifting away a little and patting the space beside you. “Might as well sit next to me then.” He playfully cocks an eyebrow at this, saying, “Wow, weren’t you against me falling sick too?” 

“I’ve warned you several times,” you shrug, “if anything happens it’s on you and I’m definitely gonna tell you I told you so. Plus, I could use the body warmth, it is starting to get pretty cold in here.” 

 He laughs in response and obliges, sitting upright beside you as he adds, “Looks like I’m going to be the one who gets to say ‘I told you so’ first. I told you so!” 

“Shut up!” You smack him lightly as you too follow suit and sit upright beside him. The chill hits you almost immediately and you tug the second blanket you kept underneath up to your chin, shivering slightly.

There’s a moment of silence, wherein Jungkook’s expression slowly grows solemn as he remembers your last interaction. He’d panicked and bolted the second the check had been covered. 

And then he’d left you with no response for a week. 

“Hey,” his voice is soft, “I’m sorry I reacted so harshly. I pretty much scrambled to get out of there and I kept you waiting for a whole week. It’s not an excuse, I promise, I just needed to process and cope and I wasn’t really doing either of those very well. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have acted the way I did.” 

“It’s okay, Kook. It’s a lot to take in. I understand, and I forgive you.” You smile up at him, and Jungkook can see you at twelve, when you were a few inches taller, smiling down at him the exact same way. Your eyes crinkle slightly at the corners just the same and that’s how he knows you’re being sincere. 

“Thank you. I promise moving forward, I’m going to be as mature and level-headed as possible.” 

“You’re not going to tell me I should get rid of it?” 

“No. Never. That is up to you and it will always be. This was a two-person job, and I refuse to make it so that one person carries the full weight of it. I will never, ever pressure you into anything you aren’t comfortable with. You have my word.”

You stay silent for a moment, fighting back the guilt rising within you. Here you have the kindest and most understanding man sitting beside you, telling you he’s ready to support whatever decision you make with a non-existent baby. 

And he’d also asked for your forgiveness, which you had no right to give in the first place. You know for certain if the roles were reversed and you’d found out the truth, you’d never be able to forgive someone for manipulating you that way. 

The way you’re manipulating him. 

“_______, hey, hey,” Jungkook turns his head fully to face you, expression one of concern. “Please don’t think about it right now. Neither of us are ready to dive into the technicalities, and it’s hardly the time either. We’ll cross that bridge when we’re ready, okay? One thing’s for sure, you aren’t going to go through this alone.” 

The guilt is getting stronger now, chest tight as you lower your head, too weak to meet his gaze. You really don’t deserve any of this, his concern, patience and kindness. You know it, but he doesn’t, and it makes it all so much more painful. 

Sensing your sinking mood, Jungkook grabs the remote beside you and says, “Okay, let’s continue watching whatever it is you were wa—Brooklyn Nine-Nine? It’s my favourite show! Yes, you’re on the The Audit!” 

“I’m rewatching, it’s gonna be a long road to season six after all.” You manage a genuine smile, turning to face the T.V. “I love the Halloween episodes.” 

“Who doesn’t? And, not to sound like an absolute fanatic but hey I am one—I can recite the whole monologue from The Box word for word.” Jungkook looks pretty smug, and so you turn to him with a raised eyebrow, stretching your hand out to select The Box from the list of episodes. “Those are bold words, Jeon. Prove it.” 

“Forward to that part and I’ll do just that. That’s right,” he’s grinning, “I’m about to monologue, son.” 

And you very quickly find, he does know the whole monologue word for word, even getting the inflection on each ‘oh damn!’ perfectly right. You then spend the next hour or two watching your favourite episodes, laughing and making commentary on the best parts. 

You fall asleep at around one-thirty, at which point Jungkook slips out of your bed, taking a seat on your desk chair and draping a blanket over himself. He finds it’s pretty comfortable if he places a pillow on the right armrest and lies horizontally. 

He knows you won’t mind if he shares your bed, but he truly cannot risk catching a fever so close to his scheduled hell Monday of board meetings. So he dozes in and out of sleep, catching you every single time you rouse to get something without his help. He helps you cool down with a cold compress when your body temperature flares, and tucks you in neatly when you begin to shiver. He’s tempted several times to get you some cough medicine, but he’s not sure what’s safe and what isn’t, so he settles for the lemon and ginger lozenges he finds in your drawer and hands them to you when the coughing gets bad during the night. 

It’s around five forty-five a.m when he’s roused by you shifting in your sleep, murmuring something incoherent with your eyebrows furrowed. He shakes his head, trying to wake himself up as he registers your shifting getting more vigorous, your murmurings growing louder. 

And he remembers—you’re a sleep talker. 

“I’m sorry,” your voice is now a whisper, “I’m so sorry.” 

He frowns. Are you having a nightmare? He’s been told that people should be allowed to sleep through nightmares, but he doubts it’s effective, considering how you seem pretty distressed.  

“I’m sorry!” Your voice grows louder, breaking slightly at the end. “No, n-no don’t l-leave!” 

Jungkook adjusts himself into a vertical position, sitting upright with the blanket around him as he leans forward, taking your outstretched hand in his own as he softly says, “Shh, it’s okay, no one’s leaving. _________? If you can hear me, it’s Jungkook. I’m sitting right here. No one’s leaving, alright? You don’t need to apologize either.” 

“I’m sorry.” Is all you say in response. 

“You don’t have to be, sweetheart,” he coos, “there’s nothing you need to apologize for.” 

Your shoulders begin to relax. 

“Good, there we go, that’s it. You can hear me, hm? I’m right here. No one’s leaving you, ________, no one. I’m here. I promise I’m here.” He continues this way, until you’re fully relaxed, breathing no longer erratic and panicked, but slow and drawn out. With a sigh, Jungkook leans back against chair, hand still holding your own as his voice slips into decrescendo. 

“I’m...not...leaving.” 

When you woke up later that morning, amidst the residual fear from a nightmare you couldn’t recall, you feel the slightest, strangest feeling of comfort, stemming from a distant voice promising you it wasn’t leaving. 

[glowrioustrash]

The Chainsaw Conundrum

Prompt:  15: “Come on, just let me scare a few trick-or-treaters.” “You’re going to horrify them!” “It’ll build character.” from this list. Requested by @panda-girl1999

Pairing: Dean Ambrose x unnamed OC

Word Count: 1000+

Warnings: A bit of swearing, I think.

Author’s Note: Last Halloween Prompt, better late than never.

Tagging: @castielscamander / @therealfivefeetoffuckingfury

You watched from the door to the backyard as Dean dug through the shed. He’d been out there for an awfully long time. Halloween was in a few days and he’d asked to be in charge of the decorations this year. He’d supported you in decorating the house in the past but always thought you put too much into it so you were surprised he offered. It took one thing off your to do list, but he was quickly running out of time. You liked putting the decorations up a few weeks before to help get in the spirit and the house was still bare.

A shovel was thrown out of the shed, followed by a rake. You sighed and crossed the yard, wrapping your arms around yourself to stop the cool autumn air from chilling you.

“Incoming.” You called to him so he would know you were nearby and stop throwing things around. You peeked your head cautiously into the shed, seeing the whole place in disarray. Last time you’d been in here it had been pretty well organized, but that was gone to hell now. From where he was digging around in the far corner, you could see he had taken off his jacket leaving him in his muscle shirt. His hair was sticking up all over the place like he’d be running his hands through it.

“Hey.” He grunted, not pausing in his search.

“Anything I can help with?” You asked, taking a few steps inside. He stopped and looked up at you then, his face smudged with dirt. You couldn’t help but smile at how adorable he looked.

“No, I know it’s here somewhere.” He shook his head. “It’s cold, go inside.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, looking pointedly at his bare arms. He rolled his eyes and pulled his leather jacket back on.

“Better?” He huffed.

“Better.” You agreed.

“Good. Now get inside.” He winked before turning back to his task.

“Fine.” You sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to talk him out of whatever it was he was so set on. “But at least try to finish up by nightfall. Don’t need you getting sick, either.”

“Yes, m’am.”

Another 20 minutes passed of Dean making noise from the shed. Dusk was coming and you were getting ready to drag his ass inside when he finally emerged, looking fully like the lunatic he portrayed on TV. Your eyes widened as he started waving a chainsaw around in the air.

You opened the door and ran out, hearing him hoot and holler as he started swiping and lunging at imaginary creatures.

“Dean! What the hell are you doing?” You called as you jogged closer.

“Nothing! Don’t worry about it.” He laughed.

“You’re holding a chainsaw, I’d have to be crazy to not be worried!”

“Do we know for a fact you ain’t? You’re with me after all.” He teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I thought you were decorating.” You sighed.

“I am!”

“You are not taking that chainsaw to anything in or around this house, Ambrose. I mean it.” You warned.

“What? No, no. I’m not gonna chop up the house.” He finally stopped waving the machine around, letting it hang loosely at his side.

“Then what the hell do you need a chainsaw for?” You rubbed your temples, feeling a migraine coming on.

“What’s fuckin’ scarier than a chainsaw-wielding mad man?” He smiled wickedly.

