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whispers-of-masser · 1 year

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Just Tonight (II)

✧ Nebarra x human!LDB ✧ Angst to comfort; 2k+ words ✧ Brief & very mild suggestive content, light swearing ♫ "My Blood" - Echos, "Mistake" - NF, "Stubborn" - Riell ✒ @candydreamer122, you asked to be notified when this dropped so here ya go!

Nebarra opened his eyes to the golden light of dawn, your head resting on his chest, bare legs intertwined with his. Your body pressed against his, warm and comforting, and when he glanced down at your face, he'd never seen it more peaceful. He reached up, brushing your cheek with his thumb, and even in your sleep, you leaned into his touch.

Gods, you took his breath away. But even as he lay there, admiring you in the soft morning light, a single, unpleasant thought wormed its way to the front.

He didn't deserve you.

It made him pause, something turning sour in the pit of his stomach. No... Please, no...

He didn't want the moment to end. Didn't want the thoughts he knew would turn his happiness to ash. But for years they had whispered in his mind, been his constant companions, bitter and selfish lovers that left him with nothing in return but pain and cynicism. They would not let him go so easily, relinquish the control he has given them long ago.

All the more reason he couldn't, shouldn't have you.

Because, really, what could he offer you? He had nothing but his past, his bitterness, his selfish nature. Even last night had been spurred on by his own selfish desires, exacerbated further still by drink. He was nothing but thorns, rough and crude, the blood of hundreds on his hands – and he felt no guilt over them.

...Most of them.

You didn't deserve someone like that. You could do so much better than him.

Why did you want him, at all?

And as he lay there, hand cupping your face, his eyes drinking in every curve and contour – your own slowly fluttered open.

His breath caught. Sunlight danced across your irises, and he could see himself reflected in your gaze. For a few moments, you simply blinked at him, and he could see every minute shift in your expression. Emptiness, confusion, sudden realisation – and then you smiled.

Nebarra had seen many things in life. Many ugly things, things that he'd tried to forget, that haunted him until he drowned them in drink. The few beautiful things he'd seen, though... those, he remembered clearly, and often. Fought to carve them into every facet of his memory, to allow himself the slightest hope, to give himself the smallest of reasons to keep going. And the smile you gave him...

It was the most beautiful of them all.

There was life in your smile. Vast, vibrant, and beautiful, your face haloed in the golden light of morning, you looked... divine.

And then, you spoke, words low and husky from sleep, a laugh rumbling in your throat: "And you call me guar-face." Slowly, you raised a hand, gentle fingers brushing his cheeks, smile growing ever wider.

...He wanted you. Gods, how he wanted you. His heart ached with the thorns of longing, with the knowledge that he couldn't, shouldn't have you.

So, he turned away, pulled back from your touch. Forced an empty expression on his face, in his eyes. Grunted a simple, "Morning." And carefully, oh so carefully, pushed you off him.

"...Nebarra?"

Unwelcome. Outsider. All he was ever meant to be.

"What?" The word was heavy on his tongue, deadened in tone as he sat up, got off the bet, and set to collecting his clothes from the floor.

"Nebarra... What's wrong?"

Everything. "Nothing." He fumbled with his trousers, nearly falling as he tugged them on, still scanning the floor for his shirt. Anything to avoid meeting your eyes.

"Bullshit." Sheets rustled as you leaned forward, and he could practically hear your brows furrow at him. "Is it... because of last night?"

"No." Yes.

"I think it is. And I think we should talk about it – about this."

"There's nothing to talk about," he grunted, still pacing the floor, eyes roving everywhere but the bed. Where was his damn shirt?

"Oh, I think we have a lot to talk about."

He didn't answer, and in the silence, fabric rustled some more. Then, your voice, "...Looking for this?"

Finally, slowly, Nebarra looked at you. You were sitting upright on the bed, and in one hand you held up his shirt, winkled and dusty from the floor.

And you... were still very much naked. Your chest was on blatant display, the blankets pooled low around your hips, deep purple teethmarks scattered over your skin – his doing. Nebarra swallowed, averting his gaze back to the tunic.

Wordlessly, he stalked over, reaching out for it – only for you to snap your hand back, away from him. He sighed. "What are you doing?"

You didn't answer, though he could feel your gaze burning into him. Reluctantly, he returned it – and the storm in your eyes sent a shock down his spine.

Oh...

Oh, no.

Before he could even begin to pick apart what he saw in there, you raised your arms, slid them through the holes of the shirt, and pulled it down over your head.

You... were wearing his shirt.

Still holding his gaze, there was something like a challenge in your eyes. Nebarra grit his teeth and, for once in his life, held his tongue, unsure if he could win this one.

The thought... unsettled him.

But... maybe not as much as it should have.

"Nebarra."

No. No, no no no. You couldn't do that to him – say his name in that tone, in that way.

"What?" he snapped, harsher than intended.

Maybe he should have just been born mute.

"We need to talk about this."

"No, we don't."

"Why not?"

