#i really should tale better care of them before they turn all black or brown

[maryse127]

Was gonna make a "what I should be doing, what I am actually doing" post about polishing earrings instead of studying but those earrings really did need some care because holy fuck could you tell I hadn't so much as looked at them in months

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Push

Warnings: noncon sex, oral, mentions of violence, abuse, and death.

This is Lee Bodecker (who is already dark!af) and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your daddy’s in business with the Sheriff but a dirty cop has not limits.

Note: This is my first Lee Bodecker fic. Obviously it’s a dark on so mind the warnings. Lee is just awful. Like what a bastard, the worst!

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

‘She said "I don't know if I've ever been good enough I'm a little bit rusty, and I think my head is caving in”’

-Push, Matchbox Twenty

🚔

You traced the small crack along the lip of the plate. The dinner set your mother had been so proud of was wearing away. Everything had started to since her death. The farmhouse seemed darker, more desolate amid the sentinel pines, your father's shed more sinister though the childhood tales of what was within had long since been dispelled. The walls shuddered with each gust of late autumn air.

The house was empty but for you. Your brothers were at about their usual business, Arn and Cal at work at yard and Will in his classes, though more likely bumming cigarettes behind the church. Your father had rumbled off in his old Ford pick-up not an hour ago but hadn't given you a reason. He never did and it was better that way. Better you didn't ask questions or speak out of turn. Focus on yourself, in the work that needed to be done as the men bustled in and out of your purview.

You set the plate on the mat to dry, a soapy bubble dripped down the back as you plunged your hand back into the water. You piled the dishes one after the other, scrubbing and scouring. The clink of the thick glass painted with faded petals and the old silverware was thunderous in the chilly kitchen.

You heard an engine, quieter than your father's cantankerous truck. The gravel mulched under the tires and you grabbed a rag to dry your hands as you walked through the front door. You peeked out the window as the cruiser pulled up; the old black and white with its blue and red crown.

Sheriff Bodecker came around maybe once every two weeks. You didn't keep track, you never spoke to him. Your daddy always took him to the shed for a beer and a chat. The uniform took a cut of the profits from your father's sill. The moonshine sold better than the beer sold at the store in town but wasn't allowed on the shelves. the lawman turned his eye for a percentage and the occasional jug of the brew.

You watched the sheriff brace himself against his door and lift himself out of the car. His jacket was zipped up against the impending winter but could barely contain his stomach. He reached into his car and plopped his hat on his head before he slammed the door. His boots were just as loud as his tires as he rounded the vehicle and paced towards your daddy's shed.

He turned back, hands on his hips, and peered across the empty lot. The big blue truck always greeted visitors, not that there were many. You watched the sheriff retreat and as he neared the porch, you let go of the curtain and pressed yourself to the door.

Your brothers and your father were the only people in your life. You minded the house and spent your spare time with one of your mama's old books or a needle and thread. 

The door shook as he knocked. You blinked and slowly turned. You grabbed the handle but didn't pull. He must have known your daddy wasn't there. A fool could guess that.

He banged again and you twisted the knob. Slowly, you pulled the door open just a crack. You looked through with one eye as the sheriff felt around impatiently in his pockets.

"Daddy ain't here," you said quietly.

He tilted his head and grinned. He scoffed and ripped his hand out of his jacket.

"I guessed that. Be a shit officer if I couldn't," he snickered. "Pardon the language, miss."

"I don't know when he'll be back," you said.

"I got time," he checked his watch.

There was a moment of silence as he looked at you. You gulped, uncertain.

"Sorry, we don't get many visitors. Guess I should invite you in… I got coffee? Tea?"

He considered you through the inch between the frame and the door. "You gonna have to open up for that," he said, "you got anything sweet?"

"Some leftover cake from Arn's birthday. It's probably stale." You answered as he placed his hand flat on the door. "It's strawberry cream."

"Mm, you make it yourself?" He asked as his other hand rested on his belt.

"Mama's recipe," you explained.

"Well,” he pushed on the door, "Can I come in then or am I eatin' on the porch?"

You stared at him and slowly stepped back as he put more weight against the door. He dropped his arm as you were flush to the wall and he stepped inside. You looked at his boots as he pulled the door from your grasp and threw it shut behind him. He chuckled as he turned to you again and looked at his feet.

“Not meaning to mess up your floors, miss,” he wiped the treads on the mat.

“It’s fine. My brothers never did care much either,” you waved away his words and retreated, “I’ll get you that cake.”

You went to the kitchen and took the glass lid of the cake dish. That was your mother’s too. The long crack up the side made you want to cry. If she could see how the life she’d left behind had become so distorted. You took a plate from the mat and dried it before you laid it out. You cut a slice from the cake and carefully angled it onto the saucer.

“Should I put the kettle on?” You asked as you looked over your shoulder.

He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over a chair before he sat. The wood groaned under him. He put his hat on the table decisively.

“You got milk? I had a coffee on the way.” He sat back in the chair and spread his legs wide.

“Milk,” you repeated as you neared and set the plate on the table then grabbed a fork from the drawer. You handed him the silver then went to the fridge, “Should be enough.”

You poured him a glass and put it down beside the plate as he greedily cut a bite out of the sponge with his fork. You went back to the sink and stuck your hands in the tepid water as you fished out the last few bowls and scrubbed them one at a time. You could hear him chewing behind you as the metal hit the porcelain with each bite.

“You really don’t entertain much, do you?” He asked.

“Sheriff?” you pulled the stopped and grabbed the dish towel to dry your hands.

“You know, I go ‘round folks’ houses and the wives, they smile, flip their hair, even excuse themselves to powder up,” he remarked, “And here you are doing your washing. Your back to me and everything.”

“I told my daddy I’d have ‘em done,” you shrugged. “Besides, I wasn’t expecting ya.”

“I rarely announce myself to shiners,” he rolled his eyes, “Must be quite the life, hmm? You cleaning up behind four boys. You look old enough to have a man of your own to worry about.”

“Maybe,” you wrung the dish towel. 

“Most girls your age are outta their daddy’s house and settled down with a babe on their hip. Even two.” He said.

You frowned. “Well, Sheriff Bodecker, are you married?”

He squinted and tilted his head. He smirked and said ‘no’.

“You’re older than me. Maybe you’re the one who’s overdue.”

“Not too old,” he stabbed the last morsel of cake.

You turned away and grabbed a cup and wiped it dry. You went about drying each piece as he sat quietly. You sensed his gaze as you put away the dishes. The tension mounted as you snapped shut the cupboard and he tapped the plate with the fork.

You were relieved when you heard the gravel crunching outside. Your daddy was back. The putter of his old truck was a welcoming sound.

“That should be him,” you said as you went to the table and picked up his plate. 

He set the fork atop it and grabbed your wrist before you could back away. “You take good care of a man.”

You swallowed and resisted the urge to pull away. “Not too many men can take care of themselves,” you uttered.

He laughed and let you go. He stood and you quickly scurried away to dump the plate in the sink. “Probably right,” he said as he took his jacket and pulled it on, “Definitely not in the ways a woman can take care of a man.”

You turned the faucet as the front door clattered. “Sherriff?” You father called down the hall, “You in here?”

“Here, Rhett,” He flipped his hat on and winked at you, “Son of a bitch, I’ve been waiting long enough.”

🚔

There was a cluster of brambles deep in the woods. A carpet of red, orange, and yellow leaves slowly wilted to brown beneath your feet as you climbed through the brush. You clutched your basket in one hand, your fingers cold even inside your gloves as the winter crept nearer with each day. 

You were the old scarf with the uneven edges. The first one you knitted yourself after your mama had shown you how. Your fleece jacket was hand-me-down from Cal, the sleeves were too long and it puffed out from your body when you zipped it, an old oil stain along the left side. Your skirt, your own creation from two of your mama’s, hung to your knees, your stocking barely thick enough to keep out the chill. The heel of your right boot flopped as it threatened to fall off entirely and made the trek all the more treacherous.

You tossed walnuts into your basket every now and then if they weren’t crushed or caked in mud. The trees muffled all noise the deeper you got and the trees loomed darker above. You stopped at the overgrowth of leaves and vines. Blackberries and raspberries hung plump in the last harvest of the season. You preferred the wild berries to the grocers; they were larger and juicier.

You set down your basket as you pushed through the sharp, thin branches and began to pick. You knelt to grab those hidden at the bottom, dumping handfuls atop your collection of walnuts.

You heard a rustle behind you. Subtle, soft. More likely a deer than a bear. You peeked over your shoulder but didn’t give much heed to the disturbance. There was always some creature flitting around in the forest. You tuned back to your work, your gloves dappled with the dark juices of the berries as some were so soft the burst on touch.

The bushes behind you shook and a twig snapped.

“What you doing out here all alone? I thought you were a bear.”

You stood as you recognized the voice. You dropped the berries in your hand into the basket before you turned and clapped off your gloves. “I thought the same of you.” You blanched as you saw his gun in hand. “You hunting out here with that?”

Sheriff Bodecker looked down at his pistol and scoffed. “Maybe,” he looked up as he kept his gun in hand, “How you know about these berries?”

“They’re wild. There for the taking,” you turned back and pushed through the brambles as you plucked berries from the bunch, “Mama used to take us here when we we’re kids.”

“You lookin’ to make another cake?” His boots crushed the leaves and sticks as he neared.

“Conserves; jams,” you answered bluntly as your basket filled with each handful. “Too bad strawberries are all gone for the season.”

You sensed him watching you as you stooped again. He reached down to your basket and took a raspberry. He popped it in his mouth as he straightened. You glanced over, his gun was pointed at the ground but still in hand. He knocked it gently against his leg as if thinking.

“Tart,” he said, “I prefer strawberry. Sweeter.”

“Mmm,” you grumbled as you dug through the bush, “Well, they charge too much down at the grocer for ‘em.”

It was quiet but for you pushing past the bramble and filling your basket. You could hear him breathing above you as he watched, transfixed by your simple ritual.

“Never told me why you’re all the way out here,” you said as you contented yourself with your haul. “Should I be worried? Some criminal out here hiding in the branches?”

“Sitting by the river on my break, as I do,” he shrugged as you lifted your basket. “It’s a far way back to your daddies. My cruiser’s closer. I can take you home.”

“I prefer the walk. Gives me an excuse to be away.” You smiled and made to step past him.

“We can take our time,” he caught your arm.

“Thank you, Sheriff, but I can find my own way back.”

He turned you to him and raised his gun. His eyes searched your face as he pressed the muzzle to your cheek.

“Ain’t much on the first look but after a while, you’re not so bad,” he said as you stiffened, “If you didn’t dress like a matron, you might even be pretty.” His gun fell to the collar of the jacket. “Usually men don’t offer favours to girls who ain’t pretty.”

“Let go of me,” you pleaded softly, “Sheriff…”

He pointed his gun skyward and released you. He holstered the pistol and laughed to himself.

“You go on lift up that skirt and give me a good look. Then I’ll drive you back to your daddy’s. You have my word as an officer of the law.”

“Pardon--”

“Shhh,” his hand lingered on the pistol, playing with the little strap that would snap it into place, “No one needs to know. Just a peek.”

“Sheriff--”

“Girl,” he cleared his throat, “Ya gonna do what I tell you or I’m gonna make you do worse. Now go on.”

He snatched the basket out of your hand and you let out your breath, relieved at least that he no longer had his fingers on his pistol.

“It’s cold out--”

“You argue with your daddy this much? He don’t seem the type to bide it and let me tell you, he seems a lot more tolerant than me.” He took another berry and chewed it, “So lift your skirt and we’ll be on our way.”

You stared at him. He smirked and licked the dark juice away from his lip. You hands shook as you bent and clumsily felt your skirt. You gathered the hem and stood. You bunched up the fabric around the bottom of the coat and he tutted in satisfaction.

“Turn around for me, girl,” he softly swung the basket, “Bend over so I can get a nice look at you.”

“Sher--”

“I really don’t wanna knock ya around and you don’t want that either,” he warned. “Two seconds. That’s all it will take.”

You gulped as bile burned your throat. You turned, careful not to catch the loose heel of your boot, and held your breath. You bent forward slowly.

“Further,” he ordered. The thin cotton of your underwear stretched across your ass. “Well, you got a much nicer backside than I expected.”

You let out a sharp breath as he pinched your ass and you stood suddenly. You stumbled forward and dropped your skirts. He laughed as you spun to face him. He shoved the basket against your chest. 

“See how easy that was,” he leered at you as you took the basket. “Who you hidin’ that body from? Maybe your daddy’s a selfish man, hmmm? Keeping you from all the men.”

“Can we go?” You muttered as you tried to hide behind the basket.

His blue eyes bore into yours and he shifted on his feet. His hand rubbed the front of his pants as he side stepped you.

“Sure, cruisers ‘round the bend.” He waved you past him and waited. “Come on, you said you wanted to go.”

You walked past him along the trail and he followed, close as his loud breaths filled the air. He pointed you down the path with curt orders and you came into sight of the broad river. His car was parked just off the sideroad that led back to the town. 

His keys jingled as he brushed by you, dragging his hand across your rear as he did. He opened the passenger door and looked at you. You neared and quickly got in, sitting on the long seat within. He closed the door harshly and rounded to the other side. The car dipped with his weight and he shoved the keys in the slot.

“Come here,” he gestured with two fingers, “Closer.”

“What?”

“Put the berries down,” he pointed to the other side of you and you placed the basket on the seat.

“I should be home sooner than later. I gotta start cooking--”

“I’ll get you there,” he grabbed your arm and slid you over the seat. He flipped his hat off and dropped it over the basket. He slung his arm over your shoulders. “Go on, put me in first.”

He gripped the wheel with his other hand and you blinked dumbly. You realised what he meant and pushed the shifted into gear.

“You cold? You’re shivering,” He said as he carefully turned the car, “Just tryna warm you up, girl.”

“I’m fine,” you crossed your arms as he drove at a snail's pace up the dirt road.

“I’m cold,” he gave an exaggerated ‘brrr’, “Do me a favour. Unzip me.”

“What?” You tried to pull away and he bent his arm around your neck, his hand along your chest as your head was nearly on his.

“I’m hard as fuck. You did that. Now take care of it.” He growled. “Get these damn pant unzipped and finish it.”

“Let go--”

“You don’t start listening and I’ll tell you’re daddy what a whore you are. Up in the woods flaunting your ass to the wind.”

You stared down at your stitched skirt. Your mama’s. You only wore her clothes. They were modest. You’d once worn a dress your friend Laverne had given you, more modern, with a shorter skirt. Your daddy belted you until it was ruined.

Your hands trembled as you felt along the Sheriff’s stomach and fumbled beneath. You unbuckled his belt clumsily and found his fly ready to burst. You pushed his zipper down as he groaned and he lifted his arm over the seat. His underwear was tight to his bulging cock.

“Now don’t keep wastin’ my time and take me out,” he snarled.

You pulled the elastic down and he popped out above it. You hesitated as you stared at his throbbing tip.

“I don’t… I don’t know what to do.” You confessed.

“Christ, girl,” he snickered, “Grab it and just… move your hand.”

You shuddered and wrapped your fingers around his cock. It was as thick as the rest of him. You gripped it but still had no idea what to do next.

“Up and down. Like your polishing a shotgun,” he urged, “A nice long barrel.” You bit down and slid your hand along his length. “Tighter,” he gritted through his teeth, “Faster…”

He purred as you played with him. He drove a little faster and steered with one hand as his other hand clawed the back of the seat.

“Fuckin’ don’t know, girl, feels like you know exactly what to you,” he uttered, “Got me close already.”

You stared at the middle of the steering wheel, the silver emblem, and tried not to think about what you were doing. His hand fell to your back and he caressed the back of your coat. He grasped the cloth in his fist as his grunts grew louder and longer.

“Grab that coffee cup,” he demanded, “Go on, you don’t wanna make a mess.”

You took the cup with one hand and popped the top off with your thumb. It flew onto the floor and he hummed.

“Hold it at the tip, before--” He choked on his words and you quickly moved the cup. 

He hit the brake and white ribbons streamed from his cock and laced the rim of the cup and your fingers. White globs slid down the paper and you slowed as a chill went through you. You pulled away your slimy hand and the cup. He took the latter and tossed it out the window and sighed.

“Shit, girl, that was good,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He wiped his glistening cock before covering himself up and zipping up his pants. “Get cleaned up.” He tossed the cloth on your lap, “Not far from home, now.”

🚔

Your days passed like molasses. Ever since your venture into the forest, your life slowed to an interminable pace. Your thoughts were darkened by the sheriff’s shadow. You scrubbed, scoured, and swept but could not rid yourself of the memory. The scene played over and over in your head. You swore you could feel him still spread across the palm of your hand.

A week after, when he drove up behind the boys on their return from town, you watched through the window in dread. Cal, Arn, and Will hopped out of the truck and greeted the sheriff. The four of them went to the shed where your daddy was, the latter peeked over at the house as he passed.

You were reassured that your brothers were there. The sheriff wouldn’t, really couldn’t, try anything more. You went back to basting the thick chops. As you made to cap your homemade sauce, the back door opened and your daddy looked in from the mud room.

“You bring out some glasses for the lot of us. And put an extra chop on for the sheriff,” your father slurred. He’d already started drinking. “He be joining us tonight.”

He left before you could respond. He usually drank his swill out of old jars and saved your mother’s dishes. You coated another chop in spice and set it with the rest before slipping them in the oven. You washed your hands and counted out five glasses. You hugged them in your arms and stepped into your boots. 

You pushed the screen door open with your elbow and tramped down the steps. You crossed to the shed and kicked the door with your boot. “Daddy,” you called through the wood.

Will slid open the shed door and you stepped inside. You went to the table and placed the glasses down on the old chipped surface. You stood and looked around. Your father filled each with the clear shine from a large jar.

“Isn’t he a bit young?” You said as Will sat back down.

“Not your business, woman,” your daddy spat, “Go back in the house. To your business.”

“Yes, daddy.” You sniffed and looked at Will. He gave an apologetic smile but none of your brothers ever stood up against your daddy.

“Lady not joining us?” Bodecker asked.

“Ha, that girl gets a whiff of this stuff and she’d be on her back. This ain’t no drink for ladies,” your daddy chortled. “About time you tried it. What you been doin’ will all that swill I give ya.”

“Boys at the station like it. I think they’re some of your best customers, ain’t they?” Bodecker countered. “Besides, I been tryna stay clear of the drink.”

“One night won’t hurt,” your daddy coaxed.

You went back to the door and slid it shut behind you as the men continued to chatter. Well, they would at least drink themselves too senseless to bother you much.

🚔

You cleared the table of the empty plates and scraps left by the drunken men. They had been loud and raucous, so much so you’d eaten your dinner at the counter to avoid them. When they finished, they left in a stumble, though the sheriff seemed as steady as ever as he trailed behind. He stopped at the door as he held it and peered back from the mud room at you.

You washed the dishes and put them away. You wiped down the table and fixed the chairs around it. The night was moonless and eerie. The wind wailed and shook each window and door in the house as it seemed to blow right through the walls.

The mud room door clattered again. It had been over an hour since the men returned to the shed. Their voices no longer carried in the air but the shed remained alight from within. You turned as Bodecker closed the door. He carried a tall glass of swill as he stopped in the door frame.

“Lightweights,” he said, “All your men passed out. Think one of ‘em pissed in their pants.”

“You’re drunk,” you said as you kept behind the table.

“Not really. I couldn’t finish mine,” he crossed to the other side of the table and set down the glass, “Why don’t you finish it for me?”

“I don’t drink that stuff,” you said, “Dump it out on the grass.”

“You work so hard. You should have a little fun,” he rounded the table and slid the glass across it as he neared, “Come on. Have a drink.”

“I don’t--” He grabbed you suddenly, wrestled you down into a chair and held you there by your shoulders.

He lifted one hand and felt around his belt. He flicked his holster open and rubbed the pistol with his thumb. 

“Drink it.” You watched his hand on his gun. He slid it out just a little. “Ugly things men do when they drinking. “Playing with guns… sometimes don’t always end up so fun. Don’t think the young one would make it in the hold.”

“No, you--”

“Drink,” he sneered. “It’ll loosen you up.”

You reached for the glass and he nodded. He snapped his holster closed and pulled a chair over to sit in front of you. You put your lips to the edge of the glass and the alcohol stung your nostrils. You tipped it, slowly, and tasted it with a gag. It was vile, stringent, and fiery. He pushed it up with two fingers until you were choking on it. He didn’t let up until the glass was empty and the shine dripped down your chin.

You slammed the glass down and coughed. You touched your throat as your head spun and a warmth nestled in your cheeks. You tried to shake away the haze that washed over you.

“That’s it, girl,” he purred as he leaned forward, “You feel better, don’t you?”

“N-no,” you stammered as you gripped the chair.

“’Daddy’,” he said, “Girl, you had me hard in there… you too old to be callin’ that man, daddy.” He stood and shrugged off his leather jacket, “But you be right to call me daddy.”

“I don’t feel…” Your stomach burned and you tried to stand. You stumbled and he caught you.

“Don’t you get all jumpy on me, girl,” he sat you back down. “You gonna hurt yourself.”

You slumped in the chair and braced your head. You felt terribly dizzy and your inside were alight. You heard a jingle and looked up as Bodecker unzipped his pants. You recalled the day in the car and filled with panic. You stood again and this time staggered, falling onto your knees with a cry.

“Mmm, it’s okay, girl, you can stay down there,” You looked up as he pulled his cock out through the vee of his pants, “Come here.” He grabbed your chin and yanked you forward, “Open up.”

You snapped your mouth shut and tried to wriggle free of his grasp. His other hand came up behind your head and he pulled you close. His fingers spread across your head and he used his other hand to poke his cock against your lips.

“I’ll break that pretty little jaw of yours and tell your pa he did it,” he growled, “Now come on.” You shook your head and he slapped you, hard. He seized you again. “Open!”

Your mouth fell open and your vision blurred as he shoved his cock inside. He forced himself down your throat and you kicked your feet as you grabbed at the front of his pants. He groaned and held his cock at its limit.

“And I thought you were good with your hands,” he pulled back and thrust back in. Your eyes rolled back as they teared up and you choked. “Mmm, much better.”

He started slow at first, though each tilt of his hips was relentless, deep and painful. You struggled to breathe around him and it only seemed to feed his lust. He gripped your head between his hand as he fucked your mouth, the sloppy sounds made your head swim as the slobber leaked down your chin and his shaft.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pulled out of you suddenly and shoved you away. You fell back onto your ass and wiped your mouth. “You tryna end this night early or something.”

He let out a breath and watched his cock bob before him as he grunted.

“Get up and get your drawers off.” He ordered, “Then I want you like you was in the woods, huh? Skirt up.”

You wavered as you tried to climb to your feet. He caught your errant arm and pulled you up. He spun you and you swayed. He bent and his hands crawled up your skirt as he felt around. He ripped your underwear down and let them rest at your ankles. He turned you to the chair and pushed you forward. You fell and caught yourself against the seat. He threw your skirt up and bared your ass.

Your legs quaked as he pressed his hand between your legs and felt around. He rubbed your cunt as you squeezed him with your thighs. He pinched you and drew away.

“You don’t wanna make this harder than it needs to be girl,” he sneered, “You’re in no state for that.”

He stepped closer and bent over you. His arm wrapped around your middle as he felt around below you with his other hand. He caught the tip of his cock and guided it to your cunt. He pushed it along your folds, sliding it up and down until he found your entrance. You whimpered and pushed back against him, too weak to break free.

“You fight and it’ll hurt more,” he grunted as he pushed his tip into you and you yelped. “Fuck, you’re tight.” Another inch and he stopped as he took a breath, “Holy hell, girl, you really weren’t lying. You ain’t been touched.” 

He growled and inhaled the scent of your hair as his hand gripped the chair next to yours. He thrust into you in a single tilt and you exclaimed as he stretched your walls. You reached to the back of the chair and latched onto the crossbar as you tried not to sob.