“Yeah, I’m looking at one.” You huffed. “Why?”

“I’m gonna dress up and chase ‘em off.”

“What?” You gaped at him as he started waiving the chainsaw around again.

“I’ll hide around the corner of the house and jump out at ‘em.”

“No.” You shook your head. “Absolutely not, Dean. They’re children.”

“Come on, just let me scare a few trick-or-treaters.” He pouted.

“You’re going to horrify them!” You gaped.

“It’ll build character.” He grinned.

“Dean, I love Halloween and you will not ruin it for me by scaring the neighbourhood kids so much they never come back to our house.” You glared at him before turning on your heel and walking back to the house.

“So, we’ll talk about it later?” He called after you but you didn’t respond.

Dean had decorated the house the next day, clearly trying to get in your good books so you would let him use the chainsaw. He kept doing little things to gain brownie points: he cuddled up with you while you caught up on a reality show you know he hated, he made the two of you a nice dinner and he even ran you a bath that night. It was quite nice, but neither of you brought up the chainsaw again.

The night of Halloween, Dean set the saw on the back porch near the door. He didn’t push his luck by bringing it in the house, but had it nearby. You ignored it.

By 11:00 all of the adorable children in their costumes had already come and gone, saying their “twick o’ tweat” and getting their chocolate bars. The streets were pretty empty, porch lights had been turned off and jack-o-lanterns blown out. You were both getting ready for bed when something outside the window caught Dean’s attention. You moved behind him to see what he was looking at.

A group of teenagers were walking down the street, all of them in normal street clothes but with various Halloween masks on. They were all wearing backpacks and a few of them were carrying cartons of eggs.

“Fuckin’ idiots.” Dean grumbled. “If they come anywhere near the house…”

“Because you never caused some mayhem on Halloween?” You teased, pinching his side.

“Yeah, but that was before I owned shit that could get destroyed. I don’t wanna clean up their mess.”

“Consider it karma.” You laughed, moving away from the window. “If you’re so pissy about it, go do something.”

Dean stormed out of the room and you shook your head. For having been such a wild teenager, he couldn certainly be a grumpy old man sometimes. You expected to hear him shouting at the kids from front door… not the revving of a chainsaw.

Your eyes widened in shock as you ran to the window. The kids were looking around in fear for the source of the noise when Dean ran out from behind the house, cackling maniacally. You covered your mouth to stifle your laughter as you watched these tough punks nearly shit themselves and run away screaming.

At least you’d both gotten what you wanted for Halloween.

[forever-dreaming-cullen]

[FIC] Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme, Chapter Five (NSFW-ish?)

Screenshot credit: the amazing @cantkeepmyeyesoff (Look at him — this looks like a photo of a real person!)

I finally have an update for you. There is a lot of story happening in this very looooong chapter. I hope you enjoy it, and once again, thank you to everyone who has liked and reblogged this story. You are all awesome!

Read it on AO3: This chapter or From the beginning.

War Bellows Blazing in Scarlet Battalions

Eala squatted by the river and dipped a bucket into the swiftly running water.  As she pulled it from the water, she glanced up at the sky and noted that the sun was beginning to dip beyond the western horizon. Cullen would be finishing up with camp inspections soon and be ready for a quick wash before supper.

As she started walking back to his tent, she heard rustling coming from the bushes to her right. Stopping, she listened for the sounds again, but the only noise she could hear was that of the soldiers finishing their preparations for the night. She shrugged and continued on; it must have been some small animal frightened off by the presence of so many people.

As she ducked beneath the flap of his tent and set the bucket of water down beside his bathing kit, she smiled as she thought about how his face would light up when he saw that she had brought him some water to wash with. While he didn’t require it of her, she enjoyed doing for him all the same. Traveling on horseback every day was quite grueling for him in his condition, and she wanted to do anything she could to make the journey easier for him.

Pulling out her small notebook, she found a stick of lead and sat down on the Commander’s bed to wait for his return. She had taken to sketching the scenery they had passed during that day’s ride to pass the time. Eyeing her work critically, she added more shading to the distant mountains and added a few more trees to the gently sloping hills in the foreground.

Pausing, she brushed her lips with the fingers of one hand and that whisper of a touch called to mind The Kiss, as she was now calling it. There had been no repeat of that event, not that she had truly expected there would be. He had most likely been overcome with emotion when it happened; he couldn’t have meant anything by it.

Oh, but how she longed for him to do it again. She recalled the taste of his lips; the hint of peppermint from the potions he took for his headaches and the tang of a flavor that was all his own. She licked her lips, imagining reaching out with her tongue to trace the boundaries of the scar in the upper right corner of his mouth. Her breathing roughened and heartbeat started picking up speed, a rush of warmth flooding her core, making her clench her thighs together. Maker, these thoughts were beyond inappropriate and —

“Maker’s breath, what an exhausting day!” Cullen entered the tent, immediately working on the clasps and ties that held his armor in place. In deference to the heat and the rigors of travel, he wore a much lighter armor set of a simple, abbreviated chest and back plate without pauldrons, worn over a light shirt, and simplified vambraces that just protected his forearms. He set his traveling armor on a rack in one corner of the tent, and he turned to her. “How in Thedas do you always manage to look so cool and composed when the rest of us are red in the face and sweating ?”

She shrugged, her cheeks coloring. “I-I don’t know. I-er-brought you some water to wash with,” she tilted her head toward the bucket.

“Thank you, but you know you do not have to do that. I am not yet so decrepit that I cannot fetch my own water. “ He laughed, but there was an edge to it that made her look up at him. He stood still before his armor stand, his golden eyes shuttered and far away. She wondered what he was thinking of to make him look so forlorn.

The sound of a neighing horse from across the camp cut through the air and seemed to break whatever spell had befallen the Commander. One corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk as he strode over to the bed and plopped down beside her, working at the buttons of his shirt. He peered down at the drawing in her lap, raising an eyebrow.

“What is this? Are these the Frostbacks?” He traced the jagged lines of the peaks on the paper with one blunt finger, and when she nodded her head, his smirk broadened into a full grin. He put an arm around her shoulders and lightly squeezed her against him. “Maker, are your talents unending? This is beautiful.” She let him pick up her notebook to study the drawing more closely. “We left the mountains behind long ago, and yet you remember them in such detail.”

The awe in his voice warmed her as much as the heat of his big body sitting so close to her did. “Why do you say such things,” she finds herself asking, a rush of embarrassment reddening her cheeks. When he spoke to her that way, she forgot everything except for the way he made her heart race and the tingles his barest touch triggered in her body.

“Because it is true.” He turned toward her and caught her chin in his hand and eyes of liquid gold met those of chocolate brown. “You are a very special woman, Eala, and you deserve to be appreciated. I —“ He sighed. “Maker’s breath, please forgive my ineptitude with words — but — you are special to me also.”

Maker, the way he looked at her with those eyes, and the way the soft cadence of his voice, so deep and masculine rumbled up from his chest and filled her ears. The words slipped from her, unbidden “You are special to me, too.”  She turned her face up to him as he started to lean forward —

“Commander,” called a voice from just outside the tent.

Cullen dragged a hand over his face. “Maker’s breath! My day is never done, it seems.” He chuckled ruefully as he rose to his feet. “I’ll see you later?”

Eala straightened her clothing and patted down her hair. “Of course. You’d best see what that soldier wants,” she said, keeping her gaze focused on the floor.  She should be glad, shouldn’t she, that the moment hadn’t been allowed to proceed. So, why did she feel so unsettled —

“Hey,” he tucked a finger under her chin to tip her face toward his. “You are remarkable. Do not forget that.” He kissed her nose before dropping his hand and quitting the tent.

Eala stared at the closed tent flap, unshed tears pooling in her eyes. She tried to force them, and everything else back, but despair filled her as she realized that it was far too late for that; Cullen Rutherford had already become much more than a friend, but what was she to him? A soft whimper left her because she already knew the answer.

 Eala watched Cullen ride up and down the long caravan of soldiers, horses, supply wagons, and siege equipment,  his golden eyes sharp and intent as he searched for laggards or breaks in the formation he had set them to. They had gotten off to a late start that morning thanks to a combination of problems.  One of the supply wagons had a cracked wheel, which had to be repaired, and some of the men had gotten a little too drunk during the night and, in their inebriated state,  had set fire to their tents. All of this, combined with the fact that the Commander was fighting a migraine, made him very grumpy, indeed, and now he had set a punishing pace to make up for the time they had lost.

She pulled her horse along side his as he settled in line behind one of the wagons. “How is your headache,” she asked, peering into his face.

He turned his head briefly to squint at her then returned his gaze to the road ahead,raising a hand to rub the left side of his forehead. “It’s been better,” he admitted.

The tense line of his shoulders and grim set of his mouth told her everything he had not.  “Cullen,” she placed a gentle hand on his bicep. “You need to lie down for a while. Let’s stop for a rest.”

“Now? You can’t be serious,” he growled, his expression darkening. “We’ve already been waylaid hours this morning by nonsense, I’ll not be the cause of any further delays!”