"Because... it was a mistake." He looked away, unable to meet your gaze, tearing a hand through his hair. Coward, coward, coward. "That's all there is – was – to it. We were drunk, and tired, and maybe... just maybe... a little lonely. So we made a bad decision – one we should just forget about, move on from. Because ultimately... it meant nothing. Not a damn thing."

It felt like an eternity passed before you answered, and when you did, your voice was heavy, rasping with emotion. "...If that's how you really feel, then–"

You choked. Nebarra could practically hear the words catch in your throat, dying before they could pass your lips. Instead, a low, bitter laugh rose suddenly in their place; the sound scraped his wounded heart raw. "Gods damn you, Nebarra. You're... really selfish, you know that?"

"Yeah," he mumbled. "I know."

But you weren't done. Because as you rose from the bed, the floorboards creaking beneath your feet, you continued, "You're also... a really shit liar."

And then you were standing before him, your hand on his chin, turning his face towards you, your gaze searching his. He couldn't avoid your eyes this time, couldn't look away from the storm raging within them: hurt, anger, confusion.

Because of him. Him, and his stupid decisions, and his even stupider words.

Yet, even as he stared, he could see something else in them, too.

Affection. Care. Passion. And... lo–

Why? Why him? Of all the people on Nirn you could want, how could you want the mess that was him?

"I don't know," you said softly, and Nebarra realised with horror that he'd spoken his thoughts aloud. "Because, gods, you really are a mess, aren't you? You're bitter, cynical, surly, arrogant, selfish, flawed to the moons and back, but..." Your hand shifted, brushing upwards to cradle his cheek, and the Altmer found himself holding his breath, afraid of what you'd say next, needing to hear what you'd say next.

Only, you didn't say anything. Instead, you simply leaned in, pulled him close – and kissed him. Before he even knew what he was doing, Nebarra found himself returning it, pulling you in closer, hands falling to your waist –

Wait.

No.

Stop.

What was he doing?

Breathless, he pulled away, nearly stumbling over his own feet. His mind spun; he couldn't seem to form a single coherent though. "What – what was that?"

Your eyes seemed to stare right down to his soul, burning with intensity, filled with both pain and longing. Yet a faint, bittersweet smile ghosted across your face as you answered, "Nothing, apparently."

...Damn you.

Before he could change his mind, think himself out of it, Nebarra caught your arm and tugged you sharply back towards him, crashing his lips back against yours. You stumbled from the initial force of it, but he followed your motion, keeping your lips on his.

After a moment, your arms slipped around his neck, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other tickling his nape. He grunted into the kiss, pulling you back towards the bed; you didn't resist, and readily fell back on it.

Nebarra fell with you, straddling your prone form, brushing his lips from your mouth to your jaw, nipping gently as he went. A soft gasp escaped you; his hands slid down, tugging your shirt – his shirt – gradually upward, pulling it off of you.

And immediately he sat up, got off the bed, and tugged it over his own head. Without a word, he walked away to the other side of the room, leaving you naked and stunned on the bed.

"...Nebarra!"

"Like you said," he muttered, stalking across the room and far from you, "I'm selfish."

He could hear a frustrated breath hissing through your teeth. "Damn you! Why can't you just admit what you feel, what you want? What are you so afraid of?"

The elf froze.

You could see right through him, couldn't you?

"You don't... even know me," he managed at last, keeping his back towards you. "You don't even know my name, my real name."

"I don't need a name to know you, though. Names aren't what define us – we define them. It doesn't matter to me whether you're Nebarra or... or Nico, or something else entirely. Because you're still, and always will be you, regardless of what name you answer to."

Gods, why did you have to be so damn stubborn?

"Pot, kettle, black," you sniffed, and Nebarra realised that yet again, he'd spoken aloud. "And who knows, maybe I picked some of it up from you in the first place."

Sighing heavily, Nebarra leaned forwards and let his forehead thunk against the wall. He stayed like that for a long moment, counting his breaths, trying to collect his thoughts.

"I'm not... suited for a relationship," he slowly began. "I wouldn't be... you have better options than me. People who could give you what you want far better than I could."

At that, you actually laughed, and he turned to look at you despite himself. There was no smile on your face, only pain and mockery; the sight drove thorns through his chest. "Who, then, O wise one, most knowledgeable of relationships? Who on Nirn can give me what I want, when what I want – is you."

He shook his head. "Well... you shouldn't. I can give you nothing."

"You aren't nothing," you said softly. "Your heart isn't nothing. Don't you get that yet, Nebs?"

"My... heart," he echoed, staring blankly at you. "My heart."

Shifting, you rose from the bed, wrapping a blanket around yourself as you approached. "Yeah, your heart. This thing–" you placed a hand over his chest "–that's beating right here, going at a million miles a second." Your eyes locked with his once more, and somehow, even before you spoke, he knew. He knew.

"I love you, you miserable bastard. And I want you, not for anything you can offer me, but for who you are. There's no doubt in my mind about that. Now, the only question left is... how do you feel? What do you want?"

He couldn't hide from it any longer. The truth was on his tongue, escaping his lips before he even had to think about it. "You. I just... gods damn it, I just want you," he rasped. "But..."