He stood, slowly and pushed deeper into you as he grabbed your hip. His other hand kneaded your ass as he began to rock. His groans were as steady as his motion as he dipped in and out of you. He curled his fingers and dug his nails into your flesh as he panted, his stomach bouncing against your ass.

“Be as loud as you want, girl,” he barked, “No one gonna hear you.”

He rutted into as the chair shifted below you. He kept a hand on your hip as his other trailed up to your shoulder and he arched your back. His zipper bit into your flesh as he sped up, slapping against you harder and harder as you whined louder and louder. It hurt terribly and your entire being thrummed with an unknown sensation. 

You closed your eyes as your vision swirled and your arms shook. He pulled you back so you stood against him, your back curved as he hammered into you. You were on tiptoes as he didn’t let up and turned you against the table. Your fingertips brushed the top as you reached out blindly and his hand stretched across your neck as he forced your head back against his shoulder.

“I’m gonna cum, girl,” he hissed, “You fucking whore. You’re going to make me cu--”

He grunted and his hips spasmed as a warmth seeped into you. He gave several, final snaps of his hip and slowed. He fell forward with you bent beneath him against the table. Your legs were limp as he crushed you with his weight. His heart pounded through his chest and he gasped for breath. 

You sniffed and pushed back against him. You were suffocating. You needed him off of you. You needed him out of you. 

“We ain’t done yet,” he hooked his arm around you and pulled you back to sit on his lap as he fell into the chair. “You got two minutes to get me hard again or you can clean me up with your mouth.”

[sassyhobbits]

Yes, another part please!😊

Would That I, part 2

ok, so i have given this HOF AU a title and have a vague idea of where its going. anyway, enjoy this part! its a bit longer than the first one!!