“Cullen —“

A loud cracking sound coming from the wagon ahead of them interrupted their conversation. Cullen frowned and gave a sharp whistle. “Halt,” he bellowed into the air, the sound of his voice carrying down the line, as his officers took up the cry and within seconds, the entire caravan halted in place.  

Jumping off his horse, he stalked over to the offending wagon and circled it, carefully inspecting it for the source of that noise. He evidently didn’t find anything, because he scratched his head and started walking back to his horse, grumbling under his breath when a louder crack sounded. He whirled around in time to watch the entire conveyance collapse, dumping tents, foodstuffs, and two squirming bodies on the dusty road.

Everyone who was near enough in the line to see what had happened stood in shocked amazement as the two bedraggled female figures sat coughing amid the piles of supplies.  As they wiped flour and dust off their faces and tossed back hair mired in muck, the two girls glared at each other and their audience.

“What in the bloody Void is going on here?” Cullen, far from being as stunned as the rest of the onlookers,  grabbed the two stowaways with a firm grip around each of their forearms and hauled them to their feet. “Who are you and what are you doing in one of my supply wagons?”

Two pairs of eyes looked up at him with apprehension, one set blue, and the other green, and it was then that Eala recognized them. Jocelyn and Heather. A chill encased her heart in ice.

“Please don’t be too angry with our boys, Commander,” Jocelyn wheedled, her voice high pitched and annoying. Cullen’s left eye twitched. “We insisted they bring us.”

The Commander’s eyebrows lowered as he pierced the two girls with cold golden eyes. Eala could tell that he was holding back his anger by the muscle ticking in his jaw. “I am going to ask just once,” he said through clenched teeth. “Who snuck you onto this supply wagon?”

Heather swallowed and trembled in Cullen’s grasp. “James Herring and Peter Marshal, Ser. But, please don’t punish them,” she wailed, and Eala almost felt sorry for her.

“All right, “ said Cullen as he dropped the two girls’ arms. “Let’s get this — mess cleaned up. You, there, grab some of these supplies and let’s distribute them amongst the other drays. At once!” He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and leaning his head back before spearing the two interlopers again with his gaze.”As for you two, you might as well help move these supplies. I will determine what to do with you after we make camp.”

“Yes, Ser,” the two said in unison, although Heather shot Eala a look that promised trouble later on.

Cullen chose to set up camp in open field near a thick copse of trees which was not too far away from where the wagon had broken down. As it was every time the army made camp, he was consumed with the logistics of overseeing such a large force en route. As Eala helped the soldiers set up his tent, she caught mere glimpses of the man as he quickly moved around the unfolding encampment. At one point, she saw him rubbing his neck and rolling it back and forth as he listened to one of his officers.She longed to go to him and bid him lie down so that she could tend him, but she knew he would not welcome her solicitude now.

The causes of the Commander’s current concerns sat in front of their boyfriends’ tents and were munching on some bread and cheese while they waited for him to have time to deal with them. The blonde and the redhead did not seem at all worried, and it set Eala’s teeth on edge. What in Thedas were these two little trollops doing here? Ducking inside Cullen’s tent, she put the problem from her mind as she set about preparing his headache potion.

An hour or so later, Cullen appeared at the entrance to the tent with a group of his officers. He looked wrecked: his face was pale and wan, and the purplish circles around his eyes were much more prominent. Eala made herself as unobtrusive as possible while the men filed in around the Commander’s makeshift desk. As she fiddled with her notebook, she listened half-heartedly to the men's conversation, hoping that it would be over soon so she could give him his potion and have him lie down for a while.

“Captain Geoffrey, set a detail to harvest some lumber and Captain Briony, your team will be in charge of processing the wood and making the repairs.” Cullen straightened up from his position leaning against his desk and sighed. “That will be all for now. Please call in Sers Harring, Marshall, and those two females.”

“Yes, Ser!” The officers saluted their Commander and began to file out while Cullen stood, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.

“Maker save me,” she heard him say under his breath as he twisted his neck from side to side, but he straightened his posture when his tent flap opened, and Jocelyn, Heather, and their two accomplices shuffled in.

Cullen stood tall and imposing, his arms crossed over his chest as he glared at the sheepish quartet.  A tell-tale muscle jumped in his jaw, informing Eala that in the hours since the wagon’s collapse, his temper had not settled at all.

“What have you to say for yourselves,” he growled as he glared at the two young men who looked like they would rather be anywhere else than standing where they were. “We are marching to war, not a Sunday tea party — your stunt has cost us valuable time!”

“Commander, Ser, we are sorry, Ser,” the dark-haired soldier said quickly. “We take full responsibility for sneaking the girls in, Ser, please don’t punish them.”

“What in the Void were you thinking,” Cullen thundered, then, as if all the anger had been drained from him, he sighed heavily and shook his head. “All right, the two of you are on latrine duty for the remainder of this mission — is that clear?”

“Yes Ser,” the two men said and bowed their heads in appropriate shame.

The Commander then turned his attention to the two women who were standing beside their partners in crime. “As for you two — not only will you help Cook prepare the meals on this mission, but you will also clean and fetch whenever we make camp.”

“But Ser,” cried Heather, “Such tasks make no use of our talents. We are healers. Surely —“

“Silence,” he roared,  ruddy color suffusing his face and a feral snarl twisting his features. “By the Maker, since you have foisted yourselves upon my army, you will make yourselves useful in any way that I command!  Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Ser,” the two girls acquiesced, heads lowered.

“Dismissed!”

The subdued group of four shuffled out of the tent, but not before Eala saw Jocelyn throw her a venomous glance under her lashes. Eala shivered as she wondered why those two were here and what they hoped to gain.

As soon as they left, Cullen seemed to sag and Eala went to him to help him to sit on the edge of his bed. “Are you all right?” She felt his forehead and her hand came away damp with his sweat. “Maker, you’re soaked!”

“My head hurts.” His brows drew together in a grimace, and he groaned as he stretched out on his back.“So tired.”

“Oh, Cullen,” she whispered, rising to her feet to fetch the headache potion she had made earlier. “Can you sit up for me?” At his nod, she gave him the potion and watched as he sat up and swallowed it down before collapsing back onto the bed.

She took the empty bottle from him, then working quickly, got his traveling armor off him — thank the Maker he wasn’t wearing his full plate set, or she’d have never managed it —then took off his boots and unbuttoned his shirt to help him get comfortable. The grateful groan that left him after she had covered his eyes with a damp cloth and wiped down his face, neck, and chest with another made her glad she was here to take care of him.

As she was leaving Cullen’s tent after making sure that he was comfortably resting, she ran into Heather who had apparently been standing outside of the Commander’s tent — for how long, Eala couldn’t guess. Eala narrowed her eyes as she looked up at the taller woman. “What do you want, Heather?”

A nasty grin turned up Heather’s red lips. “Why, I need to speak with the Commander. Is he in?”

For some reason, she did not think it was wise to reveal anything out Cullen’s condition to this woman. Eala crossed her arms over her chest and said in a firm tone “The Commander has asked that he not be disturbed. He is in the middle of some important work.”

“Is that so? Well, tell him I need to see him at once.”

Eala rolled her eyes. “Did you not hear me say that the Commander is not to be disturbed?”

“Well, tell him that I want to talk to him when he’s not — indisposed.”

Eala shivered, even in the warmth of the afternoon sun as she watched the blonde strut back to her boyfriend’s tent. That woman was trouble, but what kind of trouble, she couldn’t say. Heading over to the broken wagon to offer her help, Eala vowed to keep an eye on Heather and Jocelyn.

 It took them an additional week to reach the Western Approach and three days after that to reach the area about a mile or so from Adamant where Cullen wanted to set up the army’s main encampment. Closer to Adamant, he ordered a forward operating base set up and staffed on a rotational basis.

As Eala walked through the tent-city that spread across the sandy valley, she could sense the soldiers’ anticipation for the coming battle. Everywhere she looked, Cullen’s captains and lieutenants drilled their men, and those soldiers not engaged in training were hauling supplies to where they were needed along the packed dirt roadways that formed a grid of streets throughout the encampment.

Eala paused to scan the area around her with narrowed eyes. Satisfied that no one was following her, she continued on her way, swinging the bucket of cold water she carried and whistling a tune.  Ahead of her the siege engines loomed, towering high above the desert floor.  The Commander and a crew of his men had been calibrating the trebuchets all morning, and she was sure he would be quite thirsty by now.  

As she climbed onto the control deck of one of the trebuchets, she could see the Commander bent over its controls,  fiddling with something while he shouted out instructions to the men standing on the other side of the contraption. As she approached, he straightened, and she could see that he had removed his shirt in deference to the hot desert sun. He went around shirtless quite a lot, actually, much to her delight.  His gorgeous torso glistened with sweat; she could she droplets of it nestled in his pale blond chest hair. Maker, but he was so beautiful that he made her heart hurt.

Her heart tripping over in her chest, she walked up to him and proferred the bucket of water to him. He raised an eyebrow and smiled his thanks as he picked up the ladle and spooned some of the cool water into his mouth. She watched as his Adam’s apple worked in his strong, stubble-covered throat as he swallowed.