You placed a gentle finger against his mouth. "Shh," you murmured. "No buts."

Slowly, Nebarra raised a hand, brought it up to yours, and pulled it away from his lips, instead lacing his fingers with yours. "No, listen. I... this... is going to be complicated, if we really do this. And... you're probably going to get hurt and disappointed because of me. There's a lot you don't know–"

"And you can tell me when you're ready," you soothed, brushing your thumb across the back of his hand. "We'll cross all those bridges when we get to them. And yes, before you protest any further," you added, when his mouth opened to do just that, "I'm aware of the emotional risks. But that's part of every relationship, Nebarra, and you know that. So, again, when they do inevitably arrive, we'll cross those bridges together."

...He really didn't deserve you. Didn't understand how or why you wanted him, of all people. But as you rested your forehead against his, breaths mingling, eyes full of nothing but each other – Nebarra realised he didn't care, anymore.

The voices in his head, all the doubts and fears – they still hissed their poison, and he knew it would be a long, long time before they stopped. But a new voice had joined the mix, soft but confident, telling him that maybe, just maybe, life wasn't about "deserving" things, but appreciating them. That maybe, amid the bleak desert of his past, he could still find a lone rose of happiness.

And that voice... sounded an awful lot like yours.

#nebarra #nebarra skyrim #skyrim nebarra #whisper writes #finally. its done.#i feel like this ended up so out of character and im so so sorry about that but man i'm tired. i ran out of steam weeks ago.#i didn't even edit this bruh #i just wanted to FINISH it #sigh. anyway #i hope yall are listening to the songs i list on the fics cause dAMN theyre good and the entire reason these shity little scribbles exist #this one took. SO MANY SONGS to keep me going.. to give me the ideas and motivation to finish #the three i listed were just the biggest contributors #but there were LOTS more believe me lol #i go to sleep now. it is 11am and my sleep schedule is FUCKED mate #woke up at like 6pm yesterday evening #my whole system's wrecked #im rambling again lol gnight gnight i hope yall have a good one

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ikiprian · 4 months

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Mr. Fenton is a competent teacher. Almost too competent.

If Mr. Daniel Fenton had any more than a BS (with a minor in education), Tim would’ve flagged his profile as a potential Rogue. That’s the way of most charismatic academics, at least in Gotham. (Got a PhD? Instant watchlist.) Instead, he’s Gotham Academy’s newest celebrity, as a young, passionate, out-of-towner substitute while the chemistry teacher’s on maternity leave.

Tim gets the hype. Fenton seems to genuinely love teaching, and is invested in the welfare of the student body. He hands out bananas during exam week, hosts a “study habits seminar” each month to coach effective learning strategies, and the third time Tim falls asleep in his class, he even pulls Tim aside to ask if he’s doing okay. With all the late work he accepts and the protein bars he sneaks Tim, he’s every teen vigilante’s dream teacher. He could’ve been Tim’s favorite.

In fact, Mr. Fenton was Tim’s favorite. Up until Tim walks into Mr. Fenton’s chemistry classroom for a forgotten textbook, an hour after the final bell.

On the board where tallied scores for today’s review game had been kept, “THE CHEMISTRY BEHIND DR. CRANE’S FEAR GAS: ANXIOGENICS, NERI’S, & YOU,” is now scrawled. A detailed diagram of the human endocrine system projects in front of a small crowd of adoring and attentive students.

Fenton is wrist-deep in the skull cavity of an anatomical model. A short tug, and out pops the brain.

It’s plastic. It’s fake.

Tim identifies the nearest emergency exit.

Fenton turns to the door, and in the dark classroom with the projector illuminating half his face, his eyes almost seem to flash red. “What’s up, Tim?” he asks. His friendly grin is too big for his face. “I didn’t know you wanted to join the Just Science League!”

[OR: Danny’s a science teacher at Tim’s school. Gotham’s a pretty wild place, even for someone who grew up a superhero in a ghost-infested town, so he takes it upon himself to start a club teaching kids how to manage themselves in the event of a crisis. These Gothamites are pretty hardy, but a little extra training never hurt anybody! And he suspects one of his students might be a teen vigilante, like he’d been, back in the day. As a senior super, it's Danny’s duty look out for him! Surely, this is the subtlest and most appropriate way to give the kid pointers.]

[Tim immediately assumes supervillain.]

#Danny can’t help being creepy it’s just the way he’s built!!#I like to think Lancer did these things for Danny when he was in HS #and now Danny's emulating Lancer :)#Passing it on!#Tim is paranoid but also like he is SO CLOSE to graduating so like. Does he even want to report this shit to Batman. What if the next chem #teacher's a jerk and Tim fails the class and he never gets his stupid diploma. Bruce already is insisting he finish out HS and maybe get #an ABA before he's allowed back into the company #and Jesus Christ does Tim hate school. He'll worry about Mr. Fenton's burgeoning army of Science Honor Society Rogues on his own time #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt #tim drake #danny fenton #in case I write more of this let’s tag it uhhhhh #misunderstood mentor au #kipwrite

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