pt 1

~~~

Celaena wasn't sure how long she sat there, curled in a ball against the wall, clutching her chest, and trying to ground herself in a world that had suddenly been swept out from under her feet.

Mate.

It was all that was swirling around in her head. Just that. Celaena Sardothien, half-breed, had found her mate even though she wanted nothing to do with the sort. She had banished all parts of her Fae heritage after the king of Adarlan had butchered them across the continent. It had been so easy to forget that part of herself as she grew but now…

How could it be him? Her mate hadn’t been Sam or Dorian or Chaol but Rowan rutting Whitethorn. Celaena knew enough about the Fae to recognize a mating bond didn’t mean love but… this level of hate? It had to be a mistake.

Mate. He was her mate. Mate, mate, matematemate-

“Are you alright?”

Celaena’s wide eyes slowly lifted from the floor towards the figure standing before her, finding a tall woman hovering with a concerned look on her face. Female, Celaena had to remind herself upon seeing those delicately pointed ears. Not a woman.

When she didn’t respond, the female took a step closer, the torch light spilling onto her face and allowing Celaena a better look at her. Dark, angular eyes and silky black hair left tumbling down her back. She wore the same drab, functional clothes as the rest of the residents of Mistward. Her full lips pressed together tightly as she studied Celaena.

“Are you hurt?” the female asked, crouching down so that she was at the assassin’s eyelevel.

Celaena couldn’t will any words to her lips, not even something mean to score her some privacy. She didn’t deserve this female’s kindness, the concern in her kind eyes.

The stranger swallowed hard, seeming to understand that Celaena was in no position to be answering questions. She placed a hand over her chest before saying softly, “My name is Arya. I’ll take you somewhere you can rest.” Her lips tightened again, giving Celaena a once-over. “It looks like you could use something to eat too.”

Celaena didn’t have the fire within her to argue as Arya began to help her up from the stone ground, wrapping a surprisingly strong arm around her shoulders and guiding her slowly through the halls. She should have been more worried about where this stranger was taking her, but Celaena couldn’t find it within herself to really care.

She was vaguely aware of a few twists and turns down the halls, of curious eyes following her. Celaena got the impression that Mistward didn’t often see new faces.

Arya eventually opened a door and herded Celaena into a small, cozy room. There were a few other females scattered around, lounging on worn couches or sitting in little chairs by the fire. All of them looked towards her as Arya shut the door.

The demi-Fae female didn’t pay the others any mind, leading Celaena to a small seat and urging her to sit. “Leila, could you run down to the kitchens and ask Emrys for some tea?”

Celaena heard soft footfalls and the door opening and closing again, meaning whoever Leila was had followed Arya’s request.

Celaena glanced around the room, observing the other females in there with her. There were two others, both looking towards her with curiosity.

A towering female with dark brown skin took a step closer, nostrils flaring as she scented the air. Her eyes narrowed. “This is the one that just arrived with General Whitethorn.”

Celaena’s heart twisted in her chest at that damned name.

Arya blinked at the new information, about as much surprise as she would show. “What’s your name, girl?”

Celaena hesitated a moment before rasping, “Elentiya.” These strangers didn’t need to know who she was, Celaena or Aelin. It wasn’t any of their business.

Another female with pale skin and a mass of curly red hair came forward, green eyes running over her from head to toe before lingering on her face. “You’re hurt.”

Celaena reached up, running the tips of her fingers over her swollen bottom lip, feeling dried blood flake away. Right. She had forgotten about that. “It’s nothing.”

“Did Whitethorn do that?”

Celaena tensed, fingers curling into fists and looking down. “It doesn’t matter. I deserved it.”

There was pity on Arya’s face. A few weeks ago, Celaena likely would have clawed it out. But now…

The door swung open, a muscular female striding back in with a mug of steaming tea which she unceremoniously shoved into Celaena’s hands.

She held the mug tightly, glancing around at the four females surrounding her, waiting for one of them to say something.

Arya went first. “Well, Elentiya,” she said softly. “These are some of the female barracks. I’m Arya, this is Leila.” She inclined her head towards the female who had brought her tea who was stronger than many males Celaena had ever seen. Her dark hair shifted as she nodded her greeting. Then, Arya motioned towards the tall, dark-skinned female. “This is Sahala, and this-” a nod towards the red-head. “Is Eryn.”

Celaena said nothing, only wishing they would all stop looking at her. She took a sip of her tea to avoid the awkwardness.

“Do you know where you’re staying, Elentiya?” Eryn asked, those bright blue eyes wide and glimmering in the firelight.

Celaena blinked. No, Rowan hadn’t had the opportunity to show her where she would be staying before…

No, she didn’t want to think about that now.

Her silence said enough. Arya nodded slowly. “Well, we have an extra cot in here for you to rest your head for the night. Do you have a change of clothes?”

A shake of the head.

“I have some that should fit you,” Eryn offered. She raised a brow. “I’ll take you to the baths too.”

Celaena didn’t remember the rest of the night, drawing deep within herself. She barely remembered eating, taking a long soak, and changing. The females who offered her a place to stay seemed to understand that she wasn’t in the mood to speak, so they gave her some space.

Celaena was just thankful she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the thin pillow.

It meant she didn’t have to think about Rowan Whitethorn for a moment longer.

…

It wasn’t right.

None of this was right.

Rowan was furious. Beyond furious. That whiny brat, the would-be queen, couldn’t be who he thought she was. That feeling in his chest had to be a trick, a ruse of some sort.

But deep down he knew it wasn’t.

Aelin Galathynius, the princess-turned-assassin, was his mate.

It shouldn’t be possible, not after he had loved and lost Lyria. He had never heard of someone having two mates in a lifetime but… he knew someone who might know more than him.

People practically jumped out of his way as Rowan stalked through the halls. He couldn’t imagine he looked particularly pleasant at the moment, and he already had a shitty reputation here. He figured no one wished to be within a hundred feet of him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Rowan knew he had left Aelin alone in a place she had never been, but he had other things to worry about first. Besides, he didn’t want anything to do with her at this moment.

Rowan’s feet led him down towards the kitchen. It seemed of freshly baking bread, and he could hear Emrys singing softly. He entered the warm kitchen, eyes immediately locking on the older male.

“You! Story-keeper!”

Emrys jumped, clearly not hearing Rowan’s approach. He placed down his knife and turned, wiping his hands on his dirty apron.

“What can I help you with, Prince?” Emrys asked, voice soft.

“Have you heard tales of someone finding more than one mate in a lifetime?”

Emrys blinked, surprised by the question. He placed his speckled hands flat on the old table before him, a furrow between his bushy brows. Rowan knew the question would raise suspicion, but Emrys knew better than to go blabbing about the compound.

“I have yet to hear stories of that sort,” the old male said before pausing. “Though I haven’t heard any stories negating the possibility either.”

“So you believe it is possible?”

Emrys shrugged. “Who am I to say, prince? I have found my mate, and I cannot imagine another person out there who I could love more but… the gods work in mysterious ways. Who’s to say that there isn’t more than one person out there in the world someone could be matched with?”

Rowan ground his jaw, frustrated that he wasn’t able to get more of a solid answer. Finding a mate at all was rare… finding two shouldn’t be possible.

And yet, here he was.

Gods, had it felt this intense when he had recognized Lyria as his mate? The feeling in his chest was near-overwhelming, but perhaps time and sorrow had muddied his memories of the female he had lost.

The compound felt much too small. He knew that Aelin was somewhere within these halls, somewhere far too close. He couldn't stay here any longer.

Without another word to the cook, Rowan strode from the kitchen out the back door. The moment he was in open air, he shifted and tore into the sky. He had a destination in mind, and place that would hopefully give him the time and space he needed to sort through the anger and confliction swirling inside of him.

He would worry about Aelin Galathynius later.

…

The next day, Celaena slept.

Rowan didn’t come to retrieve her, hadn’t said what would be expected of her during her stay at Mistward. She was in an unfamiliar land with unfamiliar people.

Deeply and terribly alone.

The females who let Celaena stay with them kept out of her way. Eryn had brought a plate of food to her which Celaena didn’t have to stomach to even look at. She was too busy trying to learn how to breathe, to think, to be, with that strange bond strangling her heart.

Sleeping was the easiest way to avoid it.

She heard the females whispering to one another, saying that Rowan Whitethorn had left the compound in a hurry yesterday without news of where he was heading. Celaena didn’t care. He had probably already given up on her. She would take a few days to rest before she left. She would find the information she needed some other way.

She was vaguely aware of the day turning to night, the females she was staying with all retiring to bed. They all said goodnight to one another. They didn’t say a thing to Celaena.

Her sleep was deep and dreamless. She had been fully intending to sleep the day away once more, but it seemed someone else had other plans.

The sensation of someone watching her awoke Celaena early that next morning. Her eyes slowly cracked open, vision beginning to clear only to find a male kneeled down beside her, far too close for comfort.

Celaena gasped, sitting up straight and scrambling rather ungracefully to the edge of her tiny cot. The male released a bark of laughter at her reaction.

“Come, now. Surely I’m not that hideous am I?” he chuckled. “In fact, I know I’m not.”

He was right, Celaena supposed. The male before her was unfairly beautiful with luminous, dark brown skin, tight, golden curls pulled back messily, and eyes that held laughter in him. His pointed ears and sharp canines showed his Fae heritage clearly, as did the insufferable swagger that seemed to ooze out of his pores.

“What the hell were you doing?!” Celaena snapped, wishing she had a weapon or something. But Rowan had taken those.

“I was studying you. I thought you’d be more frightening.”

“What?”

The male shrugged. “Well, I figured if you were able to scare off Whitethorn so easily you would have fangs or horns or scales or something. But no. You’re just about as pretty as I am.”

Celaena dug the heels of her palms into her eye, banishing the lingering fatigued. “Who are you?”

“You may call me Fenrys,” the male said, standing to his full height. “I’m one of Maeve’s bloodsworn. Like Rowan.”

“And what the rutting hell are you doing here?”

“Since Whitethorn had some sort of important, secret business to attend to, he asked me to come here for the time being.” Fenrys smiled widely. “I’m here to train you.”

[gamerwoo]

[Tales from the Pack] Joshua: Second Chance (Part Three)

Characters: Joshua x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, fluff, some fluffy angst too so it’s not really angst is it lmao

Word count: 1,988

Summary: After his mate died, Joshua always blamed himself and never wanted to imprint again. However, fate has other ideas when he meets you: a young, energetic werecoyote that’s quite the opposite of him. He insists he doesn’t want a new mate – nobody’s even sure if he’s ready for a new one – but he can’t ignore his instincts.

Previous | Next | Second Chance Masterlist

“Oh,” the girl beside you seemed surprised that your eyes opened, squinting against the light, “you’re awake. How do you feel?”

You only groaned in reply. You definitely didn’t feel as awful as you recalled, but you still didn’t feel good.

“We’ve cleaned the remaining wolfsbane from your system, so you should make a full recovery,” the girl told you, her voice soft and soothing.

She definitely didn’t look like she was from here. She had brown skin, round eyes, and long black hair that she kept clipped back away from her face. Had you seen her before when you were dying? No, you couldn’t tell. Your memories from then were too foggy.

Wait, you were dying. How were you alive?

You opened your mouth to speak, but your eyes finally adjusted enough where you could see the person laying on a cot behind the girl. His eyes were closed, and you couldn’t tell if he was passed out or sleeping, but you just felt very strongly toward him. Much stronger than you’d felt about anybody ever. He was absolutely beautiful, and all you wanted to do was walk the couple feet of space between your cot and his to stroke his hair and cheek.

You didn’t know why you felt so strongly about a stranger, but you also weren’t questioning it. You were a curious person, yes, but you tended to just roll with the punches.

The girl noticed your gaze had drifted behind her, and she chuckled, “Would you like to be closer? It’s better for mates to heal if they’re as close as possible, and he needs all the healing he can get.”

Mates? That wasn’t something you’d heard about before, but you could probably guess what it implied. Either way, your head was nodding before your brain could really think much about it.

The girl stood and moved her stool out of the way before wheeling your cot closer to his until they were pressed together. Your face was almost right next to his now, and you observed every single detail of him. You didn’t even know his name or anything about him, but your heart and your instincts already told you you’d do anything for him.

“They’re cute,” Minjee commented once she entered the room as her partner continued to stand by the doorway and watch the two of you.

Prajya hummed in reply, her hand finding Minjee’s, “I don’t think the girl knows anything about herself. I told her he’s her mate and she seemed a little clueless.”

“Well, she is young,” Minjee noted. “Maybe nobody’s told her about creatures like her.”

Prajya nodded slowly before turning her head to look at her partner, “Did things with the other wolf go well?”

Minjee nodded, “Perfect, actually. Sura’s just finishing a few minor things and getting him settled into a bed to recover. His brother and the girls are still waiting in the living room.”

“I should go see if they need anything,” Prajya decided, pressing a quick kiss to Minjee’s cheek before she left.

Minjee turned back to the two of you after her girlfriend had left, but saw that you weren’t awake anymore. Your eyes were closed, one of your hands resting on Joshua’s as he slept. Minjee smiled to herself, thinking both of you looked like you were doing better already.

-

Josh still wasn’t awake. Even Hansol had woken up before his older brother did. Wonwoo had already brought Soomin and Suvi back to the house, and Joshua still wasn’t awake. It worried Hansol that he was asleep for so long, but Minjee assured him it was just because he had exerted his power too much.

“Is he going to get it back...?” Hansol wondered, his yellow eyes warily watching Joshua sleep beside you.

“Yes, with time,” Minjee replied with a warm smile. “You really have nothing to worry about, Hansol. Besides, he has his mate with him, so the healing will be faster.”

“Yeah, if he isn’t stubborn about it,” he muttered to himself, the human girl unable to make out what he said.

That was something else that was worrying Hansol. Joshua already had a mate and lost her. Would he really be so open about a new mate? Even if he did use the remaining energy he had in him just to save you, he did that on pure instinct. It didn’t necessarily mean things would go smoothly when he’d wake up.

“Who is she, anyway?” Kyung wondered, nodding her head in your direction. 

You were still sleeping beside him, your hand still in his. Neither of you had even moved, either, but Minjee also promised that was nothing to worry about.

“I’m not sure of her name,” Minjee sighed, “but my partners and I found her when we were out checking traps one night. My mate, Sura, knows where some of the werewolf hunters place traps regularly. He likes to patrol them and see if anyone was caught so we can help. We found her in one of them. Sura said she might be a werecoyote.”

“Werecoyote?” Hansol repeated.

The doctor nodded, “Yes. He noticed she doesn’t smell quite like werewolf, but she’s definitely something.”

The two mated wolves could admit they noticed the same thing but kept to themselves about it. They thought maybe it was just because of the wolfsbane.

The pair looked between the two of you. While Joshua seemed peaceful now, both Hansol and Kyung weren’t sure how he’d react when he woke up. They could practically already see the sour look on his face before grumbling something about not wanting a new mate. They hoped maybe they’d be wrong, but…

“What do you think she’ll do if he denies her?” Kyung wondered to her mate, unsure if you’d be as patient and understanding as Hansol. They didn’t know anything about you.

Hansol let out a quiet sigh, “I don’t know, but they’ll both just...eventually...” he didn’t even want to say it, but after a beat of silence, he quietly said, “die.”

-

“Werecoyotes are creatures I’ve never encountered,” Soomin hummed thoughtfully as she flipped through Beom’s book of creatures.

Once Wonwoo had returned home with her and Suvi, the youngest excitedly began talking about how Joshua had imprinted and saved his new mate. Meanwhile, the rest of the pack seemed shocked and almost horrified. They knew how Joshua was, and they knew he wouldn’t want another mate. What happened with Lilly messed him up pretty badly, but it also made him afraid of himself for a long time. He’d be too scared to be with someone else.

While Suvi was explaining what happened and the pack began spewing questions, Soomin was already looking through Beom’s stuff to find some answers.

“I think Beom had told me a story or two of werecoyotes, though,” Soomin continued.

“I met a few,” Yeji chimed in. “They didn’t really seem too different from you guys.”

“They’re not -- not really, other than some minor stuff,” Soomin said after finally reaching the page she was looking for. She scanned it over, using her finger to guide her eyes. “Overall, they’re essentially the same, just a little weaker -- smaller, not as strong, but they are a little quicker because of their smaller size. It makes them more agile.”

“Anyone can outrun that old man,” Jeonghan scoffed.

“Who’s the oldest, anyway?” Suvi asked.

“Nobody really knows anymore, but we just assume it’s Josh,” Jun shrugged. “Years start to blend together after a while.”

“Speaking of not knowing things,” Danbi spoke up as she looked around the packed living room, “where’s Soonyoung?”

“It’s nighttime, so he’s in town,” Jihoon sighed.

“I thought we were still being careful?”

“Since when does Soonyoung follow rules?” Seungcheol asked with a quirked brow.

Soomin cleared her throat to grab the pack’s attention and bring them back to the bigger matter at hand: you. Once they were paying attention again, she continued, “Werecoyotes have the same heightened senses, the same weaknesses, and the same instincts as werewolves. However, because they’re smaller and weaker, they recover slower and are more likely to die from things like silver bullets.”

“So Joshua’s new mate is essentially a hyperactive accident-prone child?” Wonwoo snorted.

Soomin frowned, finally looking up from the book to look at her mate, “That’s mean. And she may very well act mature. Just because they’re faster than werewolves doesn’t make them hyper.”

“You said werecoyotes are just werewolves, basically,” Jeonghan shrugged. “You’ve seen our pack.”

Seungcheol nodded, “Seokmin specifically.”

“Hey,” the young wolf whined.

“Let’s not judge her just yet,” Soomin sighed.

Jihoon raised his eyebrows, “You didn’t even meet her?”

“She was passed out,” Suvi was the one to explain. “Her and Joshua were sleeping beside each other when we left.”

“I wish I could be there when they wake up,” Seungkwan chuckled. “I’m sure that’ll be a mess.”

-

It wasn’t until the sun was about to peak over the horizon that Josh finally groaned and rubbed his eyes with one hand. The other felt warm with a light weight in it that kept him from moving it.

Wait…

The older wolf’s eyes opened before slowly looking to his left hand. He saw another hand in his and his eyes followed the arm up to the owner. He recognized your face. Not only did he remember what had happened as soon as he saw you, but he was bombarded with your face in his dreams -- well, more like nightmares. All he dreamt about was you and Lilly.

He wanted to snatch his hand away. He wanted to growl at you and wake you up and tell you to keep your hands to yourself. He wanted to yell at you to not touch him.

But he was too exhausted to do anything but lay there and glare at you with golden eyes.

“Oh, good,” a voice made him turn his head, “you’re finally awake.”

Joshua was briefly introduced to Prajya during his first check-up. She was a nice girl, but she had a little...bite to her. Josh liked her from the get go.

“See you’ve noticed your little friend,” Prajya chuckled. “You don’t seem too fond of her, though.”

His face scrunched up in almost disgust, “What is that?”

Prajya let out a snort at his reaction to his mate.

In your sleep, your nose wiggled a few times before you reached up to scratch it. Joshua rolled his eyes feeling his heart swell at how cute you seemed. He wanted his instincts to fuck off.

“I think you already know,” she replied in amusement.

“Who is she?” he asked.

The foreign girl just shrugged, “Beats me. We didn’t get a name from her or where she came from or anything.”

Unable to resist the curiosity, he slowly wondered, “...What happened to her?”

“Caught in a net that had barbs laced with wolfsbane,” she sighed as she leaned back against a wall and studied your face. “We were sure she was going to die until you showed up and--”

“Don’t,” he said sharply before dropping his tone to be only grumpy rather than angry, “mention it.”

Prajya just shrugged, “If you didn’t want it mentioned, you shouldn’t have done it. Kyung was right, you are a grumpy old man.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. Of course Kyung was gossiping with her old friends about him. The new alpha was a piece of work.

But she wasn’t really wrong, and even he knew that.

Prajya was silent as she watched Joshua watch you. It was clear that even though he openly showed his distaste for his new mate, his instincts were strong and hard to ignore. Even through the disgust and annoyance on his face, Prajya could see the love and adoration clear in his eyes.

The grumpy, old werewolf, and the young, carefree werecoyote. This would be interesting to see.

[visd3stele]

magic and kids

summary:

A/N: I really hope you like it. Thank you for your requests. Loved writing it.

art credit: @phantomrin

TW: none

@britishbookworm2 requested (if you want to leave a request as well, click)

masterlist

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

It's been four years since Taryn decided the mortal world would be a more suitable place to raise her child than Elfhame. Even if her sister was now High Queen, the fairies would still make life hard for her and her baby. Maybe not on purpose, she admits it. But magic runs wild, free and unstoppable. Used to it, the Fae Folk barely notices the dangers. And frankly, they don't care. Not allowed to use it on humans as cruelly as before, some meaner courts claim innocent ignorance. How can an entire society of enchanted beings change overnight? How could they be expected to adjust to human fragility all of a sudden?

So Taryn took her baby, promised her sister to visit and fled to Heather and Vivi's. It wasn't as hard as she'd thought. Getting used to the mortal world, that's it. And if her baby had longer canine than normal, or his ears sharpened to pointy edges to the top, it passed unnoticed. Her son certainly didn't stood out the way Vivi did, even with light brown eyes that looked orange in the sun and rusty red hair. He didn't need much glamouring either, not like Oak, Oriana or Madoc. By the time she sent him to preschool his hair was long enough to cover the ears and no one seemed to notice the teeth even without magic.

For all the talk Taryn did on how she wanted her son to be free of his father in all ways, snapping at Oak when the boy tried to teach him magic before he knew how to properly walk and forbidding her family to bring Fairyland up, she named him Renard.

Fitting, though not what she should have done. Maybe part of her can't let Locke go, not entirely. She knew he didn't particularly wanted the baby, that everything he promised her were pretty lies. But for a few months, it has been real. Their marriage, their love, their lives. She saw her dreams come true, one after another: the mistress of an important household, throwing parties for courtiers, motherhood.

Now that everything she wanted snaped broken in tiny little pieces carried away by harsh winter wind, Taryn Duarte couldn't phantom having her child become like his father.

"It has nothing to do with magic, for fuck's sake!" Vivi exploded once, after Taryn better than not threw Oak and Oriana - who came to visit - out of the apartment for trying to reach Renard's magic. "He won't become a sly, selfish fox if he can change appearance or grow horses out of leaves. It's all about his up-bringing!"

"I want him to be normal, Vivi! That's why I took him here!"

Renard has been barely one year old when the argument happened. But it was enough to take his mother's words to heart.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

Four years old Renard and twelve years old Oak played outside, jumping in crusty piles of autumn leaves. The princeling hadn't given up his plans to teach his cousin magic. He refused to let go of such opportunity: a friend he didn't have to hide of, one he could play with like he used to in Elfhame.

"Hey, Ren-Ren," Oak said, "check this out!" The older boy held up his hand, brows furrowed in concentration, lip grazed between his teeth. Nothing happened for an alarming amount of time. And then... the leaves twirl around the two cousins, splashing then with guts of wind and scarce dew as it swept them up in a friendly tornado.

Renard chuckled in delight, stretching to catch some of the closer leaves. But as soon as he touched one, the whole thing fell apart. "No!" Do it again, Oak. Do it again."

"I'm sorry, Ren-Ren," Oak faked a yawned and laid on the ground. "Magic is very serious business. Very consuming. I'm too tired to even move." He let his eyes close dramatically, watching Renard between his lashes. Truth be told, every time he did magic Oak felt good. Vibrant. As if the earth itself reached out and gave him life. But Renard didn't need to know that yet. He can definitely learn it by himself if Oak's plan works out.

The younger boy pouted and dropped on the ground. "Not fair," he muttered to himself.

"You know, Ren-Ren, you're half fae. That means there's a pretty good chance you're magic too."

"No, I'm not."

"You can't know that. Come on, give it a try!"

"No, Oak! I'm not magic. I'm not like Father, I'm like Mom. Like Mom, just like that."

Oak straightened himself, but didn't rose from the ground. "Ok, Ren-Ren. Listen up. Magic is not bad. It's fun. Don't you think it's fun?"

"Yes!" Renard nodded enthusiastically. "It's super fun. When you do it, Oak." At that the named boy own enthusiasm faded away in an instant.

"Thank you, Ren-Ren," he deadpanned. "But do you know what's more fun than watching me practice magic?" Not giving the kid a chance to answer, to even take in the question, really, Oak said "To do it yourself."

"Do you really think I should try, Oak?" Clearly, the little boy was attracted to magic. And clearly something was stopping him. But his older cousin slowly made whatever that was seem less big and scary, dragging him along in his qualms.

"Totally!"

Renard pushed his lips forward with his tongue, sticking it out through the gap in his teeth. Caramel eyes shone with desire, his red hair flown around by a cold, pleasant wind. "Ok," he gave in, as expected. "How do I do it?"

The smirk that lightened up Oak's face can only be describes as evil. Though no ill intention hid behind it. Only the knowledge his plan worked out, just like his sister, Jude's.

"Listen to me very carefully, alright? There is not just one way to make magic, Ren-Ren. You have to find your own. But for now, try the basics. Think really hard on what you want to happen. Something easy. Got anything in mind?" Renard frowned, then his eyes landed on a tree which still had some green leaves on its branches and nodded.

"Perfect! Now, imagine whatever you want to happen. Imagine it happening. Are you imagining?"

"Yes."

"No!" Oak groaned. "If you're paying attention to me, then it means you're not focusing on magic."

"But how will I know what to do if I don't listen to you?"

"I told you! Magic is your own, Ren-Ren. It comes naturally. So, dig it up. Use your imagination."

Renard tried to shut out the world around him, picturing the sole tree in his mind. A warm pull tugged at him and he followed. His magic, he tried not to dwell on the joy, but instead focusing on his practice. His magic reaching out. Because he reached out first.

The boy allowed the warmth to take control, guiding him through it. The tree now carved in his mind by detail wasn't enough. He needed action. But just imagining the leaves to fall wouldn't do. Renard couldn't say how exactly he knew it. He just did. Something more tender was needed. The half fae kid had to imply what he wants and trust his magic to follow his lead.

So Renard made himself cold. Chilly. Feeling a breeze of wind creeping inside his clothes, whipping his skin gently. Enough to rip a leaf off a tree, though. Which it did. The wind he summoned couldn't be felt, not really. Only by himself and the green leaves that departed one by one from their branch as if plucked by an invisible hand.

Oak gasped. Then grinned. And then he laughed. Renard broke free of his concentration, pleased to see his magic didn't falter. Not until every and each green leaf from his chosen tree didn't fall. The sight made him still in awe for a couple of seconds. But soon enough he joined his cousin with a bubble laugh, jumping up and down and running to tackle Oak in a tight hug.

"I did it, Oak! I did it!"

"Yes, you did, Rem-Ren. Indeed, you did. Congrats!"

"Can we show auntie Vivi? And auntie Oriana?"

When Madoc and Oriana first came in the mortal world, Taryn wanted nothing to do with them. But years of being cared for by the blue skinned, white haired, pink eyes woman showed their tale. She agreed to see her, but only her. She could be part of her child life, if she wanted.

"Sure. But don't you want to show your mom first?"

"Mom and auntie Heather work a lot. We can show them later." Renard said, but he felt his magic shrinking at the thought of his mother. His Mom didn't like his father. And his magic comes from his father. Is that why his magic doesn't want to reveal itself near Taryn? He hoped it was just him overthinking it, because he loves his Mom and wants to share this with her.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

Oak stayed with auntie Oriana, who was his mother, so Renard couldn't bring himself to be upset over it. He would want to be with his mother as much as he can as well. So he did a little trick for auntie Vivi, who told him to stay where he was, brought a camera and ordered him to glamour the tea cups again. Renard made them look like pumpkins, since the Halloween being over the corner made him impossibly anxious - in a good way.

Turns out even mortal technology can be fooled by fae's magic. Vivi showed the clip to Heather, who coed over him until Taryn came home.

"Hello, treasure. How was your day? Wanna give mommy a kiss?"

Renard jumped into his mother's arms, pressing a strong kiss on her cheek before starting to tell her about all the fun he had with cousin Oak. "And then he said I should try magic too."

Tamryn stilled. "And?"

"Look, Mom!"

Renard broke a vase, then, with a twitch of his fingers put it back together. "Auntie Vivi says I'm a natural."

"Does she? That's amazing, sweetheart."

But his mother didn't sound thrilled. In fact, her smile wasn't even a smile at all, but a thin line. "I'm sorry, mommy. I knew I shouldn't've done it, but I didn't know why. Now I know: you don't want me using my magic. It'll make me bad, like father."

Renard pushed his lips up front, scrunched his nose up, wiggled his toes, all in an atempt to stop the tears hurting his eyes from falling. When he realized it was in vain, he took off running to his room.

When Taryn entered minutes later she found her son curled on his left side in the middle of the bed, hugging a black goat plushie his uncle Cardan gave him on his birthday tight to his chest. She hated herself for causing the pain struck look on her son's face.

"Hey, sweetie."

"Hi, Mom." Renard wiped his nose with his jumper's sleeve.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie. Mommy was just scared, but that's not your fault. You could never be bad. Magic is not bad. Of course you can practice all you want, but we'll settle some ground, basic rules first. Ok?"

"Really?"

"Rules you can never, ever break. Really."

"Thank you, Mommy! You're the best! Just wait until Oak hears about it."

A/N: Renard means fox in french. Also: oops, guess I finished it earlier than expected and didn't really felt like waiting days to post it 😅

[pillage-and-lute]

The Courting Ways of Wolves (Part 4)

Dumb Boys! I love them! 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (here) Part 5 Epilogue

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Almost a month after the silver dawn they passed through a lively little river town. It wasn’t so big a city that Geralt’s senses were completely overwhelmed, but also large enough that Jaskier had good, hearty crowds every night. The nature of river towns like this meant that boats stopped through all the time, shipping goods up and down river, so sailors stopped in taverns and moved along. Every night was a fresh crowd.

Geralt decided that they’d stay in the town for a week. Rivers meant plenty of contracts too, drowners and such. There was also a decent shopping district what with all the merchants, and he wanted to tackle Number Five from his courting list.

Give Jaskier Gifts (non dead ones).

It was going to be easy.

Thirty minutes later, it was not easy. 

“Ooh I’ll come shopping too,” Jaskier said, rummaging through his bag in their room in the inn. “I need a new notebook.”

Geralt panicked a little bit. He wanted to get Jaskier a new notebook, and he didn’t have much idea for other gifts. Then an idea struck.

“Why don’t you and I look around, then after your performance tonight you’ll have more to spend.”

“Good idea Geralt, and who knows, if it goes well maybe I could get us a room with two beds instead of one.”

Damn.

Jaskier linked his arm with Geralt’s and swanned off down the stairs, leaving Geralt to either follow or have his arm dislocated at the shoulder. 

“Pardon me,” Jaskier waved down the grumpy looking innkeeper. She walked over scowling, small toddler on her hip. 

“Perhaps later, after I’ve performed in your fine establishment,” Jaskier asked. “We might discuss changing us to a room with two beds?” 

She looked at Jaskier. She looked at Geralt, who had paid for their current room with a grunted ‘that’s fine’ when she’d said it had one bed. She looked at their linked arms.

“Too many sailors coming in off the river this time ‘o year,” she said brusquely. “We can talk but ye’d be better off counting on the one you’ve got.”

Jaskier shrugged good naturedly. “Then keep it we shall, my dear lady.” She wasn’t listening, calling out instead to a child, about eight of indeterminate gender. 

“Toos, whatever’s in your mouth had better not be for guests.” The child, laughing maniacally around a mouthful of something raced out the back door of the inn, only to be scooped up by his father, a broad, heavy man with a jolly face.

They left the family to their domesticity and ventured out into the merchant district. There was more going on than Geralt preferred, his senses blurring as he tried to be on a swivel to protect against any potential dangers. None appeared though, and he allowed his senses to narrow to the warmth of Jaskier’s arm in his. 

Jaskier pulled them over to a potter’s shop. Tiny vases and bottles adorned shelves. There were bigger pieces too, some done in gorgeous colors and outrageous designs, but the little bottles captured Jaskier’s eye.

“Look Geralt, I could keep perfumes in these.”

“You have perfume bottles.”

“Oh I know, but the colors are pretty,” Jaskier said, smiling at the potter and pulling Geralt along. 

Leather goods. Very fine work, too, Geralt thought. It was next to a paper goods and bookbinding shop, and the two had obviously done some kind of trade. On a display table between the two stalls sat leather bound books of all sizes and kinds. Jaskier poured over them, exclaiming and running feather light fingers over textured leather bindings. Jaskier sighed longingly and went into the bookbinding stall to see the less expensive journal options. 

All of Jaskier’s past journals had been a sort of card cover. They didn’t last well, although Jaskier tore through them so quickly it didn’t matter. Geralt looked at the leather books here, his eye catching on a large, sturdy one in brown leather. It looked good for the road, with a braided leather tie to keep it shut.

He glanced up, but Jaskier was still admiring the paper goods.

What had really been caught by the centerpiece book. It was a mammoth thing, thick and beautifully made in a deep, wine red leather. There were little brass clasps on the side, buffed up to look like gold. In a fairy tale, it would be the master enchanter’s spellbook. A tome. 

Jaskier deserved a tome. He’d written so many songs and poems, and he’d mentioned once or twice that he ought to write it all down in one book. This should be the book. Geralt could just picture Jaskier in the library of Kaer Morhen, with the snow coming down outside and ink on his fingertips, carefully transcribing his work.

It was like with the silver dawn, Geralt could see it so clearly, his little family would all be in the library. Ciri and Geralt and Jaskier all together again. 

Next to the big red book was a little journal, made of the same color of leather. It had a little shiny brass lock with a tiny key tied on a string. A diary fit for a princess. 

He had a plan. 

He went into the leather stall and asked about their repair prices, haggled a little, then said he’d be back with his order that evening. Jaskier walked back into the leather goods stall and smiled up at him. Parts of Geralt’s chest went all tingly and golden. 

They browsed the other stalls, spending the most time at a metalsmith’s stall. Geralt was impressed with the weapon quality. Jaskier admired the jewelry, trying on various pretty, delicate rings and holding them up in the light.

Geralt watched the way he interacted with people.

When Jaskier had first joined him, he’d thought it was all an act, that Jaskier couldn’t possibly like so many people. He did though, and they loved him for it. From the outside it was clearer to Geralt why. Jaskier was polite of course, and complimentary of the workmanship, but instead of dealing in vauge descriptions, he complimented details. He found and complimented something extraordinary about each piece, drawing conversation from the stall owner’s wife, who apparently did the jewelry part of things. He complimented the delicate artistry of a slim ring, then the clever design of a bracelet catch, asking with truly genuine curiosity about each. 

Shopkeepers love curiosity, and anyone would love to have their skill complimented so honestly. Geralt felt himself smiling as he watched. 

“Good lad you’ve got there,” the weaponsmith said. “Husband?” Geralt turned to him.

“Not yet,” he said. Then his shoulders slumped a little. “Not even officially a sweetheart yet.”

The burly smith chuckled. “I know that story, you think it was easy for me to woo that goddess there?”

Geralt looked over at the jewelry maker, still locked in conversation with Jaskier. She was middle aged, but beauty doesn’t fade with age as quickly as mortals seemed to think. She was indeed a great beauty. To judge by the way she gestured avidly while speaking, she was also a passionate and firey one too.

“I’m not much for romance,” the smith said, drawing Geralt’s attention back. “But your lad there is yours, heart and soul, you just need the proper instruments to tell him you’re his as well.”

“How did you woo your lady?” Geralt asked.

The smith chuckled again. “I was a much younger man then, but I stood about without a shirt in my smithy and busily hammered and flexed every time she came by.”

Geralt brightened, showing off his muscles was something he could do. “Did it work?”

“Not even a little. She was completely unimpressed.”

Oh. And Jaskier had seen Geralt’s muscles before too. 

“So I went to her house one evening,” the smith continued, a glimmer of memory in his eye. “I’d worked for weeks to make her something as lovely as she was. Of course, I wasn’t so good a smith then either, but I’d tired. It was a braided metal band, to push back her hair, she’s wearing it now. Worn it almost every day since, including our wedding day.”

Geralt looked over. Silver and gold did indeed push back her curly hair. With her aquiline nose she looked like a woodcut of some goddess he’d seen once.

“And then I did the hard part,” said the smith. Geralt looked to him. “I talked to her, really spoke with her and told her how I admired her, not just for her beauty. Then she invited me in out of the rain and made me tea.”

Damn. Geralt wasn’t good at talking but he really would need to, it seemed. 

“More than fourty years of marriage now,” the smith said. 

“I can’t make him something as beautiful as he is,” Geralt said. A potion just wouldn’t work. 

“I think any gift to show you care would work,” the smith said. 

Geralt looked around at the weapons on display, and the smith went back to shining some of his work. There was a dagger on display. 

Jaskier had daggers, and he worked with them well, but this one was beautiful. 

“May I?” he said, and the smith gestured obligingly. 

It was obviously a piece of combined work between the smith and his wife. It was well made and balanced, but very slim, perfect for slipping up a sleeve or into a boot. It was also a piece of artwork, both the hilt and sheath inlaid with mother of pearl and a mirror-shiny black stone, with silver threads surrounding. The pearl wound about the hilt in a pattern of perfect vines, shining in the black. The sheath was a night sky, a curving crescent moon, fantasy thin, hung in a black sky, lit all around with tiny pearl stars inlaid with painstaking care. The tip of the sheath was sliverwork with more of the pearl, more vines. 