“Maker, that’s divine! Thank you, I needed that.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You are an angel to carry this all the way out here for me.” Then he took the ladle and drank more water before turning around and calling for his men to come and have a drink as well. Behind her, she heard snickering, but when she looked all she caught sight of was a flash of red hair ducking around the nearest tent.

She looked up at Cullen, wondering if she should tell him about it. This hadn’t been the only time since Jocelyn and Heather had joined them that she caught one or both of them watching her and the Commander. But what could she say? She still hadn’t figured out their purpose in even being here, let alone determined why they would watch her and the Commander in the first place. She blushed as she thought about Jocelyn watching the Commander’s open affection for her. Cullen certainly was not shy about that!

“Well,” he said, giving the machine a pat on the side. “I think these are calibrated and ready for battle.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead.“Now all I have to do is inspect our weapons and shields, and then, troop inspections —“

“Commander!” A soldier appeared at Cullen’s side holding a stack of papers. “Ser! Knight-Captain Rylen is here with a contingent from Griffon Wing Keep.”

“Very good, thank you. Tell the Captain that I will speak with him shortly.” He turned to Eala, with a heavy sigh. “There’s always more to do. I’ll see you tonight, all right? “

Eala nodded. “All right. I’ll leave this with you, “ she indicated the water. She glanced behind her, then turned to smile at Cullen before hopping down from the trebuchet’s deck.

   As the setting sun painted the sky with pinks, yellows, and mauves,  Eala meandered toward Cullen’s tent from the healer’s  where she had been helping out with cutting up and folding bandages. The sounds of the soldiers engaging in games of chance and telling ribald stories around the fire floated in the air, and the scent of cooking meat from the mess tent teased her nostrils, reminding her that it was time for supper.

She hoped that she would find Cullen resting rather than in the command tent, scowling over the map of Adamant. But of course,  when she got there, the infuriating man was bent over the map, the walls of the command tent peeled back to allow in the cool evening breeze.  Brows furrowed, he rubbed the back of his neck as he studied the map

“Cullen,” she said, coming up beside him and placing a small hand over his much larger one. “Come. It’s past time for supper and your treatment .”

He glanced at her and straightened himself with a grimace. He rolled his neck and leaned his head back against his hand. “Maker, is that late already? I must have forgotten the time. Well.” He smiled at her and offered his hand. “Let’s have supper then, and afterward I want to show you something.”

“What are you going on about now, you silly man,” she told him with an exasperated smile, although in truth, she would do anything to make him smile at her like that. When he did, it turned her insides to jelly. “You know you need your treatment straight away.”

“Ah, my sweet, conscientious Eala.” He winked at her. “ Fear not, love, you can give me my treatment where I am taking you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Cullen Stanton Rutherford, what are you up to?”

“Me? Why, nothing, nothing at all.  I am innocent!”

They laughed and made their way to the mess tent together.

 After supper, Cullen asked her to gather a blanket and some things from the tent while he saw to something. She sighed in playful exasperation, thinking he had gone off to see to something related to the army or the coming battle. However, she was surprised when she exited the tent holding the bag she had packed with a blanket and some cheese and fruit to see that standing outside the tent was the Commander’s horse, a blanket over its back, with the Commander himself standing at its head, talking soothingly to it.

“Am I to walk then?” she asked archly.

He grinned at her. “No.” Then he lifted her effortlessly in his arms and set her on the back of his horse.

“You will NOT walk, either!” She crossed her arms over the bag in her lap.

He shook his head no, then held one finger up in a bid for her to wait, then slipped into the tent. He was back in a few seconds with another bundle in his arms, which he tucked into her bag then dropped it back in her lap. Then he swung up behind her, wrapping one arm around her middle as he took the reins. He kicked the horse into a trot, and soon they were headed out of the camp.

The moon rose above the tawny hills surrounding them as Cullen guided the horse onward. Every so often, he brushed his lips over the top of her head, causing tingles to race up and down her spine. She could feel his strong naked chest at her back and the warm press of him against her arse.

Unable to help herself, she leaned back against him, resting her head on his shoulder. She looked up at his profile,  admiring the crisp, clean lines of his face: the strong nose, carved cheekbones, and defined jawline. Maker, he was like the golden heroes out of the storybooks her mother used to read her when she was little.

He smiled down at her and winked when he noticed her observing him. “We’re almost there,” he told her, giving her waist a gentle squeeze.

“Where is there?” She sat forward, craning her neck as she looked around. They had ridden into a small ravine, with huge boulders towering over them on either side.

“So impatient,” he scolded, but there was no heat behind his words. He turned the horse into the nook of a rocky outcropping and halted. “And here we are.”

Eala surveyed her surroundings as he dismounted, then lifted her down from the horse. An open crevice in the rocks emitted cooler air, and the scent of — was it water?  She stepped closer to it but didn’t go in,  waiting for Cullen to finish hobbling the horse.

Cullen returned to her side and lit a torch, gesturing for her to enter the cave. It was dark inside, but the cooler air felt heavenly on her hot cheeks, and she could hear the sound of running water somewhere ahead of her. As Cullen stepped in behind her with the lit torch, the chamber was revealed.

She gasped as she stepped forward, touching the stalagmites poking up from the ground. The cave formed a wide chamber with a spring running through it which fed into a pool of bubbling water at the very back. Large stones ringed the pond and on a ledge above the roiling water was a lantern. Several candles were scattered around the edges of the pool, as well.

“What is this place?” Her voice was filled with wonder as she wandered deeper into the cavern.

“Do you like it,” Cullen asked, coming up beside her and wrapping a muscular arm around her waist.

She nodded vigorously. “Yes. It’s beautiful, but when did you —“

“Our scouts found it during one of their forays, and I thought it would be — nice to have a real bath after so many weeks on the road.” He left her side to light the lantern and the candles before extinguishing the torch. The flickering candlelight played along the curves of his muscled arms and chest, highlighting every delicious dip and peak and picking up and defining every pale gold hair on his body.

Her eyes went wide. “But —“

He chuckled and took off his sword belt, leaning the sword against an outcropping of stalagmites. “Well, love, I do not know about you, but after weeks of washing with naught but a bucket and cloth,  that water looks far too inviting to pass up this chance.” His fingers made quick work of his belt buckle and started in on his laces. She turned around, her cheeks flaming so brightly, she was sure he would be able to see them even in the dim light.

“Cullen! You — you — can’t! ‘Tis unseemly,” she protested, but he evidently paid her no mind because she heard the tell-tale splash behind her of him getting into the pool. “Maker’s breath, Cullen!” She cringed as she imagined what he must look like, completely naked in that water. He was right there. Wearing not a stitch! She could turn around right now and take him in: she could look her fill, and no one would be any wiser. Well, except for him. Oh, Maker!

“Ahh, Maker, this water feels divine. Will you not join me, sweetheart?” More splashing sounded as he made himself comfortable. He sounded so matter-of-fact as if they were taking tea in the tavern.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she turned around to find him sitting on what appeared to be an underwater ledge on the far side of the pool. The water wasn’t very deep, coming just beneath his chest while he was seated. She could see the suggestion of his naked lower half, but the dim lighting and the bubbling water made it difficult to make out any details. Not that she was looking!

Biting her lip, she considered her options: she could remain dry while he bathed, but the chance of a real bath where she could submerge herself was simply too tempting to pass up, even if it meant having company while she did so. They were friends, right? Friends bathed together, did they not? Besides, in the dim light, she could slip in and out of the water without revealing too much of herself to him.

“All right,” she told the man who was lounging indolently in the bubbling waters.  “I shall join you, but only if you promise to close your eyes while I undress and get in the water.”

“Anything you wish, my lady,” he said, bowing his head in obeisance, then promptly shutting his eyes.

Keeping one eye on Cullen, Eala quickly removed her dress and the light shift she wore beneath it. “Keep them closed,” she ordered, as she pinned her braid in a loose bun at her nape, then slid quietly into the water. When she was satisfied that her naked form was completely concealed, she said: “Okay, you can open them.”

The water, which probably came up to his waist when he was standing, came up to her shoulders, and he was right: it did feel divine. Warm, but not overly so, it slid deliciously over her body, it's high mineral content immediately softening her skin. She took a few moments to paddle around the pool; it wasn’t really big enough to swim in, but she wanted to buy some time while she considered where she should sit. Should she stay on the opposite side of the pool from him?

Cullen seemed to have his own ideas, however. “Come here, love, “ he beckoned, patting the water at his side “I cannot talk to you properly when you’re so far away.”

She observed him silently. He was leaning back against the rocks, his eyes closed and his arms stretched out on either side of him. He looked quite at home in the water and much more relaxed than she had seen him in an Age. Inhaling sharply, she crossed the pond to his side and found a ledge that was a little higher up than the one he on which he sat. It allowed her to comfortably sit with her head and neck above the waterline, while the rest of her remained concealed under the water.

Cullen opened one eye and smirked at her. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Y-yes, but it is still unseemly.”

“Sod unseemly,” he rejoined, his brows drawing together over glinting golden eyes. “We’ve been in close quarters for weeks, sweetling. Think of it as part of my therapy, if it eases your mind,” his voice trailed off into a long groan as he rolled his shoulders and winced. “But as for me, I find nothing wrong with two adults having a bath together.” He inclined his head toward the bag on the edge of the pool beside his head. “Reach into that bag, will you, and grab the wine.”

She gulped. “W-wine?”

“Something wrong with a bit of wine?” Cullen raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his muscular chest.

His tone told her that arguing that even the best of friends did not share a bottle of wine while bathing nude together, at least not where she came from, would be futile. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the bag and tugged it closer to her. Inside, she found a bottle of Tevinter wine and two goblets. She took these out and set them on the pool’s edge between them. She also found a bar of soap and some towels, which she plucked out and set aside for later.

After he had poured them each a glass, he settled back against the rocks and sighed. “Maker, now this is heaven. I’m not sure I want to go back to camp.”

“You say that now, but I know you wouldn’t last even one day away from your precious troops and strategy plans,” she retorted as she took the goblet from him.

“Mmm, you may be right. But it is a nice fantasy, is it not? Just you and me in this wonderful relaxing water, no cares in the world beyond each other.”

“What?” Eala felt dizzy all of a sudden like she couldn’t get enough oxygen. “Did you — did you say that you —“

He looked at her with smoldering golden eyes, eyes that seemed to search deep into her soul, as he sat up and leaned forward, reaching out a hand to cup her cheek. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, sweetheart: in my perfect world, you would be with me, and we would share its delights together. Is that so difficult to believe?”

Closing her eyes, she took deep breaths as she tried to calm her racing heart. Get a hold of yourself, Eala. He’s talking fantasy, though why he would be fantasizing about her, she would never understand.

“Uhm, okay, I guess that’s a nice fantasy,” she croaked, pulling away from him to wet her throat with a sip of wine. “But why not the Inquisitor?”

Instead of returning to his previous position, Cullen scooted closer to her. He leaned in and brushed her lips with his. “Oh, it’s much more than a fantasy, sweetheart, and that’s the other reason I brought you here. I am tired of dancing around this — thing between us. In a few days time, we’ll assault Adamant Fortress, and I have no way of knowing if I will survive. I could not let this opportunity go by to let you know what you mean to me.”

“No,” she whispered, dropping her gaze and pulling away from him. “No, no, no.”   Tears streaming down her cheeks, she snatched up the soap and turned away to slip into the deeper water in the center of the pool. What he was saying was impossible! There was no way in Thedas that his Golden-ness could want frumpy, dumpy her. And what did he mean he may not survive? Eala shook her head and submerged completely in the water. When she surfaced, her hair streaming water and coming loose around her shoulders in inky ringlets, she heard him calling to her.  

“Eala?”

She dared to look back at him. He was standing up now, a worried expression creasing his face.  “I-I’m okay, “ she called out in a tremulous voice. “I j-just need to wash, I’ll be done in a moment.” She hoped he would believe her and leave her be. This had been a mistake, a huge mistake. She shivered as she took her the rest of her hair out of its braid and started to scrub it with the soap.

Eala gasped when she felt his hands fall on her shoulders, turning her around to face him. Her mouth went dry. He stood before her in water that came to just above his lean waist, his muscular torso gleaming in the candlelight. He was looking down at her, his golden eyes somber.

[vampykitty-kun]

Should Learn To Just Stay Home

Rating: M

Characters/Pairing: Bruce/Jason (can be taken one-sided or as mutual), Bruce/Selina, Tim/Kon. Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Harleen Quinzel, Lucius Fox, Vicki Vale.

Word Count: 2343

Notes: Pre-New 52, canon compliant. Nothing graphic relationship wise. Implied daddy kink. Jason's mostly being a little shit trying to get a rouse out of Bruce in public while he's trying to be "Brucey" for the gala fundraiser. Destruction of a loved vehicle. -x-x-x-x-x-x-

He should have stayed home.

Or better yet, he should have been out on patrol.

The past week had been a terror he never wished to repeat under any circumstances, and he was still wondering deep down whether the entire city had been plotting his demise together, or if he truly was just that unfortunate in his luck by all natural means.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Despite popular belief in Gotham, Bruce- Batman, was in fact only human. Though he was adamant about his refusal to admit so, sometimes after a particularly grueling week of leading a double life he found himself utmostly exhausted, and asking himself the timeless question of “what is my life?”. Alfred and he had strong disagreements over what qualified as overexertion and stretching oneself too thin, but really, who would understand his personal daily limits better than himself? Certainly not Alfred's judgmental eyebrows...

But at the present Bruce was truly willing to admit defeat.

The past week had been a terror he never wished to repeat under any circumstances, and he was still wondering deep down whether the entire city had been plotting his demise together, or if he truly was just that unfortunate in his luck by all natural means.

Not only had it managed to snow in September, causing a city wide panic in which everyone flocked to the stores to fight over groceries, and countless vehicular accidents- most notably Dick's. His eldest's flying Batmobile of choice had dramatically skidded off the rooftop Damian and he had landed on, sliding on the black ice neither boy had been able to see, and ultimately the car had been a total loss. Their cars were sturdy, but not fifteen story drop sturdy. Batman and Robin had ejected their seats and had landed on the slick safety of the roof, surviving to watch the metal crumple in on itself as it hit the pavement with a sickening screech. He had arrived to retrieve them only to find Dick in an utter state of shock still gaping down at his baby's remains in the street below and Damian awkwardly offering a consoling palm on his mentor's shoulder as he mourned the loss.

Never mind that they could fabricate a second one... Dick had always been especially sentimental...

Then of course Victor had to come out of the wood work to celebrate the abnormally early winter wonderland- oddly enough not caused by him, nor the other cold based rogues the League dealt with (he had so been hoping to place the blame on something other than nature), and that had been a catastrophe to contain. A word he used loosely when faced with over seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars in property damage downtown...

Of course such events only managed to get the other local rogues fired up and in a festive mood, and not two days after several buildings became ice sculptures, a riot broke out within Arkham, and several escapes somehow managed to occur. One of these days Bruce was going to revolt and uproot the entire staff, before hand-picking his own employees for payroll, while letting Lucius and Tim work out a security system that was true to the word overkill. He was getting awfully tired of various levels of workers taking bribes, being controlled via drugs, poison and/or pollen, and shapeshifters managing to fool other guards. He and Gordon had bonded over this very topic just a month prior over rooftop coffee, glares, and exasperated sighs. Jim truly needed a vacation.

The escapees this go around? The Riddler, Penguin, and Ivy were the only heavy hitters, accompanied by several less worrisome inmates. He was relieved that none of the more volatile rogues had managed to make a get away.

Was it wrong to be happy that he was unable to find any trace of the three? Perhaps. But quiet rogues enjoying their freedom in hiding was far better than three rogues having escaped to wreak premeditated havoc on the city. In time they would each come out of hiding on their own and he would inevitably pick them up then. Instead, he managed to recover ninety percent of the other various inmates that had escaped along side them within seventy-two hours, even with other things keeping him preoccupied.

Other things like Harleen leaving Damian strung up like a piñata with a pair of cat ears and a tail added to his ensemble while he pursued Selina four blocks over. Somehow he shouldn't have been surprised when they looped back around and the blonde was gone. Even more so when Selina snapped a few photos of his son with her phone, cooed, then licked her way into his mouth, arms draped around his neck. He certainly should have anticipated the small dagger that ended up lodged in the meat of his shoulder while she gracefully leapt away- with his dignity, and he wrenched the blade back through the torn kevlar. If he took photos of Damian discreetly before cutting him down he rationalized that his son was better off none the wiser.

Alfred promptly framed one.

Damian began the 'silent treatment' with both of them for the betrayal...

Then came the security hack at Wayne tower. Nothing of any value had been accessed, mostly due to Tim's alarms and quick maneuvering, but the fact that anyone had had the audacity to attempt a break through had Tim snarling as his agitated strokes abused his poor keyboards, and Bruce had left the young man's office shaking his head, not wanting to touch that with a ten foot pole. Barbara had informed him hours later that Tim had found the source of the intrusion, and several cups of coffee later he had not only fixed the systems so it could never be re-attempted, but that Tim had decimated the party's systems beyond recovery in a fit of tech. vengeance that had left him smiling contently- but with a tick to a brow. Bruce had not wanted to see the feed from Oracle's conversation with him, but of course Barbara was cruel, and he was certain the shudder that had gone through his body seeing the teen's face was going to repeat and haunt him for weeks.

No one ever touched Tim or Barbara's system's twice.

On the sixth night of the week he was subjected to the gala fundraiser from hell. Mandatory- or so Alfred and Lucius insisted, Bruce was certain at this point that they merely enjoyed to see him suffer humanity. He perhaps could have tolerated it, he had countless times before, if the boys had managed to maintain proper human civilian behavior throughout the night instead of bringing chaos- or if they had merely stayed at their respective homes.

He should have stayed home.

Or better yet, he should have been out on patrol.

Three hours in he had begun to pray for catastrophe to end the event.

Dick was tipsy, and had already demonstrated a back-flip for a small cluster of awed wealthy teens and was moving on to more elaborate acrobatics by the time he had managed to make his way over to the group and scruff his eldest, dragging him away from a chorus of boos. After planting him at a table where he would hopefully settle down Bruce had returned to reluctant mingling.