“The blade is silver,” Geralt noted.

“Yes,” the smith clearly approved of Geralt’s eye. “Moon silver, never tarnishes, never goes dull.”

Geralt was going to buy it for Jaskier. It was a cerainty. It was probably Destiny. She may be a bitch but maybe she’d decided to help him on this one. The price was extravagant, of course, and Geralt wouldn’t haggle a penny, not for artistry such as that. Moon silver was wildly difficult to work, too. Magic like that made for difficult smithing. 

Geralt locked eyes with the smith, who’s mustache-which even Vesemir would have been jealous of-twitched in the direction of Jaskier. He and the jewelry maker were coming over.

“I’ll wrap this shall I?” asked the smith in a whisper. 

Geralt gave a hint of a nod. “I’ll be back for it later,” he said, matching the volume.

“Geralt,” Jaskier exclaimed, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Let us trouble these good people no longer, at least until I return to clean out this fine lady’s entire stock, I can hear my audience call me.”

It was indeed almost supper time, and they bid their goodbyes to the couple. By the time they got back to the inn, the bar room on the first floor was full. The atmosphere was cheerful in the room, helped along by both the proprietors busily filling tankards of ale and bowls of hot stew. Jaskier ordered two of each for the pair of them.

Somehow he always got served first at a bar. Geralt wasn’t complaining, and the stew was hot and good, with chicken and potatoes and herbs. Geralt and Jaskier both slurped it down. Jaskier slammed his ale too, disappearing up the stairs to their room with a wink. 

Geralt knew Jaskier’s pre-performance routine well, and stayed down at their table to give him room. A teen with a face full of pimples picked up the bowls and spoons, as well as Jaskier’s tankard. He looked skittish to Geralt, so he didn’t nod for fear of scaring the lad. Thus far everyone had been fairly kind, Geralt didn’t want to ruin that. 

He sat back and sipped his ale appreciatively. Bartending was an art in itself and not a well known one. Geralt had been in too many pubs where bartenders didn’t take proper care, but this one had. He probably put cloth over the barrells over night in this damp weather. 

Jaskier clattered down the stairs, lute strung and tuned, and Geralt stood. He’d stay for at least the first few songs, but there were more patrons pouring in and he’d move from the table to a seat at the bar to leave room.

A song and a half into Jaskier’s set he realized his mistake. Jaskier could see him, and often locked eyes on him while singing to send a wink or just a friendly glance. He didn’t have a chance to slip away. Of course, he could leave anyway, but it just felt wrong to have Jaskier watch him leave.

“Now I know,” said a sharp voice from the bar, “that our barstools don’t have splinters, so what’s gotten in to you.” It was the bartender’s wife, the one who tended the rooms upstairs. She was still glowering, but without the child on her hip this time.

“I’ve got errands to run,” Geralt muttered, not fond of sharing his business. 

“Pf.” She said. “Just like a man to leave all the errands to the last minute. And you want to sneak out without him noticing for a bit.” It wasn’t a question. Geralt nodded. 

“Your lad there’s pretty good, makin’ us money, so I’ll do you a favor,” she looked at him sharply. “When I say go you go, and I’ll thank you to tell your sweetheart you care for him before he goes and tries to buy two beds next time.” She sniffed. “Save you both trouble in the long run.” 

She cleaned a spilled spot on the bar and let out a short whistle. 

Geralt felt like he’d been hit over the head with a mallet. 

In response to the whistle, the child from that morning appeared, Toos, Geralt remembered. The innkeeper gave the kid a penny, “Go ask for that song you like, then hurry back now.” Toos gave a gap toothed grin and dissappeared as quickly as they’d come. 

Geralt watched the disturbance at about knee level through the crowd as Toos fought their way through. Jaskier, basking in the applause noticed them immediately and listened carefully to the request, smiling widely at the audience and biting the proffered penny as if it were a gold coin to huge laughter.

The innkeeper snapped her fingers under Geralt’s nose and pointed to the door. He took the cue. 

The market was less bustling, but still open, and Geralt took in a breath of cool, evening air. Then he assessed his plan.

He wanted to buy Jaskier lots of gifts over the course of this year, and he surely would, but they would be small things mostly. Quills and ink and lutepicks, that sort of thing. Those could be found in smaller towns and villages, but craft work like he found here was hard to find along the Path. He could buy either the red book or the dagger right now, and with the contracts he’d do this week he’d pay for the other. He’d buy the practical, brown leather book regardless, because right now Jaskier needed a journal and not a tome. 

He decided on the dagger first. The smith had shared good advice, and, if someone were to buy the leather tome from the display, there was at least a chance Geralt could find one like it elsewhere. Where but here could he find a moonsilver dagger for Jaskier?

The smith was not surprised to see Geralt, and his wife sent him a friendly wink. Geralt bought the dagger and thanked the smith, complimenting both he and his wife on the work. Then he carried his package, wrapped in two layers, cloth and paper, out into the street.

He dropped a bit of tack off at the leather worker’s shop for repair, to pick it up in two days. Then he took the sensible brown leather journal from the display stand. 

The bookbinder and paper merchant was a bent old man, sitting on a stool at the back of the shop, chewing tobacco. There was a greasy twist of it, black as tar, in waxed paper on the counter. 

“Excuse me,” Geralt said. The shopkeeper looked up, jaw still working. “We don’t like your kind here,” he said in a voice that cracked like the paper he worked. Well. There it was, there was always someone. 

“Please,” he said. “It’s a gift for a-a friend. It’s very important.” 

The old shop keeper eyed him and the book in his hand. Then he obviously decided that making a sale was worth serving Geralt. He growled out a price, and Geralt didn’t haggle. 

Geralt stood there, the old man staring him down while counting the coins. He figured it was worth a shot. 

“Could I ask a favor?”

“No.”

“Could you keep the journal on your display table, the large red one, back for me? And the little one in the same color beside it? Only for a few more days.”

“No.”

“Please,” Geralt said, losing hope. “It’s for a good cause.”

The man spat tobacco juice into a can with disgusting accuracy. “What cause do monsters have, comin’ in here and asking favors of me?”

Geralt caught the man’s watery eyes. “Love, true love, please, keep them back just a few days?”

“Didn’t think monsters could feel,” scoffed the man, but he tilted his head. “You mean that nice young man, what came in with you earlier?”

“That’s the one, I want to give him the perfect gift.” 

The man scoffed again, but it was less cruel. “I can tell people they’re for display. You’ve got three days.”

Geralt let out a relieved breath. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you very much.” 

“Don’t thank me,” growled the man, cutting off another piece of tobacco with a knife. “And don’t darken my door until you have the money.”

Geralt left, feeling very light. He reentered the inn to a round of applause for Jaskier, but thankfully no one looking his way. He slipped up the stairs. 

The dagger wasn’t a gift for tonight, he decided. That was a grand gift, for sometime special. He put it in his potion bag, where Jaskier was forbidden to look, for fear he’d get into something deadly. The journal was laid on the bed, just where Jaskier would see it.

Then Geralt went back downstairs to catch the last of Jaskier’s set. 

Jaskier practically danced up to Geralt afterwards. He was full of that strange energy he always had after a good performance, like bubbles in champagne. Geralt could feel the muscles around his eyes soften. 

“I liked your last song,” he said. Number Three on The List, compliment him.

“Paddy Lay Back?” Jaskier said. “You’ve heard it before.”

“Yes,” Geralt said as they went upstairs. “I like it.” 

Jaskier beamed. 

He chattered about the performance all the way into their room, and managed to pull off his boots before noticing the journal on the bed. He stopped mid sentence.

He looked at the journal, then at Geralt, mouth still half open.

Geralt remembered the smith, talking about how he’d won his wife over, but his mouth felt stuffed with wool.

“It’s for you,” he managed. “For your songs. It’ll last longer than the card bound ones.”

Jaskier picked it up, rubbing his thumb across the smooth leather, then he turned to Geralt. His eyes were shining.

With a speed that even Geralt’s mutated reflexes couldn’t manage, he was enveloped in a hug. Jaskier had his arms around his neck, the journal still in hand. 

Geralt hesitated. 

Then he wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s chest and held him.

Later that night, in the same bed as a snoring bard, he still felt the heat of that hug. Jaskier’s elbow dug into his ribs and he barely felt it, but the hug was still there. He thought of the dagger in his potions bag. 

He’d talk to Jaskier then, giving that to him. For now, he’d have time to plan what to say. Before he could try, however, sleep claimed him.

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Gifts! Gifts for Jaskier! and a hint of things to come. I had fun with this. 

Taglist!

@llamasdumpsterfire @goblinwhoships

[berrynarrybanana]

Prince Charming - H.S

A/N: So I apparently posted this as private, but I have fixed that! This is my entry for @hunflowers​ Halloween Fic Challenge! Gianna, I hope that you had the most amazing birth month and the best Halloween. I wrote this little bit about spooky baking with H and a big surprise. I hope that everyone had a great halloween and I hope that you enjoy this fic! 

Word Count: 6k+

Warnings: A shitty ex, smut, so much fluff “Harry, darling, please put that down.” I reached out, grabbing the ice cream scoop from his hand with a breathless chuckle. His eyes grew wide and he handed it over, crossing his arms behind his back with a cheeky grin as I turned towards the camera. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, today Harry and I are going to bake some Halloween treats for you all.”

“Before we start,” Harry glanced over at me. “Can I show you a trick?” 

“It depends.” I said slowly. “What is it?” 

“Have a little faith, sweets.” He smirked, reaching for three of the golden brown eggs that were sat on the countertop. “I’ve never done this in front of you before.”

“Don’t you dare.” I gasped out as he started to toss the eggs in the air. I lifted my hands to my mouth, my eyes growing wide. “Harry! We don’t have any other eggs. If you break those-”

“Calm down.” He settled them back into his palm after a few tosses into the air, each egg landing gently beside the next. “I’m a pro juggler, aren’t I?”

“You like to stress me out sometimes, I swear it.” I let out the breath that I had been holding, shaking my head out as he let out a loud chuckle. “Grimmy, I apologize in advance to you and your editing team for what you’re going to have to cut out in this video.”

Harry rolled his eyes, setting the eggs down on the counter. 

“So, essentially,” I glanced over the ingredients on the counter as Harry placed his hand gently on my hip. “We’ve got some serious baking to do and then some fun baking. Anne, Harry’s beautiful Mother, is hosting a Halloween party with a bake-off for everyone that lives round the village. Harry and I both decided that we don't want to bring shame to the Styles’ family name with crappy baking, so we’re doing something a little unorthodox.”

“The what?” Harry squeezed my hip with a smirk, holding back a laugh as he looked over my confused expression. “What family?”

“Don’t be cheeky, I said what I said.” I mumbled, my cheeks growing warm. “Going to the annual Holmes Chapel bakeoff with a Styles, aren’t I?”

“S’alright, you’ll be a Styles soon enough.” He pressed a teasing kiss to my temple and I rolled my eyes, exasperated and exhausted by his neverending proposal joke.

I hadn’t told him yet, but there was a certain Styles that was really pushing for a proposal. 

I rolled my lips in, doing my best to hold in the secret that was bubbling up in my chest. 

I looked at Harry as he pushed a few ingredients around absentmindedly, holding back the words that were practically clawing at my throat. 

“Well you better hurry up then,” I cleared my throat. “Got boys lining up around the block. Rather have my chance with one of them if you’re not gonna give me my ring soon.”

“Oi!” He glanced at the camera and then back at me. “There better no’ be any boys linin’ up ‘round this block.” 

He reached over for the toy sword that he’d insisted on buying at Homegoods during our Halloween shopping excursion. 

“You’re going to fight them off with that?” I giggled when he waved it in the air. “With poor posture and a terrible swing?”

“You’re just asking for it today, aren’t you?” He dropped the sword, narrowing his eyes. “I see how it is, then. Get back to your baking spiel, I’ll handle you later.”

“Kinky.” I turned towards the camera with my lips pressed together before I let out a loud laugh, Harry joining in right after. “I can’t do this with you, we’ll never get anything done.”

“Yes we will.” He reassured me. “Let’s crack on with it then.”

He reached for an egg and my eyes went wide as he prematurely cracked it, spilling the contents into the bowl carelessly. 

“Harry!”

                                         *****************************

“My favorite thing about baking is eating what you’ve done after.” Harry confessed with a tiny hum, his hand dipping the measuring cup into the flour bag. “Always liked to take a cheeky bite out of whatever Mary was working on at the bakery.”

“You still do that.” I teased, bumping my hip into his. “I caught you sneaking some chocolate chips earlier. Don’t you think for a second that I won’t call your Mum in here.”

Harry snorted out a laugh and I glanced up at him, raising my brows. 

“You wouldn’t dare, you little tattle tale.” He mumbled, narrowing his eyes back at me. 

I opened my mouth, but he was quick to press his lips to mine so that I wouldn’t speak. 

I laughed into the kiss, pulling back when he reached up with a floured hand to cup my cheek purely out of habit. 

“None of that.” I pushed his wrist away. “This is serious business we’re tending to and I won’t be the one to disappoint Anne at the neighborhood bakeoff because you can’t keep your hands to yourself.” 

Harry let out a soft huff, turning back to his flour with a pout on his lips. 

“And now he’s pouting.” I turned towards the camera with a fond smile on my lips. “He’s cute when he’s grumpy.”

“Don’t make me rethink this.” He grumbled. “Might have to dump the whole bag of flour on your head if you keep teasing me.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me.” I cooed, sliding my arms around his waist, nudging his arm out of the way until I was settled against his side. “You know why?” 

“Not a clue.” He hummed out, glancing down at me. I could see the smirk teasing the corners of his mouth and it only made me smile wider. “Why?” 

“Because you love me.” I said softly, hoping that the camera didn’t pick it up. “And I love you.”

“S’true.” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “Love you loads.”

“Love you loads.” I repeated back, closing my eyes as he wrapped one of his arms around me tightly. 

“What happened to serious business?” He asked, resting his cheek on the top of my head. 

“Few more minutes of this, then we can get back to it.”

                                                ***********************

“Come here,” I held my hand out, grabbing his chin gently. “Think you could use a bit more around your top lip.” 

“What do you mean?” He asked, his brows furrowing. “My mustache is starting to grow.”

“S’not a mustache it’s a shadow.” I secretly dipped my free hand into the chocolate icing behind Harry’s arm. “But I can fix that.”

I reached up, swiping my finger across his top lip generously before I darted away from him. 

Harry was quick to catch me, both arms looping around my waist until my back collided with his front. Before I knew what was happening, I felt cold goop dripping over my forehead and down my neck. I gasped, shrieking ever so slightly as he lifted me off my feet. I reached out for his arms as a puff of white powder washed over me, Harry’s hand patting the top of my head. 

“S’that what you wanted then?” He playfully growled in my ear. “You should know better than to tease your elders, sweet pea.”

“Harry!” I whined when he spun me around, my hands swatting his arms. I was a little fearful that him holding me like this wasn’t the best idea for the churning in the pit of my stomach that was set off so easily these days. “Put me down you oaf.”

“Promise to be nice to me?” He asked. 

“Harry, you did way more to me than I did to you.” I turned my head towards his pouting. “It’s not fair.”

“Alright, if I put you down, you get one more shot at it.” He said. “Only one more though, and you can’t crack an egg on my head.”

“Deal.” I said. 

“No. egg.” He repeated and I chuckled, nodding my head. “Alright, go for it.”

He sat my feet on the ground and naturally, I reached for an egg. 

I pressed it against his shirt, squishing it the best that I could as he gasped out. 

He looked down at his shirt and then to me. 

“You said not on your head.” I clarified, dropping the shells to the counter. “You didn’t say anything about anywhere else.” 

“You little shit.” he scoffed playfully. “It’s on.”

                                                 ******************

Three hours later, we were still caked in our baking goods. 

Harry and I had fallen into a comfortable silence, working around each other to prep the ingredients for our cake that would be entered into the bake-off. We weren’t master bakers by any means, but we were doing pretty damn well. The top tier was a black cauldron with little eyeballs sitting on top. When people cut into the cake, the eyeballs would ooze out a slime green, mint flavored icing that would compliment the dark chocolate flavor of the cake. The second layer was a pumpkin cake with flesh colored icing that tasted of cream cheese and housed a few fake stitches held together with staples. Harry had taken great care to create a few ladyfingers to stick on top of the second layer, curved towards the cauldron as if Frankenstein himself were holding it up. The bottom layer was a simple apple spice cake with black icing and easy piped spider webs. All together, it was a pretty solid cake. 

“We’re so fucking talented.” Harry stood back, looking over every last detail of the cake. “I’m actually really proud of us for doing this. It looks so good, sweets, and I just...we did that.”

“I know.” I stood next to him, snaking my arms around his middle as I stared at our masterpiece with a fond smile. 

I bit the inside of my cheek as he brushed his fingers over my shoulder in a soothing motion, my eyes welling up at the proud tone his voice emitted.

“I think we should join bakeoff next year.” I said quickly, hoping to distract myself. 

“Yeah, let’s see if Jeffrey approves of that.” Harry snorted, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as he glanced down at me. “Let’s go have a nice shower before the party. We can do our fun baking together at home.”

“I love you.” I said softly. “That’s a great plan, Styles. Let’s go get this gunk off of us and get ready for the night.”

                               ***************************************

Harry and I floated around each other in the bathroom that he shared with Gemma at Anne’s house. I stood side by side with Gemma, working on my eyeshadow while she messed about with her hair. It was decided around April that we would all dress up as Disney characters to keep with a theme during the bakeoff. There was a lot of arguing between the Styles children until a decision by Anne, Michael, and myself was made in regards to the costumes. 

Anne would be dressed as Mary Poppins, but modern. I had helped her pick out the perfect outfit with a magic bag and cane just a few months prior and I was more than excited to see her all dressed up. Gemma and Michael were going to be Belle and Prince Adam post beast phase. Gemma was already dressed up, her hair in perfect curls and resting on her shoulders. 

It took me a lot of convincing to do on my part - which consisted of begging and a stellar blowjob- to get Harry to agree to my idea. My favorite princess growing up had always been Ariel. There was something about her rebellious streak that always appealed to me. I told Harry that I wouldn’t be dressing up as mermaid Ariel, but land Ariel instead. It felt a little more practical and wearable for me to wear a dress instead of a tail. 

“Sweetheart,” Harry popped his head into the bathroom, his fingers pressed against the doorway as I adjusted my bow. “Are you ready?” 

“Just about.” I nodded. “Can you tell me if my hair is okay?” 

He moved into the bathroom, brushing his fingers under the dyed red locks that I had insisted on getting a week or two before Halloween. It was a temporary dye that would come out in a few washes, but the color was starting to grow on me. 

“It looks perfect.” He said softly, reaching up to tweak my bow. “This red is starting to grow on me.”

“Me too.” I glanced up at him through the mirror with a small smile. “Well, let me see your costume then.” 

I turned around, pressing my hands into the small sink behind me as I looked over Harry’s body. I had seen him in a white, flowing shirt like this plenty of times before, but I had never seen wearing the exact outfit that Eric wore in the cartoon. I tried to keep my red lipped smile at bay, but it was damn near impossible to do when he looked so perfect. 

“I love it so much.” I said softly. “You look handsome, darling.”

“Thank you.” He mumbled softly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck as blush tinted his cheeks. “But I pale in comparison to you, sweetheart. You look adorable.”

“Really?” I glanced down at my dress before looking back to Harry. “Do you think so?” 

“Better than the fucking cartoon.” He chuckled, reaching up to brush his finger over my cheek as he cupped my cheek. “I never wanted to fuck Ariel.”

“Harry!” I groaned, pushing his arm away as he giggled. “You ruined it.”

“I’ve done no such thing.” He teased, pulling me in by my hips. “I honestly think you look beautiful, my love. I don’t know anyone else that could pull this off better than you.”

“I think you can pull it off me later and then we can decide who does it better? I teased, lifting up on my toes to kiss his lips. “Let’s go, I can’t wait to win that contest.”

                                  *************************************

“I knew all of those years working at the shop weren’t for nothing.” Mary clapped her hands together, her eyes scanning the cake. “This is a work of art, love!”

“I can’t take all of the credit.” Harry wrapped his arm around me. “Had my princess to thank for most of it. She’s a wizard in the kitchen.”

“The two of you are quite the handsome pair.” Mary reached up to pinch Harry’s cheek and I laughed under my breath. “I’m glad you’ve found someone to deal with your terrible habits. Did he take a few bites out of your masterpiece while you were baking?” 

“He always does.” I chuckled, patting his tummy. “I always leave him bits behind so he can snack.”

“She treats me well.” Harry sighed playfully. “I wish you luck on the bake off, Mary.”

“You as well, darling.” 

As Mary walked away, someone filled her spot. 

“Harry!” Madeline smiled brightly, her eyes twinkling. “It’s so nice to have you back, babe.”

“Hello.” Harry gave her a tight smile, his arm pulling me closer to his side. “S’nice to see you again.”

“Is this your cake?” She looked down at our masterpiece and I tried to fight off my smile as Harry dug his fingers into my side instinctively. “It’s magnificent, babe!”

“It’s our cake, yes.” I cleared my throat as Madeline glared at me, a look of disgust washing over her face. “Nice to meet you, I’m Harry’s-”

“So, H,” She cut me off, looking back at my boyfriend. “Everyone is going for drinks in the pub after. I would love it if you could stop by.”

“Sorry, but I have plans.” Harry said. “My girl and I are going back to our home in London for a party with our friends.”

“Oh.” Madeline’s face fell. “You’re not staying in Holmes for a few more weeks?” 

“No.” He said. “We’ll be back at the end of November.”

“Interesting.” Madeline said. “Well, we’ll just have to catch up then.”

“We’ll see.” I said. “We’re quite busy.”

Madeline walked away, her jet black hair flipping over her shoulder. 

I looked up at Harry with a sympathetic smile. 

“You okay?” I asked, pressing my hand to his tummy. 

“I’m fine.” He grumbled. “I just wish people would stop treating you like a fucking doormat. I can’t stand when they talk down to you, as if you’re less than them. That girl hasn’t even left her fucking hometown and you’re a succesful-”

“Hey, look at me,” I moved in front of him, grabbing his face between my palms. “I want you to understand that I don’t give a flying fuck about Madeline or any other person that talks to me like that. They’re just jealous of what I have and what I’ve built, Harry. If I sat around worrying about them all day long I would always be a wreck and I refuse to give them the satisfaction.”

“But I love you.” He whispered. “I love you and I want to protect you, even if I know you don’t need me to.”

“I don’t need you to, you’re right.” I smiled. “But I want you to know that I already feel safe and supported around you. I don’t need a huge scene to feel protected.”

“I love you.” He lowered his head, pressing his lips to my own.

“And I love you,” I giggled. “My sweet prince.”

                                            ****************************

Somewhere in between watching Harry’s youngest cousin bobbing for apples and a quick make out session in the toilets, or cake was destroyed. It wasn’t hard to pin down the culprit after we saw Madeline smirking in the corner. She made sure that her eyes landed on mine exactly, smirking like the cat who ate the fucking canary. I glanced between Harry’s stony expression and the smashed cake that lay on the floor of the rec center, my chest burning with anger and frustration. Any other time, I would have ignored the feeling and powered through. 

But something in me had changed and I felt the need to protect Harry for once. 

He was so proud of our creation and Madeline destroyed in seconds out of spite. 

My prince was standing in a room full of family and friends with a quivering lip and watery eyes and I was beyond livid. I tried for a few moments to soothe the burning frustration in my chest, but I couldn’t do it. I knew the kind of girl Madeline was and I knew that she wouldn’t ever stop harassing Harry as long as she thought she had a chance with him. I needed to show her that she didn’t have a chance with him anymore.  It didn’t take me long to find myself in front of her with red cheeks and a heavy scowl on my lips. 

“I get that you’re still living in some high-school state of mind where you’re the ‘it girl’ and everyone else is just a pawn in the sick game you’re playing.” I started, sending Madeline into a state of shock, her eyes growing wide. “But this isn’t highschool and I’m not someone you can bully to get what you want. I’m a grown woman with a great career and a beautiful life. I don’t care if your feelings are hurt because you went on one date with my boyfriend in year seven.”

“I-” She stuttered out, but I interrupted her. 

“Grow the fuck up and move on with your life or you’ll find that one day, all of your friends and family are gone because you were too obsessed with someone who never wanted you back in the first place! I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, but you need to lay off. I don’t care what you do or say to me, but you will not continue to hurt Harry’s feelings past today, is that understood?” 

She nodded meekly, her shoulders slumping slightly as I let out an angry huff. 

When I turned around, Harry was right there behind me. 

“That was a really shitty thing to do, Madeline.” He said softly. “I would appreciate it if you could leave us alone in the future, yeah?”

Harry and I left the rec center immediately after. 

The ride back to Anne’s house was so quiet that I could hear Harry’s harsh and uneven breathing from the passenger seat. I knew that he was beyond angry when we left the party, but it seemed to get worse with every passing second. It was so bad, in fact, that Harry hadn’t even put his hand on my thigh like he normally did when he was driving. I hated the absence of his hand, but my brain was too busy working around in circles trying to keep up with my current emotions. I gently rested my palm near my belly, worrying my bottom lip as I looked out of the car window. 

I was feeling so many things at once and eeing Harry so worked up had an effect on me that it shouldn’t have. I kept my thighs tightly pressed together as he accelerated down the winding road towards his Mum’s house. I could feel my walls growing slick as they fluttered, fueling that aching feeling in my belly that was spreading warmth across my body. I didn’t want to be turned on by his frustration and anger, but I couldn’t really help it. I watched him from the side of my eye, trying to soothe the feelings in my body and bring myself back down.

Unfortunately for me, it didn’t work. 

When Harry pulled into Anne’s driveway, he slammed the driver side door. 

I knew he wasn’t angry with me and I didn’t feel like I was in any sort of danger, but I still jumped a little. It should have scared me to see him do that, but if anything, it threw gas onto an already raging flame. I watched him strut around the front of the car in his costume, his lips pressed together and his jaw clenched. He was still a gentleman, holding the door open for me and offering a hand to help me out. I received a pert kiss to my temple as he slipped his fingers through mine, guiding me up the walkway to the front steps of the house. 

“Harry,” I said his name quietly as he shut the front door behind us. “Baby?”

“M’really not in the mood to talk about it.” He grumbled, brushing past me. “I’ll be in m’room.”

I let out a sigh, watching him retreat with a bruised ego and a soft pout. 

I kicked my brown flats off next to Harry’s vans before I walked up the steps towards the room we had been sharing for the last week. Inhaling deeply, I pressed the door open as he started to strip out of his costume. I shut it quietly behind me, leaning against the white wood as I watched him like a hawk waiting out its prey. 

“I told you I’m not in the mood to talk, love.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Don’t want to say things I might regret.”

“I’m not in the mood to talk either.” I said softly, crossing my arms over my chest. “I am, however, in the mood to fuck.”

His head snapped around as he held his brown trousers in his pants, his eyes burning. 

“S’that what you’re up here for?” He asked, letting out a bitter laugh. “Want me to fuck you?” 

“You’re hot when you’re angry.” I shrugged, pushing off the door. “I’d like to put some of that aggression to good use.”

“M’not mad at you.” He said softly. “Mad at her.”

“Just...take it out on me.” I said. “I know you’re upset and I know that this will make you better, so fuck me like you hate me.”

“I won’t do that.” He swallowed around a lump in his throat. “But I will punish you for being an absolute brat in that kitchen earlier. I told you that you would get yours, didn’t I?”

“You did.” I tried to hide my smile when he tossed his pants to the side, his hardening cock on display. “No pants under those trousers? How naughty of you.”

“I want you on the bed.” He moved closer to me, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “Want you perched on the end with your ass in the air so that I can take you from behind.”

“Costume on or off?” I asked, raising a brow as Harry looked over my face. I shivered when he pulled a tendril of red hair from my shoulders, twirling it around his finger. 

“On.” 

With a shaky exhale, I nodded. 

Seconds later, I found myself stripping out of my panties and falling onto the bed with myy hands pressed into the center of the mattress and my feet dangling off the edge. I gripped onto the duvet we’d been curled under earlier that day, closing my eyes in anticipation. I waited for the sting of Harry’s palm against my flesh or the teasing tone of his voice. I waited and waited, but it never came. I heard him fiddling around behind me, shuffling through items and grumbling under his breath, but I didn’t feel his presence. I let out an impatient whine, biting my lower lip. 

“Didn’t say you could make noise, did I?” He said sternly. “Stay quiet for me, princess.”

I rolled my lips in, trying to keep in the whine that was creeping up my throat at bay. 

Seconds later, I felt the skirt of my dress being pushed over my ass. The hem rested on my lower back as the cool air of Harry’s bedroom washed over my skin. I heard him inhale sharply just seconds before I felt his thumb brushing over the lips of my cunt. I tried not to make any noise, taking a deep breath as he circled his thumb three times over my clit. 

Sweet relief only lasted a few moments before Harry’s thumb was gone from my clit. I gasped out when his hands started to knead at my ass, his thumbs spreading me apart.  

“You pissed me off earlier when you cracked that egg on my shirt.” He tutted. “If I remember specifically, princess, I told you no eggs.”

“M’sorry.” I whimpered when he dug his nails into the flesh. I knew he wouldn’t do anything to seriously hurt me, but I liked the sting. “M’sorry I didn’t listen.”

“You’re just being greedy.” He hummed out. “Gonna say whatever it takes to get my cock in you, huh? I’ve seen you do it before, my love.”

“Harry.” I whimpered his name as he pulled his right hand away. “Please.”

Seconds later, the crack of his palm against my ass had me letting out a small moan. 

I jolted forward on the bed ever so slightly, but Harry’s hand on my hip stopped me from falling.

“You were acting so bossy, too.” He sighed. “Putting on a show for Nick and the camera as if you’re the one who’s in charge here. We both know that isn’t true, don’t we? We both know that you like it when I take control, when I boss you around. Isn’t that right?” 

“It is.” I nodded before I tucked my head between my biceps, slightly arching my back “Fuck, I love it when you’re in control, H.”

“S’my job to take care of you.” His voice lost it’s edge, a softness to it. “Don’t need you to take care of me, princess. M’your prince charming, aren’t I? It’s my job to stand up for you and defend your honor.”

I lifted my head up, glancing over my shoulder with parted lips. 

The words died on my tongue when I felt Harry’s tip against my entrance, the rest of his cock following lead as he sunk into my warm walls. We both let out breathy moans of relief and the burning ache that had taken over my tummy earlier was now being soothed by. Harry’s hips settled against the flesh of my ass as his fingers flexed into my hips, holding me tight against him as I adjusted to his size. I closed my eyes when he finally pushed me off of his cock before pulling me back against him. I hated not being able to see his face, but this position felt so amazing that I couldn’t help but give into it. 

“Harry,” I gasped out as he repeated his previous move a few more times. “I need you to really give it to me.”

Another smack landed to my ass as Harry’s cock simultaneously brushed against that soft spot inside of me that only he could reach. I whimpered, biting my lower lip as he pushed my hips off of himself again, pulling me back a little harder as his hips moved forward to meet me. 

“S’not your turn to call the shots.” He gritted out, his fingers smoothing over my ass before it fell to my other hip. “If I wanna fuck you slow, I’ll fuck you slow.” 

He really made a point, pulling me off of his cock until the tip was barely nestled inside. 

He waited a few moments before he pulled me back onto him. 

“If I want to fuck you fast, I will.” He moved his own hips this time, delivering three fast and sharp thrusts into me. “If I want to pull your hair, I will.” 

I felt my mouth practically watering when he reached up, gathering the strands of my hair in one, large ponytail. I gasped when he pulled, guiding my head up and my body to a sitting position. I dropped my head back against his shoulder, my back pressed into his front from ass to shoulders. I turned my head ever so slightly as he grunted. 

“Do all princesses act like this?” He gritted out, guiding his hand to the front of my belly as he started to move his hips, thrusting into me just how I needed it. “Acting like brats until their prince comes along to teach them a lesson?” 

I slipped my hand over the palm that was pressed to my tummy, gripping his wrist to take some of the pressure off. I felt his palm ease up on the sensitive area as if he could tell exactly what I was trying to say. I was just a little nervous about things, especially since I hadn’t told him yet. 

 “I need to cum.” I cried out.

“No.” He flexed his hips, pushing deep inside of me as I tried to guide his hand to my clit. “I’m not done with you.”

“Harry-” 

“Shh, princess.” He pressed his lips to my neck. “I’m going to fucking wreck you.”

And he truly did. 

He alternated between fucking me on all fours and holding me up with his palm as he drove into me from behind. I didn’t get much clit stimulation until the end of our tryst, but it still felt phenomenal anyways. The feeling of Harry plunging in and out of me with such vigor was enough to get me close to the edge of my release. He went on with his pattern of alternating positions until I was begging him, tears in my eyes and desperation in my tone. 

“Please let me cum, H.” I cried out, turning my nose towards his jawline as he pushed his palm into my lower tummy. “Let me cum, let me cum.”

“Shh, princess.” He cooed softly, pulling out of me completely. “S’alright, I’m gonna let you cum.”

“No, no, no.” I whimpered when he pulled his body away from mine, his hands dropping from my hips. “Harry, what are you doing?” 

“I want you out of this fucking dress.” He growled out, his hands tugging at the zipper on the back until the fabric fell loosely around my shoulders. “Need to feel you.”

I nodded, helping him push it all off of me before I fell forward on the bed. 

Harry patted my thigh, guiding my hips until I was on my back with my heads propped up against the pillows. I gratefully accepted the bruising kiss he offered, his lips molding against mine as he guided his cock back into my aching walls. I let out a soft moan as he bottomed out, wrapping my legs around his hips as he slipped his hands under my body. 

“Love you.” He gasped out, flexing his hips in sloppy thrusts as he panted into my mouth. “I love you so much. I love that you stood up for me and I just...fuck, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I whined out, guiding a hand up to the back of his head until my fingers were tangled in damp locks. “Make me cum.” 

“M’close too.” He warned. “Together?” 

“Yeah.” 

I nodded before tucking my face into the crook of his shoulder, my lips pressing into the bare skin there as he tucked his hand between our bodies. I knew Harry’s body just as well as I knew my own at this point. I knew it well enough to know that four or five more thrusts would bring him to his release. I softly bit into his shoulder as he circled my clit, waiting for me to clench around him as a signal that I was ready. It didn’t take long, his fingers slipping against the bundle of nerves fast enough that I was clenching around him in less than a few minutes. 

“I’m gonna move.” He whispered. “You ready?” 

“Please,” I mewled out, kissing over his shoulder as he started to thrust his hips. “Just like that, Harry.” 

“I love you.” His breath tickled the baby hairs along my temple as he delivered a few sharp thrusts. “Love you so fucking much.” 

When our highs hit, his body stilled against mine. 

I let out a high pitched whine, trying my best not to bite down on his shoulder too hard. I felt him cum, his cock twitching before he let go of his release. His hips flexed into mine a few more times, a primal movement that ensured every drop of his cum was pushed as far in as it could go, before he fell lax against my body. I let out a soft chuckle, gently scratching at his scalp as we both tried to catch our breath. His lips pressed gently over my forehead and down the bridge of my nose until they met mine in a soft and sweet kiss. 

“Thank you for sticking up for me.” He whispered. “Thanks for sticking up for us.”

“She would have never stopped hounding you.” I whispered. “She needed to be confronted in front of other people to realize exactly how horrible she’s been.”

“I was really upset about our cake.” He pressed one elbow into the mattress, brushing his fingers through the strands of hair around my face. “We worked so hard on it and she just...destroyed it. I felt like that was a big milestone for us, creating something together.”

“I know.” I gave him a sympathetic smile as his thumb caressed the skin of my cheek. “What if I told you that we’ve created something so much better than a cake together?”

“What could be better than that cake?” He asked, his brows pulling together. I watched his eyes dart around, the gears turning in his brain. “I don’t know, love. What have we done?” 

I smiled, rolling my lips in as my eyes started to tear up. 

“Are you sure you can’t think of anything better than cake?” I asked, my voice a little hoarse from a combination of moaning and the emotion creeping up in my throat. “Like, baby, you can’t imagine anything better than-”

“You never call me baby.” He searched my face, his expression changing emotion every few seconds. “Are you saying-”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “I think that’s a little better than a cake, right?” 

“Holy fuck.” He let out a breathless chuckle. “Yeah, it’s much better than a bloody cake.”

He pressed a series of playful kisses over my face, both of dissolving into a fit of giggles.

In that moment, I knew that this would always be the one thing no one could ever ruin for us. 

[archonanqi]

fragile as dust / 9 - the moments of peace

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a/n - hi! I've gotten some requests to start a tag list for this series. If you’d like to be tagged with updates, please send me an ask / message / reply! Thank you. :)

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ch 9 | the moments of peace

“To the left, to the left!” 

With an embarrassing screech, you lunged forward, desperately searching for any movement in the dry grass. You came up empty. Adrenaline still hot in your veins, you jumped violently when Xiangling pat you on the shoulder.

“ Your left,” Xiangling corrected, pointing in the opposite direction of which you threw yourself. 

You both stared wordlessly for a moment as the squirrel scurried away and out of sight. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, cheeks hot against the morning air. This was the third expedition you’d embarked on so far, and you’d still yet to catch anything that could move faster than a sweet flower.