He was half way through his fourth tumbler of seltzer, playing the boozed playboy, when suddenly an arm far from feminine had skirted around his waist, joined by a chin resting on his shoulder. Before he could turn to face who he had wrongly assumed was a newly mobile clingy Dick, the arm around his waist shifted until a firm hand slid to his thigh and squeezed sensually. One of the ladies in from of him squeaked at the sight and he froze.

“That suit makes you look delicious... I should come to these more often, Daddy.” Jason- whom Bruce hadn't the slightest idea how he had managed to get in to the event, purred behind him.

Unfortunately not quiet enough for it to go undetected by the gaggle of ladies around him. Ladies who were now in various states of shock, amusement, arousal, and disgust.

With the week he had been having he should have known better than to be comforted by an utter lack of Red Hood and/or Scarlet. Really, why had he taken that as a good sign? Why had he been praying for catastrophe?

Pure idiocy, that's why.

“Broooose, I haven't seen you in weeks!” he had pouted, scraping stubble across his cheek as he nuzzled Bruce despite the look of mortification on his face. “I've missed our play-dates so much, don't you love me anymore, Sir?” Jason had huffed, corners of his mouth twitching.

He could smell the whiskey on the man's breath but he also knew well enough that Jason was far from plastered. This was intentional and thought out.

Of all the things that could have happened it was quite honestly the last way he had thought that this night would have gone. He could only imagine the thoughts going through the ladies' heads at such a display. Making matters worse he managed to look in the right direction at the right time just fast enough to catch Vicki Vale's very interested approach and he pried himself out of Jason's grasp none too gently.

“Now now Jay, I think you have had more than enough to drink...” He chuckled, hoping the grin not reaching his eyes was passable enough for their audience. “We'll discuss this thoroughly at a time in which you can be properly embarrassed by your behavior...” He snipped, and the Hood only rolled his eyes with a smirk.

“I look forward to it... gonna punish me, B?”

Bruce was sure he was going to have an aneurysm. The migraine was already forming.

Much to his relief Alfred appeared just as he was reaching a fetching shade of purple.

“If you would follow me, Sir, I will deposit you at your home. Ladies, I do home you forgive this young man. I assure you that he will be most embarrassed come morning about being so handsy. Sweet lad did an apprenticeship with Master Bruce a few years ago...” he trailed off, and Bruce watched as the majority seemed to accept the butler's explanation for the scene.

Jason however looked put out over the end of his fun, and reluctantly allowed Alfred to herd him towards the main entrance to the hall.

Bruce gave a nervous laugh once they were out of sight, and glanced over at Vale to see a look of fury on her face, before turning back to his ring of guests.

“Now ladies sorry for that awkward interruption- he really is a sweet boy, just in a rough patch... friends with my boys these days, seems he's harbored a crush...” He cleared his throat, straightening his suit jacket.

And that was that.

Only he should have most definitely called it a night after Alfred's departure.

As though Jason's surprise groping tipsy appearance had not been shocking enough, it certainly hadn't turned out to be the most awkward event of the night.

No, Vicki had managed to miss out on quite the story of groping, and had been out for blood.

His sons were far too careless outside their suits and clearly wanted him grey and wrinkled.

Because before he could even be aware of the situation, Vicki was on top of Tim- or to be more accurate, Conner Kent was on top of Tim, and the teen was very unaware of the audience they held while the half Kryptonian pressed his back into the hall's wall and kept his mouth distracted.

Bruce himself only stumbled upon it by chance- taking a breather from the crowd, and was too late to prevent Vale's hovering and most importantly of all, his son being macked on by Clark's.

When this had developed he wasn't sure, but he was quickly beginning to regret letting Tim spend so much time alone with the buff teen for so many years.

Alfred truly was the better parent. He deserved all the awards. Bruce himself was hopeless.

Although too late, he cleared his throat pointedly and Kent promptly put several feet of distance between the two of them, leaving Tim panting against the wall- where he managed to focus long enough to look up at the woman in horror.

He knew his fate was sealed. That was punishment enough. Bruce remembered fondly the Tamara Fox situation. The boy knew he was screwed.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“I'm heading home to bed... we'll discuss this development after I've gotten a good amount of rest. Be home before midnight.” And with that he had left Tim to handle the situation by himself.

He only managed half undressing before he was asleep face first in his sheets.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Bruce woke with a groan and flaming death in his retinas. He shifted, jamming his face beneath his pillow as Alfred tsked.

“I thought perhaps you would like a morning update of the boys...” The elder man chuckled fondly.

Bruce only whined and burrowed deeper into the Tempur-Pedic mattress.

“Before sundown they're your sons...” he muttered, muffled by the down pillow.

“While I must congratulate Master Dick and his Disney movies for that reference, I recommend taking a look at this morning's newspaper. That Vale woman is simply just ghastly...” he huffed, smacking Bruce's hip with the rolled newsprint.

The man stiffened and poked his head out reluctantly.

“She had hours, just hours to get things into print and managed it...” He groaned, turning over as he unfolded the mess that was sure to be his life.

And it was.

Front and center on page one was Tim pinned to the tacky wallpapered wall with a tongue down his throat, giant bold print offering explanations for Tim and Tam's called off engagement, affairs, Tim's supposed shame over his sexuality, and much to Bruce's horror, mentions that the apple might not have fallen too far from the tree given the much younger man seen in Bruce's company last night that had been awfully bold in his affections.

He could just die.

Bruce moaned as he returned to smothering himself with the pillow.

Alfred only laughed as he pulled the curtains closed once more and exited the room.

What was his life?

[thepulta]

Background (1/3)

Westlie was not a stranger to rage. It enveloped her as she stalked down the hallway. When she focused on the source, traced it back, she could feel the anger burning deep in her chest as it fed off the injustice of the day. The sting ran through her muscles; made her arms tighten and her fists clench. It steeled her. And that was what she needed, because that injustice of the day was why she was here, now, fighting to win on her terms. Westlie took a deep breath, stopping in the middle of the hallway to check her anger and bury it tighter, denser, until she felt rock solid and ready to explode at any moment. This fight was important.

Everything felt a bit new because she usually didn’t fight with her anger; it acted like a shield that insults and cuts bounced off of and got absorbed, making the core burn brighter and harder. Occasionally it got too bright and too hot and she exploded in the wrong way to win battles, but usually she needed it as a shield, and the shield worked.

She could do this. She could stand strong this time.

She wasn’t a stranger to rage; she’d gotten a good taste of Arthur’s rage before she felt it inside herself, and Arthur was often angry. If she searched far back to one of her first memories, he was hovering over her tutor while she tried to scratch out her letters. After some time she got to ‘p’ and after some nerves, wrote it backwards. She just remembered the sharp “Wrong!” barked over her head and the paper ripped out of her grasp. She’d jerked away from the desk, startled. Arthur crumpled it in his giant hands, scowling at her with sullen umber eyes. He had red hair that was slicked back in an unpleasant sign of control and order. “Do it again.”

Westlie remembered the first seeds of real fear planted in her heart as she shakily took another page offered by the tutor (who looked ambivalent; he was paid; he didn’t give a shit) and tried again. (And again, and again, and again, while each time her hands got shakier and the letters got worse.) After the fifth time she burst into tears and Arthur scoffed and walked away. The test was over. She failed. She’d wanted to do well, and she failed.

Westlie forced herself to confront the knowledge that that memory was important because she was still scared. She took a breath and tried to ground herself, pushing down the immediate burn of anger that took fear’s place.

She could remember when she was ten too. (Stars, she’d been such a small, terrified child by that point.) When Arthur instructed his secretary to give her a pair of breeches -or anything other than a skirt. (“I don’t care where you get them. Sew a pair yourself if you have to. Robinson’s doesn’t have goddamn breeches for girls? She won’t set foot in that place without pants.”) The next morning after her birthday, she ended up with a pair of cast-off breeches that reeked of mushrooms and a flap in the front. The secretary took her to the shop after she put them on, nudging open the unfamiliar back door and handing her two fist-thick ledgers off a nearby shelf.

“Millie is out sick and Arthur wants you to do these.” The woman had the self-respect to give her a somewhat pitying look. “You can stay here in the back, or do them out front. The receipts are on the side wall. No- not-” she rolled her eyes. “Look. Side wall. By the crystal lilies. They’re alphabetized by date, but the more important customers come first, so you might have to cross-reference with our yearly sales records. Third down from the top, second to the right.”

Westlie remembered the room to the detail since it hadn’t changed during the next sixteen years. Several small mail-like boxes of miscellaneous materials, crystal lilies near the receipts on the bottom, with some small preserved jars of blemmigans on top with a jar of eyeballs on the top right. The back of the store was an assortment of supplies from mushrooms to coffee, giving the room a deep, heady scent that gave you migraines and nightmares if you stayed for more than 8 hours. To the right of the back entrance was a storage room of engine parts. She learned later there was a fake shelf in the storage room that held several hours in case of unsavory events. Nothing more, nothing less. She wasn’t supposed to touch them, even now – not that Fairweather had ever needed them.

There was a desk against the foremost wall of the back room covered with paperwork. There was a small chime connecting through the wall over the desk, then another door to the right of the desk that opened into the shop front.

Westlie remembered absorbing it all for the first time, struggling under the weight of the ledgers with a horrified soul at the jar of preserved eyeballs floating and staring lucidly at her. She swallowed. “Should- should I organize the receipts by date as I finish…?” There was the click of the door closing and she spun around, a pit in her stomach opening up. She was alone. There was the vague chatter from the front room, but it faded out to a murmur, only picking up as the door opened or closed five minutes later.

Westlie had done practice ledgers once, but Arthur had never allowed her to see the real thing ‘because she wasn’t good enough to touch them’. The weight of her situation – not situation: injustice, because it was an injustice when she’d never done the ledgers before, wasn’t it? – landed on her shoulders and in her stomach and Westlie bit her lip, chest aching. She didn’t have the words for it, but Older-Westlie could feel the ice of fear crackle over her soul in the memory – that Arthur would come and tell her it was wrong, all wrong- that the tutor would drop in and switch her; that she wasn’t alone really, they were lurking and waiting for the mistakes to be hung over her head. There had to be some misunderstanding. They wouldn’t just leave her here, would they? Memory after memory of similar situations with bad endings piled up in her mind and Westlie remembered choking in that moment, horrified in the room with the pair of eyeballs. Because they would. They had. They just did. And it was a grave, grave injustice to her because of it.

Westlie remembered climbing up on the desk stool and shoving the ledgers on the table, her shoulders shaking. It took a few minutes; a few candles flickered in the silence before the pit in her stomach and her throat. She let out a quiet, terrified cry as the tears started to drip down her cheeks. After a few minutes of gasping she buried her face in her arms. The secretaries (only one on staff at a time, but they were frequently fired) were sometimes nice, but this one didn’t care. Nobody cared. Nobody in the world cared.

The heady, unfamiliar scent of darkdrop coffee curled around Westlie, making her cry harder in deep hypoxiating gulps. It might have been ten minutes or two hours later when her tears dried up; she stopped hiccupping and she slowly raised her head, opening the ledgers to their last entry. The pages turned with a thick lethargy. A hasty scrawl said the last captain's entry had sold a load of hours. Westlie slid off the stool and grabbed the pile of receipts, sliding them off the nail they’d been impaled on and laying them slowly out on the table.

Each name had to be read slowly, carefully, and corrected. Westlie bit her lip, concentrating on writing each letter cleanly and checking her sums. After an hour there was a thick heat in her head as question after question went unanswered. Where did this name go? How ‘favorites’ were ‘favorite captains? Whose favorite captains were these? Should she give a sum after each item or only after the whole sale? She flipped back and forth through the thick pages, finding examples and teaching herself. After three painful hours, the ten-year-old was gritting her teeth and grasping a broken quill, stabbing the page with every lesson she had to recall and put to use. After four hours, she was somewhat faster at the sums with a new quill and her face matched her red hair. Her head and heart burned.

Older-Westlie could remember the build of wordless, mindless, unintelligible hatred that built through her mind, slowly feeding on every ounce of fear she had from Arthur, from her tutor, from the ledger; fear of the goddamn eyeballs on the shelf; trying to digest the fact she didn’t matter and they didn’t care – nobody would ever care about her. She had to realize that and make it sink in. She was unwanted.

The rage continued, growing, feeding, and burning like fire until she saw red, ready to cry again but shoving away the tears. She couldn’t cry. She had to do the ledgers; needed to do them. But each sum got harder and harder to do until Westlie finally bit down on her arm and let loose a muffled scream into her sleeve.

Five seconds. Ten seconds.

Everything hurt and she couldn’t breathe. It all hurt so, so much. And she remembered when she couldn’t scream any more and her arm hung limply, she sat at the desk, panting; she was slightly less overcome, but exhausted at the injustice and the cruelty and the pain of the sums. Her sleeve might have shown a few drops of blood, or it might have been ink. There was definitely a bruise. The memory grew fuzzy after that. She couldn’t remember if she smashed the already broken quill against the desk until it splintered or she just doubled down on the notes until the secretary came to fetch her, but the anger her younger counterpart didn’t have a name for yet was there and it burned a hole in her heart. Useless. Unwanted.

Westlie remembered calming down by the next day; it no longer felt like the anger would consume her, but the spark was still there ready to flare up, along with the feeling of power it gave her to still hand over the ledgers at the end of the day. They were neat and finished and Arthur’s approval was a grunt of acknowledgement. (Shock and disappointment fanned the anger. How dare that be all he gave her, she remembered thinking, after all the things she went through: her fear, horror, and aching left arm.) But Westlie also remembered the satisfaction of conquering injustice and swearing she would again. The anger would fuel her.

Older-Westlie knew, after another fifteen years or so of experience, that anger was her best friend. Closer than enigmatic Morgan and more powerful than sadness. With anger, she could wrap reigns around her fear and harness both to do her bidding. She could defend against enemies and wrap it around her like a shield to endure.

And she had endured. But the disappearance of the only competent London employees in the whole damn shop was the last straw.

No more silence, no more pleasing, no more struggling, no more nights in the shop with burned out candles, no more crying to sleep over one of Arthur’s calloused stupid decisions; no more rejection, no more refusals, no more begging to fly, no more begging to get out of the shop, no more sneers, no more pain. Respect would never appear, there would be no approval, no kindness, no reward. It didn’t have to be this way. No more suffering.

If she was useless, she'd be useless somewhere else. If not, she'd find somewhere to be useful- to be wanted.

With a second deep breath, Westlie stepped forward again and narrowed her gaze. She reached the end of the hallway; paperwork in hand, teeth clenched, anger flaming, and threw open the door so hard it bounced against the back wall. She willed her anger to extend beyond her five-foot-five height and fill the room. She willed it, with all her power, to reach and throttle the neck of the man in front of her.

“Why did you do it.”

Arthur Faire looked nonchalantly up from his paperwork over his pince-nez spectacles. “I’ll pretend you didn’t just put a dent in the wall for the fourth time.”

“Fuck your dent! Why the fuck did you do it?”

“Do what?” Arthur folded his hands over his paperwork.

Her rage burrowed at his nonchalance. He liked doing this. He knew it made her burn inside. “The Johnsons. What the fuck did you do to them?”

“Such bold questions. I didn’t know you asked the questions around here.” He shuffled some documents. “They’re fine.”

“I didn’t ask if they were fine. I asked why the fuck you did it you goddamn sack of shit.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“They’re on the street!” Westlie felt her temper explode in pain and inevitability. “She was pregnant. Father, she was pregnant. You fucking fired them, and I want to know why. Just tell me. Give me a reason! You owe me a reason!”

“I don’t owe you shit.” Arthur snapped. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh as if the thought of explaining pained him. “Westlie, they were expendable.”

“They were not!” Westlie’s voice screeched. “They were not expendable! They did nothing wrong. They did nothing wrong, you fucking bastard! You coward! You look me in the fucking face and tell me what they did wrong.”

Arthur slammed his fist on the table and stood up in one frighteningly fluid motion, leaning forward over his desk. He was not a small man, and he had not gotten to be Captain of one of the largest shipping businesses in London by being nice. “I will do no such thing! You will do what I say and take my orders!”

“Fuck what you say! And fuck you! You’re wrong, and I refuse!”

Arthur fell back into his chair, sneering at the paperwork she clenched in her fist. “What’s that? A list of Captains who turned you down for your incompetence? You can’t even take orders from me.”

Westlie saw red and hurled the stack at his face. It burst into several pages fluttering unspectacularly throughout the room. The more important pages luckily settled on his desk. “I gave you- three chances. I gave you three chances. If this was fine. If there was a reason. If you weren’t such a cruel, selfish, malicious piece of shit-” Westlie felt the lump in her throat attempt to spill over, her hands shaking. “I knew you wouldn’t fucking tell me- that there was no good reason. You just fired hard-working innocent people. They were kind to me, you fucking-”

Arthur ignored her, snatching up a piece of paper and staring at it. “Resignation? You’re resigning? You can’t resign,” he scoffed. “You’re my daughter.”

Westlie spit at his feet.

Arthur’s face instinctively twitched with distaste and she relished the taste of the blood she’d drawn. She could see something close to loathing boiling under the surface. ‘Hatred at her ungratitude’ he’d probably phrase it. Instead of throwing words at her he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs with the motion of hatred he generally used for Captains he didn’t like – and often her. When he used it in an argument Westlie knew to back down and patch things over with some compromise. But not today. Why compromise? There was no good answer other than the truth. He was cruel. He was malicious. He wanted to see a young couple on the streets with no job and a baby on the way; to cut them out of her life and crush them into the ground like he wanted her crushed and ground. She hated him. Westlie hated him. There were no words to capture her fury, and there would be no goddamn compromises.

She gathered her anger and pulled it tight around her, guarding herself with a snarl.

Arthur’s lip curled. “And what if I don’t sign to release you?”

“I’m leaving anyway. That won’t stop me.”

His fingers tapped the desk. “I know every Captain in the Reach and every shop in London knows your temper. None of them will take you.”