“That’s okay! Just means that I’ll need to come up with some dishes to make with the ingredients we have so far!” You could almost hear the gears grinding in her brain as she rummaged through the basket of plants that you had gathered, murmuring to herself. “Is this everything we gathered today?”

You hesitated before rifling through your pockets and producing the brown, lumpy object you’d found at the start of your expedition. You weren’t sure it was even edible (it certainly didn’t smell like it), but you wondered if it might suffice to salvage the botched trip, even a little. 

“OH!” Xiangling’s eyes lit up soon as she saw what was in your hand. “Where did you find this?”

You peered at her cautiously, not sure if this was a good reaction or not. Also, her voice seemed to have hit a new high and you were worried it would begin to attract monsters. 

“Uh, back there, in those ruins. There was a bunch,” you offered, pointing in the direction. “Is it usable?”

Xiangling seemed to have begun visibly vibrating. “Usable? This is Matsutake! It’s a rare mushroom, and it’s so versatile that it can be used in place of any— Oh, I’ll explain later, let’s go get them all before a boar finds them first!” 

The sun was well above the horizon by the time you gathered enough Matsutake to fill the two baskets you’d brought. Xiangling had already started a fire with some Dendro slime concentrate — the way she’d taught you to do — when you returned from washing the mushrooms in a nearby stream. 

“Could you chop the Jueyun Chilis for me, please?” Xiangling said, barely looking up from the wok. No matter how bubbly she had been, the moment she stood in front of a blazing fire and a vast array of ingredients, Xiangling always adopted a demeanor of complete calm. It was almost unnerving to watch, sometimes, how focused she could get. You hurried to obey.

“How many?”

She peered up then, the licking flames painting her grin a bright orange. “Hansi, have I taught you nothing over the past week?” She thumped her chest twice with a flour-covered hand, “in Mondstadt, they might use measurements like cups and tablespoons— but that’s not how I do things! In Liyue, we listen to our hearts. Just let Rex Lapis guide your hand!”

You stared at the chilis. If you’re just giving out guidance nowadays , you directed your silent thoughts towards the earth beneath your feet, I’d love to know what your deal with the Vision is.

In the end, you emptied just half a chili into the wok, because even just chopping it was beginning to make your eyes water. It instantly stained the hot oil a bright red. For the rest of the morning, you watched as Xiangling bustled around your little campsite, tasting this and that, asking you for various small and bewildering favors — you certainly hope that she didn’t really use the lizard tail that she had you go hunt down. 

While at first you paid careful attention to Xiangling, the sight of a piece of Cor Lapis gleaming under the morning light dragged your thoughts elsewhere — towards what ( who ) was waiting for you when you returned home. 

“Okay!” Xiangling finally said, making you jump. “Sorry that took so long! I’ve never had so much Matsutake to experiment with at once.” She held out two neatly packaged lunch boxes. “Take these, one for you, one for Mr Zhongli! It’s Matsutake Stirfry with Potatoes and Carrots! … I’ll come up with a better name later.”

You accepted the boxes with gracious thanks, just the smell wafting from them making your mouth water. 

“I really want to see the look on your face when you taste it, but we’ve been out here for a little over five hours now,” Xiangling mused. Had it really already been five? Time seemed to fly when you were with Xiangling. “You should probably hurry home or Mr. Zhongli will get worried.”

You absently thanked her again, all the while wondering at the truth of that. Zhongli had certainly seemed a little worried after the incident with Tartaglia, briefly, though he quickly returned to his usual, unreadable demeanor. The idea that someone was waiting for you, would get worried if you never came home — it was bafflingly foreign, but also… so very warm. 

As you turned to go, you could hear the grin in Xiangling’s voice when she called after you, “and here you were worried that you wouldn’t be able to help. This dish was only possible because of you, Hansi!”

Briefly and painfully, you yearned to understand how Xiangling managed to make a good thing of any situation. It seemed that there was far more than just cooking that Xiangling could teach you.

—-------------------

“Wonderfully seasoned,” Zhongli praised that afternoon, and you prayed that he didn’t notice your cheeks blushing as red as the chili oil. “A perfect balance of spice. Did you help make this?”

You bit back a smile as you nodded, and sent Rex Lapis your silent thanks for his... guidance. 

—-------------------

Easing into Zhongli’s life was easier than you would ever have imagined. 

After your disastrous breakfast incident, you had made a habit of waking early and accompanying him on his walks in the morning — at first to make up for setting his house on fire, then later, out of enjoyment. You found yourself looking forward to your long walks, breathing in the fresh air and seeing Liyue Harbor bathed in the dawnlight. 

Before you knew it, you had memorized a few things about the mornings of Liyue: which routes to Yujing Terrace let you catch the early sunrise; what time Wanmin restaurant’s fresh shao’bing buns come out of the oven; and when little old Madame Ping, whom Zhongli always greeted respectfully, hobbled up the hill to water the glaze lilies. 

 It was only when Zhongli mentioned black perch stew and you lamented that Mr. Sun from the fish market wouldn’t get new stock until Monday, that you realized just how deeply entrenched in domestic life you had become.

There were other things you noticed too; the street corner where you used to play, sleep and beg. The sink behind the souvenir shop that you snuck to at night just to get a drink of clean water. Children who’d had the misfortune of being born like you, into families who couldn’t imagine feeding another mouth. 

These things struck you with increasing guilt — of every child of Liyue who grew up without a home, what made you deserving of salvation? — but mostly, with fear. If Zhongli got tired of you, if you once again found yourself in that life... 

Well. 

You swept those thoughts deep deep deeper into your head, and forged on.

—-------------------

“Another umbrella, Mr. Zhongli?” You raised a brow. When had you begun to point out his eccentric purchases? You weren’t sure. “We’ve bought four today.” 

“Ah,” Zhongli smiled, already reaching for the fifth. “Yes, so we have. Do you like white rabbit candy? Let’s get two bags.”

Resigned, you followed along, your exasperation quickly fizzling out as soon as you turned a corner and came face to face with the wide-eyed, dirt-smeared faces of a group of orphans. Dressed in lovely clean clothes and with so much color in your cheeks — you couldn’t imagine how you looked to them. You saw so much of yourself in their hungry gazes that you had to look away. 

You watched as Zhongli bent down so that he met them at eye level. “Please, accept these,” he held out the umbrellas, and suddenly you began finding it hard to breathe, “it looks like there’s a storm coming. And also, won’t you all also take some sweets—?”

—-------------------

You, of course, kept your contract with Zhongli, as religiously as you would one with an Adeptus, or Rex Lapis himself. Each book that you enjoyed, you meticulously brought to him as though an offering, and each time, he seemed to have something to offer of his own. A book about the Five Yaksha, tales of the Dragon King, the legend of how Guyun Stone Forest was formed, memoirs from Guili Assembly — Zhongli always had some twist of his own to add to the stories. 

“Did you know that before they came to serve Rex Lapis, the Yaksha were bound to a cruel, tyrannical God? Yet when they were freed, they chose to honor a contract to protect the humans of Liyue. How admirable.”

“Precious few stories speak of it, but the Dragon King was not sealed by Rex Lapis due to a disagreement, but rather, because he broke a contract. What contract exactly? Well, I can’t be ruining too many books for you now, can I, Hansi?”

“These illustrations of the spears that originally comprise Guyun Stone Forest are… certainly interesting. Why did they deem that stone spears formed from the essence of Geo themselves would possess tassels and a ribbon? I doubt that during the Archon War, Rex Lapis had time to consider the appearance of his weapons.” 

“My my, these books certainly are taking their liberties with their descriptions of the Goddess of Dust. Kind, yes, gentle, perhaps, but weak? Why, is the Guizhong Ballista not one of the most powerful mechanisms in all of Liyue, even thousands of years after it was built? I would truly like to see what these authors consider strength.” 

Each time you marveled at his vast pools of knowledge, Zhongli would, without fail, exhale deeply and smile his small smile. “I have a good memory,” was always his explanation. You couldn’t help but wonder just how many books the man had read in his lifetime — and where he found the time to do anything else. 

While you were frequently more than impressed by his reserve of stories, the sentiment did not seem to extend to others in Liyue. More than one time had you and Zhongli been escorted, forcibly, from the Third-Round Knockout after your companion stood up to correct the storyteller on the stage. 

The first time, you were mortified, though by the sixth you had learned to laugh it off as breezily as Zhongli did.

—-------------------

Sometimes, you recalled your earliest days at Zhongli’s house; how he had told you that your first order of business was to recover your health. 

You had recovered, and so, what was next to come? 

The house was always spotless despite the increasing number of items that Zhongli seemed to bring home each day from his walks. More than once, you reflected on his claims that he needed household help, and realized that he may not have been entirely truthful.

On particularly bad days, when the haze of doubt threatened to overtake every logical thought in your mind, you waited for his gaze to turn cruel, for his fingers to grip you painfully and for him to take whatever he wanted. 

Yet — never did he so much as touch you. 

—-------------------

The Vision sat as heavily in your conscience as it did in your bedside table.

You opened the drawer frequently to stare at the thing, more of a plague on you than a blessing, at this point. If you could not use it, then it was just an ornament — an ornament that put your  amicable acquaintanceship with Zhongli at risk. 

If he were to find out on his own, it would be so much worse than if you’d told him. The very notion of hurt, betrayal and fury in those amber eyes was almost too much for you to hear.

And so, one day, you decided that it would simply be best if you told him.

—-------------------

You rehearsed a script for hours on end, trying to guess each and every one of Zhongli’s potential reactions. Certainly, he would be upset, perhaps disappointed. You were almost sure that he would not hurt you over the discovery. And even if he did, perhaps it wouldn’t be anything you didn’t deserve, for lying for so long.

When you were finally ready, your knock on his door was answered by a deep, rich, “yes?” 

You had never seen the inside of Zhongli’s room before, and so as you pushed the door open, you couldn’t help the way your heart leapt at the idea of seeing more of the man, learning more about him.

Your gaze first laid upon his face, edged silver in the moonlight. Then, immediately, it trailed downwards, to his shoulders, then—

Zhongli wasn’t wearing even a scrap of clothing. 

“Oh,” he said, slightly raised brows betraying nothing but mild surprise, “I was changing.” 

Wordlessly, you slammed the door shut and returned to your room.

—-------------------

When Zhongli came knocking ten minutes later, you were still a little dazed. 

“Come in,” you called, and as he entered you were somewhat relieved to see that he was clad in his usual four layers of clothing. “Do you see how I said come in, Mr Zhongli? Because I wasn’t changing?”

“I believe what I said was ‘yes’.” It was never easy to tell what Zhongli was thinking, with his carefully neutral expression, but was there a small smile in his voice there?

“You can’t—“ you realized with a certain degree of shock at how casually you had begun to address Zhongli. (You searched yourself for fear, and found none.) “—You can’t just say ‘yes’ when what you mean is ‘hang on, I’m completely nude!’” 

“I do apologize. I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Zhongli said, and there was absolutely, definitely a small smile in his voice there. “What is it you wanted to tell me, Hansi?”

You opened your mouth, but paused. 

In the darkness of his room, you had barely been able to make out what seemed to be odd lines down his arms and chest — tattoos? You hadn’t expected a nobleman like him to be so covered in them. But more importantly, in the few seconds you had beheld Zhongli’s well-toned form, you had seen what you knew all too well — scars, raked across his torso, stomach, legs, the raised tissue gleaming under the moonlight. 

He had mentioned he had been fighting all his life, that he had been a soldier— but it was difficult to imagine even the Millelith facing foes so formidable that it could have left such injuries, and so many. What could have hurt him so badly? 

What was he hiding from you?

The way he was looking at you expectantly suddenly felt strangely alien; the same Zhongli you had come to know and trust, but— not quite.

And so, you swallowed your question about the Vision. “Xiangling wanted me to get a backpack,” you said instead, “for when we gather herbs. Do you think it would be okay if we got one next time, Mr. Zhongli? I promise to pay you back for it when I earn enough Mora.”

“Hansi,” he said, after his usual few seconds of careful studying, and he sounded so concerned that it was almost comical. “Whatever gave you the impression that you would be forced to pay for anything of the sort while living under my roof?” 

—-------------------

Perhaps in a valiant attempt to dissuade you of your sudden preoccupation with paying for things, Zhongli began to shower you with them. The first of the gifts was a beautiful bookmark, a thin piece of metal shaped to look like the Xiao lanterns of the Lantern Rite. It seemed to glow iridescent under lamplight, and you loved it so much that you carried it everywhere you went, the same way you never took off your glaze lily necklace.

Once Zhongli had ascertained that you did not mind gifts, and in fact enjoyed them, the floodgates swung open. Over the next few weeks, he would bring you various small items each time he returned from work or a walk: a Noctilucuous Jade hairpin, a painting of Luhua Pool, a golden gemstone that he called “Prithiva Topaz”, a small and surprisingly heavy pillar-shaped charm which he claimed came from a formidable monster from Guyun Stone Forest—

And on the most barren days, when the bustling markets of Liyue offered nothing that could meet Zhongli’s most particular standards, he would bring home various steamed buns, fresh fruit, and beverages, noting with keen amber eyes which ones were your favorites. Today, he had brought back a pitcher of “the finest gui’hua tea Liyue has to offer”. 

Sitting in a room full of memorabilia that Zhongli had picked out for you, and sipping hot tea that warmed you to your core, you began to understand the feeling of home.

—-

The men were furious. You could feel their blunt rage in the air, tense enough to cut with a blade. If your wrists weren’t tied up, you might have been able to make a run for it. 

“Welcome back. Do you know how much you cost us?” They snarled, one, two, three, four pairs of eyes staring you down. In the back, you could see the man with the scar on his eyebrow, the one who had escorted you to Zhongli. “Are you ready to pay us back?”

“Where is Mr. Zhongli?” You managed to whisper. 

“Don’t you remember? He got tired of you,” they sneered in unison. “Surely you didn’t think someone like you would be enough to satisfy his appetite?” 

Desperately, you shook your head. “He wouldn’t have. What did you do to him?”

One of them stepped forward and slapped you so hard that you briefly see white. “How stupid can you get?” His jaw cracked open into an unnatural, teeth grin, and the others followed suit all at once. “To start to trust, to start to dream ?” 

You tried to back away, but your knees would not move. They were close enough to touch now, and together, like one grotesque entity, they reached out. “You should know better by now. You should know your place .”

Before their melting, festering fingers could touch your skin, you opened your mouth and screamed for Zhongli.

—-------------------

Across the house, Zhongli’s eyes snapped open, casting the room in a golden glow.

It wouldn’t be the last, but that had been the first time you had called him simply by his name.

—-------------------

You woke up to Zhongli calling yours, and couldn’t help the violent flinch that shook your shoulders when you saw him looming over you. The relief you felt at recognizing Zhongli’s silhouette was unimaginable. 

“I heard you calling my name,” Zhongli said, raising both palms in a placating gesture. “Are you alright? Were you having a nightmare?”

Was that all it was; a dream? Your throat was hoarse — the screaming certainly wasn’t dreamed — and your chest raw from the fear and desperation. It felt like your skull was stuffed with cotton. Blindly, you reached out, relief washing away the last vestiges of the social norms instilled within you.

“You didn’t send me back?” You whispered, clutching at any patch of silk and skin you could find. “You didn’t leave?”

“No,” Zhongli met your fingers with his, holding your hand in a firm, gentle grip. He wasn’t wearing gloves, you realized absently. “Never.”

You stayed there for a few long seconds— or was it minutes? “Don’t go,” you begged when he began to pull away. Your eyelids were growing heavy, but the lingering haze of fear had you terrified of going to sleep again. “Please, don’t go.”

You heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor. “I’m here, Hansi,” Zhongli said, as you watched him sit down next to your bed. He was still holding your hand. “Get some rest. I will be with you.”

Zhongli’s rich, clear voice resonated through every inch of your body. You trusted him, you realized, letting your eyes shut. You would trust him with every breath of your being.

—-------------------

When you dreamed again, you found yourself in an endless land of clouds. 

Zhongli sat in the midst of it all, eyes closed, unmoving. The soft glow of stars formed a nimbus of gold and dust around his temples. His chest rose and fell gently, and you were certain that you would see no better embodiment of peace for the rest of your life, not even if you lived for a thousand years. 

You wanted to call out to him, but to break the tranquility of the moment seemed unforgivable. 

And so for the rest of the night, you watched him breathe; and you were content.

[kajikxp]

Loving a king

I was just walking through a dark allay, my footsteps were not heard by a man I was calmly following. He was scared, he knew subconsciously that something was after him. Yeah, he should be terrified. But today I'm gonna make it quick. I don't have time to spare. I took out my dagger, which would pierce your skin just by touching the blade... With one swift motion I grabbed his neck hard, which would normally leave a bruise and then I silenced his cries for help with one precise cut. Blood splashed out and now his lifeless body hit the cold ground, but before that I grabbed the key, he wore on silver chain around his neck. Another well done job, now I have to go to her, but firstly, I have to change my clothes, sun is going to rise in fifteen minutes. I climbed up onto roof and silently run back to my house. Sky was clear today, but I knew it was going to rain today. This way they'd find his body maybe tomorrow afternoon when their boss would send others to look around for him. I will still have time to do that one job. That's what I thought but I didn't know that she actually left a letter inside my dark house, where now I was. I stripped from my black shirt, pants and boots then just started making myself a coffee. Thank to my scumbag of father I could withstand three days without a sleep but at least that is what killed him. He was creating me like some monster so I show him that what this monster could do. Only thing he taught me was killing so in return I turned back at him for underestimating me. After some time, I met a Momo, she was kind enough to me to give me a shelter and food and lastly a job which I could do. Still people would be conscious if I would live here and did not nothing in a daylight, so I have to find a job at closest bakery. They didn't ask questions why I was always tired and why I was sometimes late – or maybe that was because I would always tell them that I have insomnia and something along those line that they left me be. With coffee in me I put on after a shower light blue shirt with brown pant and boots and left house to the bakery. People always looked at me and I did not care anymore. My half red and half white hair really were weird and not to mention my mismatched eyes, grey and light blue. I was quite but really not so unfriendly, or that was what Deku and Kirishima always told me. I only have a rough exterior but soft inside. I never really care enough to tell them I'm not. Not after that once time when I told them I'm the assassin and they laugh it off with Kaminari and Sero. If they would believe me and sold me to the crown, they would be filthy rich and shouldn't work for their three lifetimes. Well, who am I to judge? Their mistakes are theirs and only. Today flight right around me. Deku and Kirishima making out in the storage room, Shinso half a day in the bakery sipping a coffee reading a book and looking out for Kaminari. Always the same as the day before. I was cleaning on today's duty which was mine and one last customer came in. He had glasses, was tall and talked like some kind of robot, asking for a croissant for a royalty. I didn't really care and did as ordered. When he left my only though was about me seeing him again maybe. Yeah, I was about to do a regicide and betray the kingdom, but I couldn't care less. Hope it will go fine. I told myself back at home in my black outfit only for killing even smelling faintly like it and iron.

...

Silently going through a palace like it was mine, outside only noises of a rain. Guards couldn't see me, when I was walking in the shadows and thanks to their chatting about really loud king, I was finally able to find his room from which were heard loud blasting and loud voices, actually three of them. One of them I heard today. The robot-like human. I had a feeling I would meet him again. Well, I need those two to go away. Then a plan strokes me. I made a ruckus in the hallway when a made one of the guards scream and after that I cut of his tongue. He kept screaming though. The doors open in a fast manner and some pretty girl runs outside. "Iida, run and call a medic! Fast!" She screams at him when she checks situation. Guard kept his eyes on me screaming and pointing finger at me. Before she could turn around and maybe see me, I waved at a guard and slipped into the room, closed the door and locked them. When I turned around, there was a knife on my throat.  "What the actual fuck are you doing here and what's going on?" Asks a king harshly. He had pretty, scarlet eyes, fire burning everything inside them into ash. His spiky blond hair messed into every direction. I only smiled to myself. "I'm pretty surprised you can actually see me." I grin and them with few swift motions change our positions to reverse only with little dismally to that he pulled my hood off. His eyes travelled all over my face and he whispers. "You're so pretty..." With that he kisses me. I was never ever so much surprised and frozen on a spot. He grabbed the knife and throw it away with my dagger. When I moved, I could only ask him how the fuck did he know about my dagger. "You looked like a shitty person to have one. The Shadow, the one who is the fucking living legend. Every shitty brat knows you, but nobody actually lived long enough to tell the tale how you look like." He smirks. "Who could have known that only way to stop you was a simple kiss" He licks his lips sensually. "And have a fucking good taste even though smelling like a death." He smiles at me and when he takes my face in his hand and caresses me, I don't object, until there's a pounding on the door and screams in the name of a king. "Go and return the other night, Halfie." He whispers and I cannot do otherwise, but before I jump out of the window many meters above the ground, I kiss him and when he wants to deepen it, I break the kiss. "Tomorrow, you Highness." With that I jump out and it makes me laugh, when he runs to the window and looks down, me standing on the window under his. "King who cares about his assassin's health – that's going to make a pretty good history book." I snicker and after he blow me a flirty kiss with a key, which I catch, I go back inside with a hood on and escaped a castle. The heavy rain clouds cleared and the sky only shining with many stars promising a good start of something nobody could ever imagine.

...

Today was a day I have once in a time slept all the night mostly. Once I was on my way to the work in bakery, I could hear all the people talking to each other. "Did you hear that? Someone broken to the castle!" "Did they steal something?" "I know it was a Shadow! They went to kill a king!" "They're after the crown!" "Even his most trusted guards couldn't see them!" "It's only miracle the king still lives!" "The king didn't even tell them how they looked like! Not even a gender!" "They just let him live!" "Do you think they had something with the king?" "I don't think it was a Shadow! Nobody ever lived after meeting them!" "Don't lie! It's a girl and seduced a king!" And so on and so on. I knew that today I was going to meet Momo inside of my house. At least I've got my hood with my work outfit with me. Little did I know that today I was going to meet with her last time. At work I left my things under the table and went to selling to the citizen, who came in. All day all I heard was about the king, me and assassination. Like the day before in the evening came in a royalty. But today it was a king himself. "Get your things, extra, we're going." With that said I just grabbed my things not even looking on the others, who were silenced with one look from a king, and with him we came outside into a dark allay. "Put on you other cloths, Pretty boy, today I'm going to meet the other one, with you..." He whispers into my ear. "You know, they're going to die, right? But you know that exact time, you left me alive, didn't you, Shadow?" His voice so soft and deep even more than ever. My only responds for him was a nod and taking out my black shirt and pants and one for him too. "I think, this would fit you so much better that the red one you're wearing, your Highness." He growls, but when he gets what I meant, he didn't complain anymore and just put it on without looking at me and me at him. This wasn't the time to do this and we both knew that. We're going to make this end. When I jumped at a rooftop, I held out an arm to him, but he surprises me even more, when he uses his strong arms and pull himself up too. I was fast, slim and silent and he was all bulky and strong, I wasn't even sure if in a real fight I or him would win. And that's a hard one when actually almost no one was ever a challenge for me and my assassinations. Without a word I started running from rooftop to the other in a moonlight and its shadows, which I knew too well to his Highness's liking, I was leading us to my house almost at the end of a city. I supposed the king was never here, but he was so natural at learning, that even his steps were more silent than that night at which we met inside his royal room, so I could never guess if he was there or not. My window was opened, and I came in swiftly with king right at my heels. There inside in my armchair was sitting Momo. Her dark hair up in the ponytail as always, I saw her. "So, you're finally here. Hello there, your Highness." She says ironically which was a big change from her usually well-mannered self. "You're on his side right now," she shakes her head in disbelieve. "And here I thought we could be together and rule this kingdom by each other's side. I love you, Shoto!" She declares. "I gave you everything you ever needed and now you're turning your back to me? After all that time? Didn't you love me back?" She asks desperate after I told her everything. She really did save me, but she never did bother to really asked me out, if she did, I would tell her I was gay. I would tell her that all the missions I did just because she gave me money for that, I would tell her that I never really care about a throne. "Then why him? Why? How did you...?" She asked and king answered her honestly. "I just gave him a kiss and asked him in some way out. I had a guts and not only a dream. If you want something to become a true, you have to tell that to someone and with conversation you would get, what you so much wanted, what your heart was craving for." In the end they left her there standing, watching with a broken hea

[painless-innit-colourful]

(Liveblogging ‘Tommy Faces His Traumatic Past’ stream)

'Hi I am currently thinking about that moment after Tommy asked Ranboo to leave after the Prison moment went badly, and he waited for Ranboo to go and then swallowed and let the atmosphere hang for a moment and held his totem in his main hand (I’m pretty sure; he was definitely holding it) and I am telling you, the shot of fear that went through me as I thought “No... He’s not gonna ask Tubbo to kill him, is he?” Now that’d be one way to overcome a fear of dying, holy heck.'

---

Rough edges, shining eyes, a heart of gold. He supposes there's a metaphor or a comparison that could be made there, but to be quite frank, he's sick of the poetic parallels and the dramatic ironies. It's not a tale spun of rhetorical devices and an audience: it's his life, and it hurts. 

Appropriately, the skin on his palms is still tender from scrabbling at the walls of the mock cell, and he can feel every groove of the wood the totem's outside is carved from as he grips it firmly. He's doing away with the allusions and analogies and beating around the bush: there's no easy way to ask this, so why make it even harder? 

It's going to be difficult. It's going to be painful. It’s going to be helpful in future.  Just get on with it Tommy.

Ranboo vanishes up the ladder, and Tommy and Tubbo are left alone in their unused replica of the Final Control Room ('cause their dear friend Eret had a more accurate one). When he turns his eyes to his best friend, Tubbo's giving him a quizzical look. Tommy opens his mouth to begin, but fear stoppers his words, and no sound comes out. He holds fast to the totem and to his courage.

"Are you alright?" His friend's light touch to his arm leads him back. Right. Tubbo. Totem. Question. 

"It didn't work." He says despondently. "I couldn't- In there, I couldn't keep it together." "Tommy-" "Look, Tubbo," Like a paranoid exile hiding in a cave, he casts another glance towards the ladder, double-checking that they are truly alone. "And you can't tell anyone this, but I need you to trust me, because I've thought a lot about this." 

Tubbo's expression is unreadable for a moment, like his solicitude is elsewhere, like he's remembering something, and then he's back and he's squeezing Tommy's arm. "I trust you, Big Man." And Tommy can tell he's being earnest, so he pushes on. "What is it?" "We had the chance, back in that vault- We had the opportunity to slit Dream’s throat, and we didn't, and- And we agree on this right? Dream... Dream needs to go." 

Tubbo seems to think about it for a moment, "You think the revive book isn't worth it?" "Tubbo, I-" If his words could stop clogging up his throat every five seconds, that'd be lovely. "Listen to me, I've been to- to the other side, and I've been here, and I've been in between, and- and I mean this, I would've rather- rather stayed there than be in between again." "Really?" Tommy nods curtly. "Really. It's not worth it." "Well, I'm glad you came back, even if it sucked for you." Lightly, but not without a hint of worry in his voice, Tubbo half-laughs. "That sounded selfish." And Tommy feels wretched about what he's going to ask him to do. 

"Look, Tubbo," He clears his throat for good measure. "If I'm going to kill Dream, I can't get into the prison cell and panic. That- That could cost the whole operation, and I can't let that happen." "Tommy, you-" Tubbo cuts himself off this time, "Tommy, do you really have to do this?" 

"Yes, I do." His quiet determination matches Tubbo's building exasperation. "I have to do this because he's- he's ruined me, he's broken me and I can't let anything else happen to this server because of our fighting." Their faces and feelings fall to the same resignation as swords impale them against the walls of a room very much like this one, as L'Manberg burns behind their eyelids every time they blink. 

"Would you like to try again?" The reproduction of the cell, his tomb, beckons, but Tommy's mind is made up. "I can come in with you this time." A jolt of warmth emanates from his heart at the offer (he wishes it were that easy) and races through his bloodstream, momentarily soothing the aching feeling all around his body, from his head to his feet to his fingertips, and he feels practically like a person again for a few seconds. 

"Actually, I- I want you to- Only if you- I won't force you but-" He's abruptly aware of a substantial volume of saliva in his mouth, or maybe he's just too scared to say it out loud. Tubbo waits, his fingers mussing with the end of Tommy's sleeve. "What is it?" 

He raises aloft the totem so they're both looking at it, and then very carefully, so he knows he hasn't said it wrong, he says it: "I want you to kill me." 

"What?" His adrenaline spikes; no turning back now. "I want you to kill me, and because I have this totem I'll be fine. I can't be scared of dying if I have a totem on me, but I still get scared of getting close, so I want you to kill me. Please." He tacks on hastily, opting to look at the sword at Tubbo's side so he doesn't have to meet his eyes. 

"You... Where are you gonna get another totem then?" And Tommy squints at Tubbo for a second, because really, that's what you come out with after that? "I don't know, your husband?" Tubbo giggles a tad despite the concern in his eyes. "Excuse me, I'm the gold-digger here, get your own." And they both crack up, and some of the tension lifts from Tommy's shoulders. 

"Okay, seriously, you want me to kill you?" The terse air settles between them as Tubbo's hand floats to his sword. "I- Yeah." "Because then you can't be scared of being close to death." "Mmhm." "So you want me to kill you, right now, right here?" 

Tommy nods steadily, and Tubbo, still uncertain, unsheathes his sword. The blade isn't the sharpest, but it'll do the job. Tommy swallows thickly. "I- I trust you. If it were anyone else... Never." 

He thought about how, whenever he'd asked to be hit earlier, it was Tubbo who'd stepped up to the plate. Certainly, it was true at the time that he'd felt the jolt of terror and pain, but he was always glad it was Tubbo. There was an unspoken promise in their shared glances, their short requests and careful responses. 

“You know I’d never do that, right?” An echo of an old memory, from a less-than-ideal location. “I won’t turn on you or go insane like Wil and Techno.” “Mmhm… And I you.”

"Ready?" Tommy waves the totem around to illustrate, "This better not be a bloody decoy." Their shared smile is forced and wavering, flickering like a candle, shaking like fraying ropes, reaching for a hand that isn't there. The hand is on his shoulder, Tommy notes faintly: it steadies him as the sword pierces his gut, snatching all the air from his lungs. He's drowning in a sudden wave of 'Why here? Why the hell did we stay here?' as a familiar numbing sensation starts to wash over him like the tide, receding in parts and then coming back for more. The darkness entices him - the very same darkness he's been fighting to outrun all along, the same darkness that engulfs him and all his friends in his nightmares. Once, many moons ago, they were all blissfully ignorant of that shadow that stayed firmly three steps behind them and six feet below. Except now, at least for Tommy, death is a memory, and with a totem in hand, he rises to meet it. 

Tubbo rips the sword out, and the body of his best friend crumples to the ground like paper disregarded and consigned to oblivion. His weapon hits the ground with a clatter and his sword arm falls limp, reluctant to acknowledge Tommy's blood on the blade as he watches, hands balled into fists, nails digging into his palms, as the totem in Tommy's hand starts to glow, golden light emanating from the emerald eyes and intricate details. About time. About bloody time. 

It's pitch black, and the totem is gone. Tommy feels weightless. Tommy feels like a person made of pieces, loosely strung together like a marionette doll. Tommy feels helpless and alone, and quite possibly dead. 

Make no mistake; there's also that perverted sense of comfort, ever-present as it seems. A welcome gift, he supposes, to what should be the rest of your eternity. He feels all his 'worldly worries' start to scatter, leaving him feeling so empty he's clawing at nothing to get them back. No worries, no troubles and no meaning. That is the lot of the dead. Yet, Tommy will not be one of them, not today. 

Everything returns to him so quickly, it almost feels like he's having aspects of his personality thrown back at him with the force of bricks launched from cannons. Should he reach out to grab them, or should he let them go? The darkness begins to melt away, leading him back to a room full of chests and a friend, and for a second he imagines he hears a familiar voice tease: "You should take off your coat Tommy, you look like you're not staying." 

The instant his soul is catapulted back into his body, instincts kick in, and his wobbling legs somehow get him halfway across the room before they get too tangled up and surrender. He doesn't bother cowering - it's Tubbo - instead, he chooses to pull his shirt up to his ribs. The entry site of the stabbing has healed, golden radiance under his skin like godly blood swirling away from the closed wound and leaving it the proper crimson hue of mortals. It worked. He's back. He's back. 

Suddenly, he's hit with a force equitable to several small dogs and, oh, it's Tubbo. His arms rest wearily against his best friend's back as the smaller boy buries his head in Tommy's shoulder, folding him into his arms and cradling him tightly. "I- I'm ok- Are you crying?" His response from the shuddering mass of brown curls next to his head comes quietly, "Don't ever make me do that again." "...Okay. I won't." 

Eventually, they break apart, Tommy noticing the red rims around Tubbo's eyes as he messes with Tommy's shirt. "Ah, dammit." "What?" He gives a tiny snort-laugh marked with tears. "I've put a hole in your d*mn shirt." He looks down at it too. "That's alright, long as you fix it." Consequently, Tubbo gives him a funny look, which he raises his eyes to meet with bemusement. "Yeah, right. I'll fix it, it's nothing." 

Tubbo holds his eye contact for close to ten seconds. "You have..." He shifts across the floor to the left, putting one of the lights at his back, before reaching out and taking Tommy's face in his hands. "You have little flecks of gold in your eyes, dude." "I- What?" Tubbo drops his hands and nods. "You've got gold in your eyes now, boss man." "Does it-" He jumps to his feet, somewhat unsteadily, and strikes a pose. "Does it make me even more incredibly good-looking?" 

Tubbo snorts. "Something like that. It's not bad, just... After-product of the totem, I'd guess. Which is interesting to know." He gets to his feet too, hand finding Tommy's side and holding on by a fistful of cloth. "Hey, how about, are you alright?" Tommy asked, picking the hand up and slinging it over his shoulder so they stood hip-to-hip, heads tilted up and down for each other’s benefit.

"I'm fine, just... That wasn't the most fun." Tommy ponders for a moment before responding. "I think I'd be concerned if it was." They chuckle a little. "No, but seriously man, thank you, for doing that." He says sincerely. Tubbo smiles back, all of a sudden seeming too tired to even stand, and Tommy stoops a little to catch him before he faints or something. "Just... did it work?" 

Did it work? The darkness still terrified him, ripping the warmth from within him, and he wasn't totally expecting to go back there when using the totem. So, points for new knowledge discovered, perhaps? Despite all that, though, the look in Tubbo's eyes makes his mouth move on its own. He looks so weary. 

"Yeah. I feel... less afraid now. Honestly." He tacks on, for the dubious non-believer by his side that could always tell when he was lying. "I... I can do this now." "...Okay."

[savoies]

i don't know you yet - anthony beauvillier.

summary: soulmates. they exist right? y/n and tito live their daily lives doing activities thinking if the right person will ever come.

word count: 2k.

warnings: maybe a few bad words. hopefully angst. 

a/n: i think this might be my first "angst" so please let me know what you think. i am so proud of this work and honestly probably one of my bests. loosely inspired by idk yet by alexander 23. thank you so much to @puckbuddies for all the help, love ya!

taglist + tagging a few folks: @quintnsbyfield @vincecdunn @bigboigritty @ana-maa @puckshitbitch @alxvlasic @stfukie @laurenairay @damn-dunner-29 @kaitieskidmore1 @thelionkingpw @aria253264 @hartsyhart @boesxr @mitch-slap @frostythegoalman @teenagekook @barzysthighs

tagging some lovely folks: @laurenairay @konecny-s @bestestbenn @vinceduhn @folkloreflyers .

(*credit to gif owner.*)

Many people imagine their dream person or think of the person they want to date or marry from a young age. Y/N remembered going to sleepovers and her friends talking about how they wanted a boyfriend with blue eyes and blonde hair or brown hair and brown eyes. But when Y/N's turn came around she always said the same thing "I don't care what they look like as long as they are the right person for me." And that's when the game would end. Because twelve year olds could not fathom that everyone had their person and at some point they'd meet and everything would work out. Her mindset was set as growing up her mom would always tell her the same story. When I met your dad I just knew she'd say.

Tito had dated his fair share of girls. Blonde, brown haired, a red head, and a spontaneous colored haired girl here and there. But none caught his attention. Not that they weren't pretty or anything but Tito was not really one to date and dump. He liked forming connections and really getting to know them. But being a hockey player was not really quite helpful. They'd be invited to a party here and there and of course Mat begged Tito to go with him because he needed a wingman and Tito could not really say no to his best friend.

~~~~

Y/N had believed she had met her special person her second year into college. A tall lanky boy with brown hair. They had both met in the library when they reached for the same book. Might seem cheesy but she took it as a hint. After "considently" bumping into eachother in the library many more times he had asked her out. Most of their dates were pretty basic just like her. Maybe that's why she enjoyed them so much. Two years. Two years is how long she dated him for. But sadly people fall out of love. She had heard about that happening only in movies. Never really thinking that it could happen to her. But then she heard some of the worst words anyone could ever hear. "I don't love you anymore." 

Her heart was sad. Her first real relationship. Who she believed was the one. But she understood. This wasn't her fairytale. But she was broken. Her still being in love. Thoughts invading her mind. What did she do wrong? What could she have done better? So after that it took her time to open up again, to bring those walls down to handsome looking strangers. She wasn't one just to date for fun. So she rarely did bring them down. Sometimes she'd sit in her dark room late at night letting her thoughts consume her. How maybe she'd never find the one, how she was unlovable, how she had way too high of expectations to believe there was someone for everyone. 

~~~~~

Every Monday morning Y/N would go to the same coffee shop and get the same order, a medium coffee with sugar and cream. To her it was a nice way to start the week. She had been doing it since she moved to Brooklyn in 2016. 

Tito had been begging Mat to go with him to this coffee shop in Brooklyn that apparently had great coffee. Tito was what you could call a food and drinks connoisseur. Having cooked many times for his teammates and best friend.

" Come on Mat, Grace and Anders said it the best they've had and they've lived here much longer than us. Plus you owe me for getting you that girls number last week, don't forget to call her." Tito wasn't one to get acquainted with Mat's hookups but he did feel bad when the next morning Mat was kicking them out before sunrise.

Mat finally agreed and here they were on a Monday morning way too early for Mat's liking for a straight black coffee that was "rich in flavor" according to Tito. It was quite busy for it being Monday but they patiently waited in line.

Y/N gathered her stuff and exited the crowded coffee shop, careful not to bump into anyone and headed her way to work.

After waiting for about fifteen minutes they ordered two medium coffees and headed out to the busy New York streets.

She had walked about ten minutes away from the coffee shop before she realized that she forgot her phone. Y/N checked her watch and noticed that if she was gonna make it on time she had only five minutes to retrieve her phone. So she quickly but carefully dogged through people as she made her way back to the coffee shop.

Tito and Mat were casually walking back to the car having parked it a few blocks down when they saw someone running their way. Tito wasn't paying much attention due to savoring his cup of coffee which to him was totally worth the twenty minute drive and six dollars.

"Dude she's hot." Mat turned around and checked out the girl that somewhat seemed like she was running away from something instead of for something. 

"Mat that's gross. You literally didn't even see her face and are labelling her hot just by seeing her ass, I understand why you need a wingman now."

"Hey!" Mat slapped his best friend's shoulder as Tito drank his coffee trying to stifle a laugh (which he failed) since Mathew knew it was true.

~~~

Y/N had heard it many times from her friends, family, and probably even a few strangers. It was time to get a date. She wasn't desperate to really get anywhere. She was a 22 year old living in one of the most populated states in the country. She has time right? Deep down she knew that if she didn't get out there her person would probably not come by themselves. Which brings her to present day staring at her  phone screen at 1am. Earlier in the day Y/N's friend texted her that she knew someone who deemed specific qualities the young romantic wanted. 

~~~

Y/N met Grace in the coffee shop. She had come in a little bit later due to having the day off and sleeping in. Grace and Ruby sat in one of the corners of the small spaced coffee shop and Y/N sat next to them trying to stay in her own space but finding it quite difficult when there was a cute baby trying to get her attention a few feet away. After Grace apologizing for invading her space and Y/N saying it was really no problem they continued to meet in the coffee shop every once in a while. And a friendship blossomed later having exchanged numbers.

Grace was great. She listened to Y/N's tall tales of soulmates and love and she even told her about how she found her love (which she referred to as anders, y/n never having met him before) and how they had a beautiful baby girl together. She knew Y/N wanted someone who was sweet and kind and liked forming deeper connections so when she had an encounter with Tito she knew she should text her.

~~~

It was a late Friday night and the boys were celebrating a win in a rowdy club somewhere in downtown Brooklyn. The single guys trying to get the attention of some girls by buying them drinks. Grace had been standing at the bar with some of the other girls when she saw that Tito sat alone at the booth that occupied their stuff.

"Seems like our stuff doesn't really need a bodyguard, why aren't you out there buying a girl a drink or dancing?" She spoke somewhat loudly due to the pounding music and shouting of people.

"Not really my thing." He smiled softly back at his captain's wife. Tito was not fond of clubs or bars. He felt as though it was way too loud to actually have a proper conversation with someone. That's when it clicked. Of all the times the team had gone out not once had Tito really smiled or joked around with a girl. Grace connected the dots and decided to text Y/N in the morning.

~~~

A simple message was displayed across Y/N's screen. Simply reading "hey i know dates aren't your thing but i know someone who i think you might like."

After sleeping on it for quite a few more hours than she needed to, she decided to bite the bullet and text Grace back. "Why the hell not." 

Not even two minutes later Y/N's phone dinged indicating a response. "Perfect, I'll let him know."

There she sat on her bed over thinking if this was really a good idea.

~~

Tito was way over his head. Grace had texted him that she knew of a girl who was quite exactly Tito's type. At least she loosely stated it that way. He had agreed only on the condition that Mat was having a girl over later tonight and he wanted to be as far away from that as possible since they did have pretty thin walls. So exactly five hours later here he stood outside the infamous coffee shop which held the secret ingredient to the best coffee he had. Grace didn't tell him much other than her hair color which was quite difficult to find in New York since every once in a while a sea of same colored haired girls would come by. He waited outside deeming it more on the gentlemenier side. Whatever that meant. Ten minutes later wrapping his coat on tighter and checking his watch for what seemed to be the five time. Maybe she stood him up. I mean he didn't have too many redeeming qualities. I mean hell he lived in New York and didn't like clubs, parties, and sometimes hated big crowds which were what seemed to be a big part of where he lived. Rocking on the back of his heels he decided to wait a bit longer thinking that hopefully she was just running late.