Westlie lip curled up to match his own in a dry, menacing grin. “I’ve already signed with a Captain, Captain.”

“As what?” He scoffed, reaching down into his desk and pulling out a tumbler of whiskey and a crystal glass. She’d really ticked him off now. He poured a single glass and sneered when he saw her glance at it. “Sorry, I don’t give angry children liquor.”

Westlie wanted to take his head off to prove she wasn’t his goddamn child. She bit her tongue and bottled the anger. “I’m a First Mate who only drinks with friends.” Arthur scoffed into his glass in disbelief and it fogged up. “Now sign my resignation.”

His lip was still curled as he swallowed and thumped the now-empty glass down on the desk, muttering something under his breath. He grabbed the nearest pen and jabbed it into the paper, scribbling something vaguely similar to Capt. Faire. He rang the bell next and Westlie felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She’d have to escape wouldn’t she. She didn’t quite plan for an escape.

“Mary, please come escort Miss Faire to her room.”

Faster than she’d seen him move before, Arthur rose and stepped around his desk, grabbing Westlie’s arm before she could twist out of his grasp. He yanked her closer, gripping it so tight she felt her muscles quiver. “You will never escape me,” he hissed. The scent of whiskey cracked even her tightly practiced shield of anger and Westlie felt a shiver run down her spine. “And I will make your life a living hell until you come crawling back.”

He shoved her away as a knock sounded at the door. Arthur leaned back on his desk, a sneer on his face, arms crossed, papers scattered over the floor. Westlie took a breath and straightened, forcing herself to look him in the eye. She gathered her anger. “Fuck. You.”

To her credit, Mary didn’t even raise an eyebrow as she entered the room. This definitely looked worse than one of their regular monthly spats. “Miss Faire?”

“Yes, yes- Oh fuck off, I don’t need your escort. I have legs.”

Westlie flipped her father a middle finger behind her back as she left.

-=-

Predictably, Mary locked the door to her bedroom as she left.

Westlie scoffed to herself as she pulled the only cap she owned low over her red curls. They didn’t know her. It was fucking silly thinking a lock trapped her – or Morgan – in their rooms; and Westlie gave a silent prayer of thanks to her sister for being an uncontrollable escape artist, then she stopped for a full moment as fear pierced her heart.

Morgan. She hadn’t told Morgan.

She offered another prayer to her sister to be safe and stay as far away as possible. I’m so sorry, Morgan. So, so sorry. Westlie pulled up the loose floorboard in her closet and rummaged a bit, grabbing a long length of rope. She looped it around the bedpost and tied it off. The motion was easy, practiced. Westlie grabbed her carpetbag – her trunk was already at the dock – and hesitated.

Morgan.

She missed her. In her blind rage she’d forgotten to write, and Westlie hadn’t gotten any letters to remind her. Their last letter exchange a week or so ago had been predictable. Morgan was off in the Reach and Westlie was in London. They’d talked about Westlie’s work, per usual, something about that bloated Captain who kept making trips to sell seeds, and some asshole explorer who’d stocked up supplies and tried to beg off paying every time. She hadn’t written to her about the Johnsons or her solution because it’d happened so fast. One day they were there, the next they’d just disappeared. She was scared, then furious, and Anger took over the controls after Arthur repeatedly refused any involvement when he was so clearly lying. She’d blown through her interviews, packed her trunk the night before, chartered the engine at midnight.

Should her sister know? … it would hurt her.

Westlie closed her eyes, trying to glimpse her sister’s soft face and lively eyes that only sharpened with excitement, not rage. Arthur didn’t care about her because she’d never have anything to do with the shop. Morgan was carefree and it should stay that way. She didn’t know his evils. Our evils, Westlie thought somewhat sullenly. But Morgan. Westlie set down her bag and slipped over to her writing desk, grabbing a sheet of paper and fumbling open the ink.

               Dear Morgan,

                               I’m leaving. In a few minutes I’ll be down to the docks and boarding an engine away from London. I don’t want to tell you what Father did, but he’s cruel and he’s sick and every second I stay here I feel my soul slipping away. I know you’ve told me he doesn’t care, and I knew he didn’t care, but I’m done with it, Morgan. I’m done now, this instant. I’ve secured a position on an engine. (He’ll want to know. I won’t tell you with whom.) But he’s a good man and a good captain. You would be proud.

               I would put off leaving until you’ve returned so I can see you again, but the engine won’t wait.

               Please don’t chase after me. Father’s ire is already riled and he’ll undoubtedly try to track me down on his own. I don’t want him angry at you. Just lay low. Be safe. Take another trip to Leadbeater if you have to so you stay out of his path. I’ll see you someday. I’ll ask for you in the Reach.

                               I love you. I will always love you.

                               Your only and dearest sister,

                                               Wes

Westlie folded it with a deft, practiced move and tapped her foot softly as she waited for the wax to melt. There were footsteps down the hall. Light ones- Mary, and heavier ones- Arthur. They passed her door and the handle jiggled. Westlie’s breath caught in her throat. She made a silent lunge for the rope but it wasn’t necessary. Their footsteps continued down the hall after making sure it was locked and they faded out of hearing range.

Quickly now.

She poured the wax, stamped the letter, and scribbled the address on the back. Something-something express mail. She’d pay the freighter double. No time to think about it.

Westlie shoved it in her carpet bag and grabbed the rope. Sliding down the side of the two-story townhome was simple, especially at dusk. Usually it was with Morgan at the bottom hissing expletives in the dead of night - or climbing back up in the dark after some sort of drunken escapade, which was, obviously, four times harder. Westlie tied a rock to the bottom of the rope and threw it back into the room, resisting the temptation to break a window while she was at it.

They were already close to the docks. She hid as much of her hair under the cap as she could and then struck off at a brisk walk; running would be too obvious. The blood pounded in her ears to her gait, one step of freedom, two steps of freedom. The city pulsed around her, oblivious. There was a brisk scent in the air; several women walking past with tipped hats, murmuring together. A ragged man, looking as if he just got out of prison wandering aimlessly. He looked at her, tipped an invisible hat. Westlie nodded back. Several captains wandered by, examining a map, one holding a bottle of something purple? Something red, perhaps. He laughed uproarously. A fancy blemmigan hopped by. A wistful woman in large, somewhat old-fashioned skirts stood outside a building, handing out pamphlets.

Westlie took a deep breath and kept her eyes on the pavement.

She turned a corner, turned another corner; slipped through an alleyway. Had she always known this was the quickest way to the docks? It seemed familiar, but more light. There was no oppressive scent of mushrooms. Maybe a soft breeze had blown through today. Maybe she was just in a better mood.

Westlie scrutinized the dock as she got closer, looking for any evidence of Arthur Faire - but there was none. Unless he was on the ship itself, she had escaped. She was almost free.

She grit her teeth and pulled her anger around her one last time. One last run. One final step.

Westlie stepped into the open and briskly walked through the busy dock. Most of the people about were skyfarer crew, lounging, drinking on boxes. A few whistled and Westlie curled her lip in distaste. She slipped the letter and two sovereigns into the hand of a cargo ship’s First Mate. That could be me later, she realized, quietly, as hurried off to her ship for passage, the Tundra.

Westlie gave one final look around the docks and the city as she stepped through the hatch. It was soft and dusky. She might miss that, but, she noted, quietly, she wouldn’t miss the city, she would miss her and Morgan in the city. No more rampage of terror, no more bar fights. No thefts, no vandalisms, no secrets. But on board, there was also no angry man, no sullen look of disappointment either. Arthur Faire was not there. He hadn’t found this captain. She hadn’t been traced. Maybe he’d taught her one good thing: always pay a little extra.

The captain stepped down from the cab and tipped his hat. “Miss Faire?”

“Yes. Could I be shown to my quarters?”

“Absolutely. Would you please, Nancy?”

An unremarkable woman stepped forward and offered her hand for the bag. Westlie handed it to her gratefully with her shoulder starting to ache. “When do you plan to depart, Captain? Can I encourage it to be as soon as possible?”

“In a hurry, Miss Faire?” She didn’t like his smile and resisted the urge to scowl. “We depart in ten minutes. Fear not.”

“I have urgent business.” Westlie said, making an attempt to keep the salt out of her voice.

Nancy took a small step into the hallway. “Ready, ma’am?”

“Yes- Yes please.”

They walked down the hallway into the crew’s quarters where a separate bed had been made up. Her trunk was placed at the side: a few books, her shop clothes, an extra travel skirt; some shirts, some underclothes. She really hadn’t left anything had she. Westlie glanced inside the carpet bag. There was a portrait of all of them as a family. Why did she bring that? Morgan was cute, perhaps. She’d have to rip off half the portrait to get her father out; not worth the effort. A pair of silver earrings they’d stolen together. A bag of sovereigns.

That was really it, wasn’t it? There was nothing else she wanted to remember. Nothing other than stolen earrings and the clothes on her back. And Westlie felt free.

[mademoiselle-cookie]

#miguel: BUT MILES IS A TERRIBLE INFLUENCE?!?!#

miles: wait what?!?! WHAT DID I DO?!?!

#hobie: i need to fight back harder if you think im a good kid

miguel daily life