~~~ 

Indeed she had been running quite late. Her cousin had pleaded her to take care of her baby because she had some errands to run. She didn't mind at all since she did in fact love babies. But when four thirty rolled around and still no sign of her cousin she began to worry. She didn't have this mystery dudes number (which Grace referred to him as Anthony) so she couldn't really text him that she was gonna be a bit late. She really hoped he would wait because all throughout the day her excitement grew more and more. Finally five rolled around and Y/N quickly handed off the baby and changed into something more date worthy rushing out the door in the cold breeze of the afternoon. She rushed to the coffee shop and as she arrived she could see a tall stranger looking down at the ground presumably freezing since it was pretty cold. She dodged a few people hoping that this was indeed her date.

"Hi uhm are you Anthony." She spoke up and she stood awkwardly pulling the sleeves of her sweaters. "Gosh please be Anthony or im just gonna look like an idiot." She whispered.

Tito turned around at a soft voice and was faced with one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. Her baby hairs were sticking out and her nose and cheeks were red from the cold, she seemed to be somewhat out of breath.

Y/N looked up and caught sight of some of the most memorizing eyes she had ever seen. This handsome stranger who she presumed  as Anthony had amazing features.

Tito cleared his throat and reached out his hand. "Hi uhm yeah im Anthony but you can call me Tito, or at least that's what my friends call me." He began to ramble.

"Nice to meet you im y/n." They shook hands and a soft electric shock was felt between the two. They both glanced up and she knew it was too soon to tell since she had just met him but she felt an extra special connection with him.

[stubbychaos]

Saviin’ika

Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: Paz Vizla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: You grew up hearing terrifying tales of Mandalorians and the atrocities they were capable of inflicting upon innocent people, but when a grouchy heavy-infantry warrior offers to walk you home after you treat his wounds, you think that perhaps they aren’t the scariest monsters that reside on Nevarro.

Rated: M for mature themes, though there’s no smut in this part.

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, graphic injury involving intestines (not detailed at all, I literally just use the word ‘intestines’ to describe the injury), Paz gets stitches and hates needles just as much as I do, brief mention of an armed robbery.

Notes: This is so self-indulgent it’s not even funny lol. I just wanted more fluffy Paz fanfic since he only got like thirty seconds of screen time and I’m still thirsting over him. I plan on this being only a few chapters, but knowing me, I won’t know when to stop.

You’re not sure how you ended up in this position, currently taking care of a massive Mandalorian that had somehow been injured in some sort of intense scuffle, though you find it difficult to believe that anyone in the galaxy could get the upper hand on the intimidating warrior that absolutely towers over you by more than a foot.

You can’t even imagine anyone with the guts to try to take on someone so intimidating.

You’ve never seen a Mandalorian before, but you have heard old tales of vicious warriors made of metal that lived underground and took what they wanted without much regard for others, not caring if they had to hurt women or children to get what they wanted. Judging by the way he had stormed into the tiny infirmary, angrily demanding that you be the only one to tend to his wounds, you think the rumors must be true and you had accepted immediately, not wanting to be on the receiving end of the huge warrior’s wrath should you deny him. He hadn’t even asked where your office was, merely stalking past you after you had scrambled to get up from the front desk where you had been working on the reports you had been asked to work on and file.

Currently, you watch in awkward silence as he slowly detaches his massive weapon from his back, breathing a little harshly or grunting whenever he moves in a way that causes pain. You step forward and raise a hand to help him, but his helmet whips threateningly to where you’re standing and you immediately back up, fear turning into slight irritation because you’re a nurse and you should be helping someone who’s clearly uncomfortable. After a few painfully quiet moments, the Mandalorian finally props his massive weapon up against the stiff cot in the center of the room and moves onto removing his chest piece, though it seems to be a harder task for him.

“W-Would you like some help, sir?” Your question comes in the form of a meek murmur and he immediately freezes at the sound of your voice, his intimidating visor staring you dead on, “I-It just seems like you’re in quite a bit of pain. I don’t mind helping, really.”

His black gloves fall to his thighs and you watch with disdain as a few droplets of blood drip onto the white tile, though you take the defeated gesture as a sign that he’s willing to let you help him. You remain as professional as possible as you approach the huge warrior and bashfully reach up to undo one of the latches that rests above his collarbone before repeating the action with the other one, though you find it’s broken and slightly trickier to unlatch. Deciding it’s not a good idea to mention his shoddy armor, you remain silent as you stand on your tippy toes to remove the heavy piece of steel, a hand reaching around him to catch the back piece.

His helmet cocks to the side at the small huff you let out, not prepared for how heavy the piece of armor was.

After you help him remove the rest of his heavy cuirass and the extra padding covering his ribs, he surprisingly obliges your meek request for him to lay down on the stiff cot before you cautiously untuck his tunics from his utility belt that he refused to take off. Even with two dangerously deep knife wounds and several intense bruises, you think it makes him no less scary and you’re certain he can easily deal out some serious damage if he so desires, even in such a compromised position. The Mandalorian has over a foot on you and even before removing all of the padding and layers of clothing, you had been able to tell that he’s still a big guy, more muscular in certain spots than others and you force yourself to stop thinking about the softly defined abs that are currently exposed to you, both his gray and black tunics pulled up to his sternum. His skin is a beautiful, rich shade of brown, you notice as you briefly inspect the severity of his wounds and you can feel the intense heat that radiates from him, as if he’s a human furnace.

‘He is your patient,’ You remind yourself as you quickly stand up to gather a few things, including your thoughts, ‘A massive, terrifying patient that could easily crush you in the blink of an eye.’

You have your back to him, thoroughly washing your hands when you clear your throat and speak up quietly, “Can you tell me what you were stabbed with?”

“Does it make a difference? I’m injured, that’s all you need to know.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you gather all the supplies you need before sitting in your chair and pointing your bright lamp at the severe injuries; you gain a little courage as you pull your surgical mask over the lower half of your face and slip on your glasses so you can see better, grateful that you can now focus on the injuries rather than the stubborn Mandalorian. The gashes are both several inches long and though they don’t seem critically deep, you can tell that he’s lost quite a bit of blood and will suffer severe consequences if you don’t help him soon.

“It just helps to know what weapon was used to cause the injury. If it was rusted metal, it can be more prone to infection--if it was glass, there could still be shards in the wound. I’m not asking about the circumstances involving how you got these injuries, just the weapons involved.”

He grunts and you pretend not to notice the way his fingers curl against the cot when you begin to flush out the wound. Something tells you that he’s not used to being the one getting injured during a battle and you can’t imagine a warrior bigger than him catching him off guard; you force yourself not to ask about the circumstances revolving around his injuries. You had learned long ago not to pry into the lives of criminals and bounty hunters, understanding that it always put them on edge and made them wary of you.

“It was a dagger--few inches long and definitely not rusty.”

“Does your left shoulder hurt at all?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

You huff a little, cheeks burning and you can’t tell if it’s from frustration or embarrassment, “The less critical wound is located in a spot where your spleen could have been affected if contact was made with the dagger, though it doesn’t seem to be deep enough to cause any trauma to the organ. A sharp pain in your left shoulder is oftentimes a sign of a ruptured spleen.”

You reach up to lightly dig your fingers into his firm shoulder, only pulling away when he shakes his helmet a few seconds later, “No, there’s no pain there.”

“Thank you. The wounds didn’t seem deep enough to cause any injury to any organs, but we don’t really have the proper technology to know for sure,” His visor tilts towards your face, though you don’t notice it as you remain concentrated on cleaning the nasty wounds before pulling out your suture kit, “The infirmary is low on supplies at the moment--a couple of raiders broke in a few weeks ago and took a lot of machines and medicine from us. I’m afraid I don’t have any bacta patches, but stitches should stop the bleeding just fine. You’re lucky the dagger wasn’t very long.”

“I got stabbed and you’re calling me lucky?” He doesn’t sound angry and something about his lighter tone makes you think it’s disbelief that his modulator hides.

You raise your brows and you’re grateful for the surgical mask hiding your amused smirk as you get to work on stitching up the deeper wound first, “Considering I had a Twi’lek come in earlier with his intestines practically falling out of his stomach, I would certainly say you’re one of the luckier patients I’ve ever gotten. Stab wounds and blaster shots I can handle, guts and brains are another story.”

“You’re a doctor, that stuff shouldn’t bother you.”

“I’m a nurse, actually. The infirmary only has one doctor and he barely works here since he’s always traveling,” You correct him, eyes trained on the way the curved hook of the needle pierces his skin, nylon thread bringing the torn flesh back together, “Sorry if you expected to be treated by an actual doctor when you stormed into the the infirmary asking for my help. There’s not really a huge need for medical professionals in the village--most people are dead before they even make it here.”

He makes a small noise from the back of his throat, “Makes sense. Surprised this place even has an infirmary in the first place.”

“Yeah, it’s not exactly the flashiest hospital in the Outer Rim,” You say sarcastically, tilting your head to the side as you lean over his torso to get a better look at what you’re doing, “Why did you ask for me?”

“You were the only one that actually looked competent,” He huffs, stretching his arm behind his head when you gently nudge his bicep a little, “Everyone else was standing around doing nothing. You were the only one actually working.”

You’re not sure if it’s a compliment or some sort of backhanded one, but you take it for what it is and continue your work, being as swift and precise as you possibly can. The Mandalorian, however, makes it difficult when he keeps shuffling around and you would have thought for such a big warrior, he’d be used to pain by now. If you were in any other situation, you might have found amusement at the thought of a huge Mandalorian hating needles, though you suspect it goes deeper than that and judging by the scarce amount of scars scattered on his torso, he must not get hurt often. 

Men in this village tend to have quite a big ego and usually hate having their pride bruised; you think that maybe Mandalorians are no exception to that notion, especially when they are rumored to be the galaxy’s fiercest warriors.

You let out an exasperated sigh when he shifts for the umpteenth time and his helmet immediately jolts to stare at you through that unforgiving visor, “What? Something wrong?”

His tone is condescending and you wince a little.

Of course he’s just like the rest of your patients--rude and probably cruel.

“You just…” You cringe at how shaky your voice is and steel your nerves, “Could you stop moving so much, please? It’s slowing down the process and causing more unnecessary pain.”

You try to ignore the fact that there’s a vibroblade just inches from your face.

He grunts a little and turns his helmet to stare back up at the ceiling, growing deathly still underneath your skilled hands.

“Fine. Just hurry up.”

You bite your tongue and continue without so much as a nod. You’ve learned long ago that when it comes to patching up criminals or bounty hunters, they have no qualms about harming people smaller or weaker than them and this Mandalorian is quite possibly the strongest patient you’ve ever tended to and you’d rather not anger him. So, instead of rolling your eyes at the childish man, you continue to stitch the second wound that comes to a blunt end on the right side of his hip, just above his utility belt. After tenderly wiping the dried and fresh blood away from his torso, remaining mindful as you clean around the sutures, you begin to unroll a thick wad of gauze as well as some medical tape.

“The bruising on your ribs looks pretty intense,” You murmur after finishing with the stitches and lightly wrapping it with a bandage; you tilt your head a little at the way he jolts when you tenderly press a cool hand against his warm, bruised skin, “Did you hear a pop or crack when you were hit?”

“I don’t know,” He admits brusquely and you are all too aware of how bothersome bruised or broken ribs can be. Despite your better judgment, you think that perhaps that’s why he’s so cranky, “Couldn’t hear shit over the gunfire.”

You swallow the lump in your throat when you think of the massive weapon propped up against the cot, just inches away from your thigh, and you shake your head a little, “I think I might have a jar of bacta salve that could help with the soreness. If you apply it twice a day, it should speed up the healing process a considerable amount.”

“I don’t have enough credits for anything with bacta in it, so don’t even bother,” He grunts as he stubbornly sits up and lowers his helmet to inspect your work before turning to you, watching as you stand up. 

You ignore his words as you approach the cabinet where you keep several clear jars filled with all sorts of vibrant, colorful liquids and gels and you think you feel his eyes on you as you stand on your tippy toes to reach the small jar on the top shelf. You were grateful that your little supply of homemade remedies and salves had remained untouched, for the most part, after the infirmary had been raided. You try to forget about the scary situation, though you still found yourself having nightmares of a Trandoshan pressing a blaster between your eyes, all while threatening to blow your brains out if you move an inch.

“Please, take it,” You insist, unscrewing the lid as you approach him and gathering the cold salve onto your fingers, “Something tells me you get injured a lot.”

His leather-clad fingers wrap gently around your wrist and stop you from rubbing the healing ointment into his skin; if you weren’t so terrified, you would have marveled at how massive his hand was compared to your much tinier one, “I don’t want your pity.”

Much to your dismay, your voice shakes a little when you speak in a whisper, and you feel the way he loosens his grip on you, though it hadn’t been painful or caused discomfort in the slightest; you’re somewhat surprised that he’s capable of gently handling someone so much smaller than him.

“It is not pity, Mandalorian.”

“Then what is it?”

“Kindness,” You murmur, feeling ridiculous when he scoffs at your answer and you just know that your cheeks are an angry shade of pink, “I do not wish to be as cruel as everyone else on this planet. I would like to think I would be shown the same kindness if I was as injured as you are, though I doubt one would help me. Besides, I don’t like seeing people in pain and I know broken ribs can be bothersome and painful.”

He silently stares at you for a few tense moments, his helmet giving you no indication as to what he’s feeling.

“Fine,” He lets go of your wrist and you let out a sigh of relief, hand shaking terribly as you begin to rub the salve against the worst of the bruising; you ignore the way he tenses under your hand and how he cocks his helmet to the side as he observes you closely, “That kind of attitude will get you hurt in a place like this.”

“I know,” Your cheeks flush and your eyes burn as you refuse to meet his gaze, your voice growing thicker and quieter when you speak again, “I know, but sometimes it doesn’t.”

He’s still staring at you as you finish up and he grunts a little when you offer him the deep, dull blue cuirass you had helped him remove earlier, carefully helping him put it back into place. After sheathing his huge canon against his back, he accepts the little jar of salve from you and tucks it into a little brown pouch attached to his utility belt with a disgruntled ‘thanks’. You’re not sure why you do it, but you instinctively trail behind him as he leaves the room and makes his way into the lobby; it’s not like he needs your assistance, but he doesn’t say anything to make you think he’s annoyed with you or doesn’t want you there.

It’s not until a deep voice calls out your name that you freeze in your footsteps and turn around with dread, the Mandalorian tilting his helmet to stare at you and an older man over his broad shoulder. Your own shoulders tense and are nearly touching your earlobes as your boss approaches you, looking angry and irritated with you even though you haven’t said a single word to him in hours. 

His face is a deep shade of crimson and you can smell his putrid breath as he yells at you, “I thought I told you to have those reports done today by sundown and it’s almost kriffing midnight. I’m tired of telling you how to do your job! Am I not punishing you hard enough? Is that why you’re too stupid to understand how to do something as fucking basic as filing reports?”

“N-No sir,” You panic and instinctively flinch when he harshly grabs your bicep and violently rattles you, “Something came up, sir. I had a patient that had two stab wounds and I just uh, I figured that took priority over a few reports that aren’t crucial. He was in pretty bad condition and I just thought--”

“I don’t give a shit what you think takes priority over my demands,” He hisses, lowering his head to get in your face and intimidate you and you absolutely loathe that he succeeds in frightening you, “When I ask you to do something, you fucking do it without hesitation. I need a nurse that will do her job, not a useless pathetic excuse for a human being that can’t file a few reports by the deadline I give her. Is that understood?”

You blink away the tears and nod fervently, ignoring the bruising grip he has on your arm, “Good. Now get the fuck out of here. I can’t handle having you around fucking everything up right now. Go home.”

"But I--" You're cut off with a harsh squeeze and you try to keep the pain out of your voice when you speak in a quiet, shaky whisper, "Y-Yes, sir. I’m sorry."

When you turn around, lightly rubbing what you know is going to be a painful bruise in the morning, you're surprised to find the blue Mandalorian still standing near the entrance of the infirmary looking extremely tense--more so now than he had been earlier when you’d been stitching his wounds. His visor is trained on you and he's firmly holding the handle of his vibroblade; your eyes widen a little when you realize he had been seconds away from causing a scene and you wonder if the warrior would have actually killed your boss. 

You remain frozen in place until his hand eventually falls from the handle and you skittishly brush past him, his visor following your quick pace as you leave the infirmary and hastily make your way down the empty street, your face flushed and tears burning your eyes.

You just want to go home and lay down and forget about everything that--

"Nurse," The Mandalorian’s deep voice immediately makes you freeze again and your shoulders hunch up when you hear his heavy footsteps slowly approaching you, slow and precise, like predator stalking its prey. Your eyes squeeze shut as you fear the worst case scenarios, knowing all too well of the kind of pain men of his size and strength could inflict on someone like you.

Oh Maker, were you all too aware of what cruel men were capable of. 

When you apprehensively open your eyes, you find it impossible to look at his helmet and stare straight ahead at the center of his chest that’s protected by dull blue metal. You’re paralyzed with fear as you wait for him to strike--to shoot you or perhaps drag you behind the infirmary to have his way with you.

You prayed that he would kill you, rather than robbing you of that innocence that you still weakly held onto.

You’re frozen to the sidewalk when he finally comes to a stop about half a foot away from you, fingers clenching against his thighs and you feel ridiculous when a tear escapes the corner of your eye and slowly travels down your cheek. You’re not sure if the tears in your eyes are from your previous encounter with the older man who constantly made your life a living hell or the fact that there’s a possibility that you’re about to be brutalized by a terrifying Mandalorian.

His helmet cocks to the side when you take a tentative step backwards, your hands wringing together as vicious waves of nerves threaten to suffocate you.

“P-Please don’t--”

"It’s late and dangerous to be walking alone. I'm going to walk you home."

You flinch when he gently grabs your elbow and he's quick to drop it instantly, much to your surprise, "Y-You really… that's not necessary, really. I do this every night and usually don’t have a problem."

He grunts a little and holds out his own elbow for you to take, "It wasn't a question. You helped me and gave me medicine even though I had no credits to spare. Let me return the favor by walking you home,” You stare at his thick arm with distrust carved into your soft features and he must notice it because he eventually speaks up again, “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it long ago, nurse. I have no desire to harm someone who doesn’t deserve it, especially you, of all people. Besides, even if you’re capable of protecting yourself, you’re clearly shaken up right now and not thinking straight.”

“I don’t know you,” The Mandalorian is still holding out his elbow for you to take as you argue with him in a weak murmur, “How am I supposed to believe you’re not just like the rest of them?”

He scoffs a little at your words, shaking his helmet as if he can’t believe you just compared him to a bunch of amateur criminals and bounty hunters, “I don’t like these people anymore than you do. I hate criminals that hurt others who don’t deserve it or can’t defend themselves. Let me walk you home this once and you’ll never have to see me again. You have my word.”

Something about the sincerity in his deep baritone leaves you a little breathless and you no longer feel as threatened by the Mandalorian and you think he’s being utterly genuine with you. There had been disgust in his voice as he spoke of ruthless criminals and perhaps you had misunderstood him and his intentions all along.

“Still don’t believe me?” He sighs when he mistakes your thoughtful silence for hesitance towards his insistent offer to walk you home, “Here, take my vibroblade and if you feel uncomfortable, I’ll let you stab me.”

‘I’ll let you stab me.’

It’s quite possibly the most ridiculous words that a man has ever said to you and your eyebrows shoot up at the nonchalance in his modulated voice, like this is something he says every day. You quickly stop him as he reaches for the handle of his weapon, though you’re not afraid of him hurting you with it, but more incredulous that this huge warrior would give you the chance to do such a thing.

“Haven’t you uh, been stabbed enough for one day?”

His chest heaves and you’re surprised by the deep laugh he lets out at your innocent question, adamant about placing the heavy weapon in your palm, “Yes, I think I have. Now let’s get going.”

“O-Okay,” Your heart is still frantically beating from the initial fear of him taking advantage of you, along with the strange feeling of such a sharp weapon in your hand, “It’s just--it’s kind of a long walk and I’m sure you have better things to--”

“I don’t,” He firmly interjects, almost sounding exasperated with you, “C’mon, tighten your grip on that vibroblade. The later it gets, more rats come out of hiding and target people like you.”

Hesitantly, you curl your fingers into the crook of his elbow just above his vambrace, testing the thickness of the fabric there and squeezing until your fingers stop shaking. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin underneath his tunic and relish in it a little, the atmosphere of Nevarro quite brisk this late at night.

“Thank you for doing this,” You whisper, cheeks burning brightly at how close you are to someone so powerful while holding one of his weapons,“I-It means a lot to me.”

“You said you do this every night.”

You gnaw on your bottom lip as you think of all the bad run-ins you had whenever you had to walk home this late without the protection of a Mandalorian, “It doesn’t make it any less scary when these bounty hunters and criminals find out I’m nothing more than the village nurse.”

You pretend not to notice the way he tenses next to you.

As you lead him to your little hut on the outskirts of the quiet village, you remember all the stories of how Mandalorians were vicious savages and you wonder just how accurate they are. You can't imagine someone with an inherently violent disposition offering you his arm and blade while he walks you home and perhaps your initial impression of the Mandalorian was made in too much of a haste. A few late night stragglers sneer at you and the unfazed Mandalorian and even though you should feel frightened to be walking home alone with a fierce warrior, you find that his presence has quite the opposite effect as people move out of his way to avoid any confrontation.

You can’t remember the last time you actually felt safe walking home so late and you’re barely aware of the way you push yourself closer against his side.

"That man," The Mandalorian's deep voice startles you and you notice him drop his tone in the slightest, "Does he always treat you that way? That roughly?"

You're surprised that he's actually starting a conversation with you, as he seems to be a man of very few words, but you think over his blunt question and carefully choose your words, "It is for my own good. How am I supposed to learn and become a better nurse if I can't follow simple orders?"

"He shouldn't put his hands on you like that. It’s not right when he’s larger than you and you can’t defend yourself properly."

You smile sadly and gaze up at the twinkling stars dotted in the night sky, "He is my boss and my father. He can do whatever he wants as long as I'm working for him and living under his roof.”

“Father?” He cocks his helmet to the side, as if he’s confused by your words, though all you hear is disgust in his modulated voice when he speaks, “A father should never lay a hand on their child the way he did with you earlier. Parents are supposed to protect their family, not hurt and bruise them. He should feel ashamed of the way he treats you and how he talks to you--it’s dishonorable.”

“I am an adult, not a child,” You lazily give him a single-shouldered shrug and sheepishly turn your attention to your worn out boots and your bruised knees that peek out just from the hem of your dress, “It doesn’t bother me. Like I said, it’s better for me to learn this way and he only does it because I’m always messing up.”

“It should bother you,” The Mandalorian shakes his helmet and you think he must be pitying you or judging you, “You should stand up for yourself and leave. Make a better life for yourself.”

You huff out a small laugh, though there’s nothing funny about his words or yours, “Tell me, Mandalorian, where would I go? There is only one infirmary in the village and it’s owned by my father and I have no other useful skills that would help me thrive in a village overrun by bounty hunters and criminals. The nearest city is hundreds of miles away from here and I do not make nearly enough to afford transportation nor to start my life over; my father made sure of that.” 

You’re smiling, but it’s bitter and wistful, wondering why this Mandalorian wanted you to fight for a better life when there was no such thing that existed for you on this planet, “It is easy for you to tell me to fight for myself when you are covered from head to toe in impenetrable steel. My father could ruin my life if he so desired and I would not give him reason to punish me more than he has already.”

“That is no way to live, orikih baar’ur. The way you are treated is no better than the way an owner treats their slave.”

You don’t understand the language and wonder if he’s judging you in his native tongue, and even though you try to shrug it off, you still feel the pain on your shoulders and arms from your last punishment.

“It’s not living,” You agree, lightly squeezing his arm to reassure him that you’re fine, though you think you’re trying to reassure yourself more, “But I’m still surviving and doing what I love the most, helping others. It would be selfish of me to ask for more.”

The Mandalorian grows silent and you wonder what’s going through his head as you lead him through the village, where clustered buildings eventually give way to smaller houses and huts that could do with some renovation and patching up. You think of your own hut that could do with some fixing up, what with all the holes that have been punched through the walls in your father’s fits of rage, or the way rain trickles through cracks in the ceiling and oftentimes leaves you feeling sick with a fever after a night of tossing and turning on a wet mattress. Thinking of how you grew up so poorly and in a hostile environment, it makes you think far more of the Mandalorian’s blunt words and something awful churns in the pit of your stomach.

‘That is no way to live…’

You lift your head up to the stars again and wonder what lingers beyond this forsaken planet, what beauty exists in the galaxy. You had once heard tales of planets covered entirely in oceans or jungles and as you peer at the rocky and volcanic terrain that surrounds the two of you for as far as the eye can see, you wonder what beautiful sights the Mandalorian must have experienced during his years of travel. You remember a patient of yours describing the beauty of Naboo and all of the sights she had witnessed during her weeks of residing on the planet. Even in your wildest dreams, you couldn’t envision massive rolling plains of emerald grass, or glimmering sapphire oceans with waves just as violent as the most fearsome warrior you’ve ever met, the man walking next to you. 

You wonder what it must feel like to have a cool, fresh breeze kiss your flushed skin.

You try to imagine tasting ripe, fresh fruit, rather than bland ration bars, or the scent of sweet flowers tickling your nostrils, rather than the putrid scent of some poor creature being roasted alive.

“My place is just up ahead.”

He must hear how forlorn you’ve become, voice slightly high-pitched and crackly, as if you’re trying your damned hardest not to break down in front of him, because he tilts his helmet to gaze down at you. 

Your cheek is nearly grazing his bicep and you don’t even realize how close you are to him until you smell blaster fire and something spicy on the fabric of the long-sleeved gray tunic he wears underneath a short-sleeved black one. He’s warm, you realize, despite being covered in cold blue metal, and you wonder how such a huge, cold man could make you feel the safest you’ve felt in years, before your mother had passed away and your father was a little less cruel, though not by much. 

You swallow the lump in your throat when the hut you share with your father grows closer and dread threatens to send you fleeing in the opposite direction, though you’re willing to stay next to his side just to enjoy a few rare moments of serenity. Your father won’t be home for another few hours and you hope by then, his anger will have dulled into harmless embers, though you won’t get your hopes up.

“Thank you again for walking me home,” You clear your throat when you two come to a stop in front of the sad excuse for a home and you reluctantly pull away from him, fingertips grazing the crook of his elbow before falling to your side, “They don’t speak too kindly of Mandalorians around here, you know?”

He cocks his helmet downwards and to the side, seeming all too comfortable to speak with you before parting ways, “What do they say?”

“My father used to tell me tales of your people being savages,” You sound shameful as you confess this, tilting your head upwards the tiniest bit to gaze at the geometric emblem embedded into his cuirass, “That Mandalorians would kill innocent people and steal from them with no remorse, that they wouldn’t hesitate to kill women and children, or even torturing them. My father told me your people were worse than the monsters that plagued my dreams.”

You don’t back off when he steps a little closer and reaches out to lightly touch the little violet you always keep tucked behind your ear or in the soft weaves of your braids when it’s too hot to wear your hair down. It was something you wore in your hair every single day since your mother’s death, as she would always stick violets in your thick braids whenever she would style your hair in the morning when you were younger. You remember how she would explain the several medical uses for violets--how it was versatile and could be used for compresses, salves, soothing teas, poultices and much more.

You hadn’t even realized it had become a habit to constantly wear the pretty wildflowers in your hair until the Mandalorian unknowingly pointed it out.

“And what do you think about my people?”

“I used to believe the stories,” You hesitantly crane your neck backwards to peer into his t-shaped visor, wondering if he has warm, soft eyes that betray his cold, modulated voice and you watch as his hand promptly drops to his thigh before he can touch your ear, “Now I think the monsters in my nightmares are far more terrifying than the Mandalorian who walked me home tonight. If your people are anything like you, then I think the rumors are just that--silly rumors that should be ignored.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” His voice drops into a cool rasp that sends shivers up your spine and for what reason, you’re not so sure, “You don’t know what I can do.”

“I don’t need to,” You murmur just as quietly, eyes desperately searching everywhere on his dull blue helmet and you count the number of scuffs created from blaster shots or perhaps sharp daggers like the one he had been attacked with earlier, “You told me yourself that you have no desire to harm innocent people. I think you are the first man on this planet to show me any form of kindness.”

“I don’t doubt it,” He reaches for your arm, just as he had done earlier when he’d first insisted on walking you home, however, this time you don’t flinch and he cocks his helmet a little as he lightly strokes the inside of your clothed elbow with a leather thumb, “Good night, saviin’ika.”

“W-Wait!”

He tilts his helmet to the side when you quickly hold out his vibroblade that you had loosely been holding onto the entire walk home, almost forgetting that he had let you borrow it in case you felt the need to protect yourself against him.

You hadn’t--not once.

“Keep it, at least for now,” He reaches out to gently curl your thin fingers back around the handle, speaking up quickly when you part your lips to protest, “You shouldn’t be walking around without anything to protect yourself, especially this late at night.”

“But wh-what about you?”

Immediately, your eyes land on the heavy cannon attached to his back, along with the blaster on his hip and you cringe, knowing that this warrior would undoubtedly be able to take care of himself without his small blade. Still, you think the Mandalorian is amused as he straightens up and places his hands on his hips, just above his utility belt, and tilts his head backwards and to the side.

“I think I will somehow manage,” He sounds just as amused as you figured he would, “Anything else?”

You hesitate, cheeks still burning like hot coals, “Will I see you again?”

“What? Want to see me get injured again?”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling when you detect a twinge of amusement in his deep voice, “You don’t need to go and hurt yourself to come visit me, Mandalorian. I would prefer to see you in one piece and those ribs all healed. Don’t forget to use that salve--”

“Twice a day,” He finishes and shakes his helm a little at the bright smile you give him, “Take care of yourself, saviin’ika. Don’t hesitate to use that vibroblade if anyone threatens you.”

“Thank you, Mandalorian. See you soon.”

orikih baar’ur= tiny medic

saviin’ika=little violet

[alsanderecho]

Tales of San Derecho: The New Press Secretary

The formation of a whole new state from the parts of two others should have been a surprise for the nation after a national election but it wasn't. Its new boundries encompassed part of southern California, as well as land in Arizona. There was very little fuss about its existence for the general public, as if it had always been there.

But there were those who did ask questions about how this new territory came to be. Some of them traveled to the newest state in the union, seeking the answer. These are their stories, along with those who found themselves now residing in the state of SAN DERECHO...

====================

"Shannon, something strange is going on."

The reporter looked with one raised eyebrow at Sheila Gerrolds, his editor. The both of them work at the Q-News, a website dedicated to reporting on national events and international happenings important to the LGBTQ community.

"Strange, how?"

"I mean, do you remember Joaquin Guerrero?"

Shannon had to think for a few moments before he remembered the outspoken gay Latino activist, which immediately struck him as being wrong somehow. Hadn't he done an interview with him during last fall's gubernatorial election in San Derecho?

"Y...Yeah. But not until you mentioned his name, Sheila. That's...weird."

"Exactly my point, Shannon. And he's not the only one..."

The editor rattled off about a dozen more names, and memories of these gay and lesbian activists flooded Shannon's memories. And again, he was at loss at how he could have forgotten them, considering some of them had been long-time friends/

"What's going on here? Where did they all go?"

"That's what I want to know. Over dozen of the most prominent LGTBQ activists go missing  on the West Coast over the last year and no one is raising a stink about it? There's a story here, an important one."

Shannon nodded in agreement, his mind already honing in on who might be responsible for these disappearances.

"And you think the new governor might be involved somehow."

"Precisely. You know what his platform was during the election, and now some of his biggest critics are missing? It just stinks to me."

"Right, I get it. Guess I'm going back undercover..."

Sheila nodded, aware that her best reporter had spent a good portion of the election last year infiltrating a certain candidate's campaign. Despite the success of getting on the inside, the whole thing hadn't turned up any actionable material.

"Yeah, but I want you to be careful. We don't know what is really going on here."

"I get it, but we've got to find out the truth. And maybe, we can bring this bastard down once and for all..."

====================

Getting an invite to the governor's mansion had been pretty easy, as Shannon's cover identity was intact and uncompromised. Still, he was being careful, as this whole thing was more than a bit like walking into a hungry lion's den carrying chunks of raw, bloody meat. If the governor or any of his people got even a hint of who he really was, it could go very bad for him very quickly.

Maybe that's why he waited in the car for so long before finally mustering his courage to approach the front door and ring the bell. The wait for an answer seemed to drag on forever until the door clicked open. Standing there was the governor's chief of staff, Jonathon Grey. Dressed in a dark grey suit, the man was the very image of the hyper-conservative types that the chief executive of the state San Derecho liked to surround himself with.

"Ah, Mr. Jones. So nice to see you again. It has been awhile, hasn't it?"

Shannon nodded affirmatively. He hadn't been this close to Grey since election night, and he was trying to ignore how attractive he found the man. It was a little bothersome because he reminded him of someone else...

"Yes, Mr. Grey. I needed sometime to figure out things after the election. But now, I think I know what I want."

"Excellent. The governor will see you in his study."

This surprised Shannon, who hadn't been aware that the governor even knew who 'Shane Jones' was. Every instinct the reporter had was screaming this was a set-up of some kind, but it was not something he could walk away from. Because despite the danger, it was an opportunity to get even deeper inside this crooked administration and find out what happened to his friends...

"Lead the way then."

====================

The study was a comfortable room with oak paneled walls and high shelves stocked with numerous leather bound books. In the fireplace, flames crackled and suffused the room with a flickering glow of yellow light. Shannon was ushered inside by Grey, who remained outside but closed the doors behind him. An almost faint click told the journalist that he had been locked in as well. He took a few cautious steps into this den of conservatism until a voice called out for him to "take a seat."

Said seat was in a thick leather chair with a high back and wings on either side of its occupants head. It was set in front of a dark oaken desk behind which sat the governor himself, his fingers steepled and a grin on his face. On his desk was a framed picture of him and his blonde wife. Shannon couldn't quite recall her name before his host spoke.

"Shane, welcome. So glad you've come for a visit. Can I offer you a drink?"

The gray-haired politician motioned to a small bar set into a wall behind him. Shannon shook his head to say no as the governor seemed amused at the response. The older man's expression then became serious.

"Now, can we dispense with this pretense, Shannon?

The millennial reporter was caught off guard by his real name being spoken aloud by the governor. He tugged nervously at the maroon sweater he wore, trying to laugh it off. But the man behind the desk wasn't having any of it.

"Please, don't insult my intelligence or that of my staff, Shannon. We've been aware of your true identity and the website that employs you for quite some time now."

"I..I..I don't know what you're talking about..."

"I said to NOT insult me, Shannon."

The gay journalist shuddered slightly, as the governor's voice resonated with a surprisingly arousing air of authority. He had to keep his head about himself.

"Alright, fine. I am who you think I am. Do you know why I'm here?"

"Of course. You're here to investigate what happened to my most outspoken critics in the LGBT community. I did wonder how long it would be before you or your editor would notice. Anyone really..."

Shannon said nothing, trying to remain focused on his surroundings. If this man was this free with his words, then this had to be a some sort of trap...

"Please, please. Do relax. I'm perfectly happy to tell you everything."

"Is this some sort of trick?"

"No, it's merely the truth, Shannon. Isn't that what you really want to hear? The truth?"

Shannon nodded, feeling a calm settled over himself. It was strange, but the words coming from the Governor's mouth seemed to be the source of this new tranquility. The smile of the older man's face confirmed it.

"So, shall we begin?"

====================

Shannon sat there, dazed. He wanted to get up, and flee this place but for some reason, he found himself just sitting there listening to the Governor talk.

"You see, I think there is someone inside you who wants to come out. A better you, a hetter you, Shannon. All you have to do is listen to my voice, and let it guide you to a new....perspective and understanding..."

The reporter nodded numbly in agreement.

"This modern world is losing touch with its past. Things were so much simpler before all of this social justice nonsense overtook everything. Black and white, right and wrong. Don't you think?"

Another nod, but it was accompanied by a rippling of Shannon's clothes. His sweater seemed to moving of its own accord, the material clinging closer to his body now. Sudden, it pulled itself so tight that it ripped apart at the shoulders, and revealed that underneath were the sleeves of a crisp white button-down dress shirt that hung a little loose on his arms.

"A simpler time....black and white...right and wrong...man and woman..."

The part of the sweater that remained was fluttering as most of it split into two thin straps that looped over his shoulders, reconnecting into a y-shape via a triangle of brown leather from which another strap clipped its to the back of his jeans. In the front, the new suspenders settled into place as brass snaps clamped down Around his neck, a heavily starched collar unfolded itself, sending a line of buttons down the front of the dress shirt. A rustle of fabric revealed that the last piece of his old sweater had curled itself under the collar and knotted itself into a long tie.

"Black...White...Right...Wrong...Man...Woman..."

The words battered into Shannon's head, as he tried to understand what was happening. He was afraid as he could something or someone stirring in the depths of his subconscious, drawn to the power of those words. If he'd only realized that his fear was only going to quicken the pace of his transformation...

====================

"You're not the first to hear my message, Shannon. Far from it. And you won't be the last, But I digress a little. I did say I'd tell you the truth, didn't I?"

Shannon couldn't respond, his body frozen as new changes begin to effect him, this time below his wait. The jeans he'd been wearing were shifting, denim softening into a light blend of cotton as blue was leeched away and replaced with a dark brown. Crisp creases snapped into place down the front of the developing trousers.

"You see, I didn't always have this...influence over people. I'm not sure where it came from really but it showed up when I was just starting my political career. I discovered that my words had an effect on people, especially those who disagreed with me. Not only did they come around my point of view, but some of them actually completely changed!"

A leather belt slid into the loops at Shannon's waist and tightened itself as as if locking him into his fate.

"Do you remember Lizzy Dion? Probably not, I suppose. She was my opponent for mayor during my first re-election campaign. A very outspoken advocate for gay rights, and a tough debater. That old bag really had me on the ropes during our first head-to-head if I'm being perfectly honest. Might've beaten me too, but oddly she disappeared before election day."

The governor chuckled a little, as if at some private joke before he stood up and came around the desk to seat on its corner. Shannon wanted to curse at him but...why? After he'd done a lot for this reporter, hadn't he? He didn't realize he was starting to grin.

"Of course, I'd soon meet my beloved Lisbeth and she became my first real supporter in my rise to the office I currently occupy. The perfect politician's wife really."

Shannon nodded in agreement. The governor's wife was a real smart cookie, and quite the looker too. He blinked, not sure why he found a woman to be attractive, let alone that woman. But his cock? It knew what it liked and that blonde matriarch really got its attention!

"Getting back on track, with my wife by my side, I ascended the ranks of the Republican party swiftly. I had a great staff as well, picked up all along the way. You'd be surprised how many times I got asked where I found so many loyal and dedicated people..."

The clothes which had been hanging a little loose on Shannon grew more fitted now, as his lanky frame began to fill in with muscle. It was still lean, but now held more strength than one might expect. His butt tightened up, as his old sexual practices were wiped away. He'd do a lot for a story but letting someone get past his backdoor? Never!

"Like me, boss?"

"Exactly, my boy. How are you feeling now?"

"I feet great, boss. But I'm still a little confused about why you're telling me all of this..."

The governor grinned at the still changing reporter, who was coming along nicely. The fading Shannon's feather and poofed hair was starting to slick itself back, darkening from brown to black in the process. His once smooth chin had squared itself out, and the first signs of his trademark five o'clock shadow were gracing with each passing moment.

"Just a little refresher, son. After all, you're working on my next address to the state, right?"

The reporter nodded enthusiastically. He'd been working on a real firecracker of a speech for the governor. His grin widened to reveal a set of white teeth that seemed to sparkly. A thump came the floor next to him, where his smart phone had been pushed out by his transforming pants. It had shifted and twisted, glass splintering into nothingness as it became a leather-covered notepad out of which stuck his favorite pen.

"Good, good. Now where was I again?"

"You were talking about your loyal staff, boss."

"Right. I don't know what I'd have done without you or Joaquin..."

Looking up from his notepad and the notes he'd been busily scribbling in it, Stanley Journo stared blankly at his employer and mentor as the strange name crossed his lips, A shrinking part of who he used to be seemed to be rallied by its mention.

"Who, boss?"

"Jonathan?"

"Oh...right."

And just like that, that last bit of Shannon faded away as he realized what had happened to Joaquin Guerrero. But the man sitting in the chair now didn't really care about that anymore, because he had more important stories to cover.

"That's should be enough for the speech, boss, I'll have it on your desk first thing in the morning."

"Great, Stanley. But I do have one more task for you tonight. In your capacity as my press secretary, I need you deliver a message for me..."

The governor pulled out a tape recorder and presented to the retro-styled journalist. The snarky grin was now permanently plastered on his ruggedly handsome face, as he tilted up the fedora resting on his head.

"Whatever ya' say, boss..."

====================

Sheila had not left the offices of the Q-News, her concern for her best reporter telling her that she needed to be here just in case. But she didn't even notice that she could no longer recall that reporter's name as she spoke to her girlfriend on the phone.

"Listen, Elle, baby. I'm gonna be home late tonight... It's a big story and I'm waiting for...

A knock on the door caused Sheila to jump out of her seat a little. As she finished up on the phone, the door swung open to let in a tallish lean man dressed in a dark grey vest and brown slacks. A cigarette hung from his lip while a old-fashioned press pass rested in the band of the fedora that rested atop his slicked back do.

"Heya, Chief. I got a scoop you just gotta hear to believe..."

*CLICK*

"You see, I think there is someone inside you who wants to come out. A better you, a hetter you, Sheila... All you have to do is listen to my voice, and let it guide you to a new....perspective."

[symphonic-scream]

Okay so here's the summary of what happens in the first section of the ML Genshin au. If you're overly familiar with the lore of the game itself sorry in advance cause things are gonna be different. It's a mix of wanted to incorporate new ideas and I don't remember everything exactly lmao

This of course contains Spoilers for the first three Archon quests in Genshin Impact :) so there you've been warned. Also warning: long post. I'm sorry

--

So the story starts with two travelers soaring through the skies, visiting world after world as they go. However their journey is cut short when they encounter a strange god in the heavens above one such world

The travelers hold out against her for as long as they can, but she gets the upper hand, capturing one of the two travelers. She seals away the powers of the other, trapping him in this world

Some time passes. Our traveler has spent his time trying to survive in the wild in this new world, and has now fished a strange creature up out of the sea. Some floating cat thing, that insists he's not a cat. He calls himself Plagg

Our traveler is blond, with striking green eyes. His outfit is very strange, looking kinda like,, a thick leather armour type stuff but softer. There are dark stars on his shoulders, wrists, on the belt, and in the centre of his chest, and his shirt cuts off at the base of his ribs. Pants are much the same, boots ending just below the knees, and he's got some fancy golden gloves and padding on the knees

The traveler explains what he remembers of his story to Plagg, introducing himself as Adrien. He's not of this world, and he's going to find his identical cousin Felix, who was taken by a strange god, no matter what it takes

Plagg decides to be his guide in this world, which he calls Teyvat, and agrees to help him find the god and his cousin. He explains that Teyvat is divided into seven Nations, each under the rule of one of seven gods called Archons, collectively "the Seven". The land they're in now is called Mondstadt, the nation belonging to the Archon of freedom. And Anemo, the element of wind

Plagg leads Adrien into a small valley, a statue resting in the middle of a small lake right in the centre. The guide calls it a Statue of the seven, this one modeled after Barbatos, the name used for the Anemo Archon. Plagg believes there's a chance the strange god could be one of the seven, so perhaps praying to the statue may give them some answers

However when Adrien gets close, he's infused with a strange power. He now has control over Anemo

This is odd to Plagg because in Teyvat, only humans with something called a vision can use elemental abilities. Visions are gifts from the Archons, used to show who has earned their favour through what's usually some inhuman feat or something like that I guess

The statue left more questions than answers, so Plagg decides they should try to find the god in person in the City of Mondstadt. However on their way to the forest that will lead to the city, a dragon flies overhead

Plagg decides a dragon is too much work to deal with and suggests they turn back, cause maybe your cousin will show up on his own- wait - hey come back here-

Adrien marches on, interested in meeting a dragon. He walks carefully through the trees, stopping short when he spots the dragon and a shorter figure

The person slowly approaching the dragon has their back to Adrien, with pinkish-red hair, wearing a somewhat fancy looking grey hooded jacket, black high boots, and dark cyan trousers. On their left shoulder, attached to their lapel, is a spring green/seafoam?? Kinda? Idk- coloured gem

Their hand is outstretched towards the dragon, who growls lowly as the figure shushes them. Adrien leans in to see better, snapping a twig beneath his boots. At the sudden noise the dragon shoots off into the sky, flying off. The figure whips around to face Adrien, summoning a sword from thin air (vision users can just do this?? There's really no explanation that I've cared to read haha). The figure turns and runs off into the woods after staring at Adrien for a moment

Adrien and Plagg continue on their way through the woods, coming out the other end with no other issues. Once they exit the forest, a woman is calling for their attention

She's dressed in for the outdoors, emerald kinda green overalls that are cut like shorts, white,, idk kinda like tights but thicker?? And brown boots, the same colour as the pretty much useless belt around her waist, where a bright green gem and little pouches rest. Under the overalls is a navy collared shirt, soft fabric, button open at the top, a brown half jacket (cut like a crop top) open over it. Dark hair in two pigtails, bright blue eyes

She introduces herself as Marinette, an adventurer assisting the Knights of Favonius, who protect the city, with keeping monsters at bay from the city. She asks Adrien what he and his, cat? ("IM NOT A CAT!") Are doing outside the city, and he tells her he's looking for his cousin, and maybe Barbatos

Marinette explains that they haven't heard from their god in years, and only recently have they gotten any sign that the Archon actually exists, with the first Anemo vision to be given out in ages and the dragon attacks

Adrien helps her clear out a little monster camp before they head into the city, with Marinette planning on taking Adrien to see the Acting Grand Master to see if she can help

But OH NO DRAGON ATTACK. Adrien hears a voice and suddenly he's got boosted abilities, flying (using a wind glider) up with the dragon, chasing it away from the city by blasting it with Anemo energy

When he lands Marinette asks him what the hell he just did, and someone else steps in, claiming they were about to say the same thing. This woman has orange cat ears sticking out of bobbed orange hair, and is wearing glasses over teal eyes

She's got a simple, dark blue jacket on over a light blue collared shirt, a brown vest between the two. Dark pants, tall metallic, silver boots, a small kinda waist cape?? Idk what they are but she's got one and it's white and furred. A pale baby blue vision hangs from the side of her belt

This is Sabrina, one of the Captains with the knights, Marinette explains. Sabrina escorts the two of them to the headquarters of the knights, claiming the Acting Grand Master wants to speak with them

The Acting Grand Master has long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, and tired blue eyes. She wears a long dark coat, an orangey brown vision just off the right shoulder. Under the jacket is a dark brown, thick blouse and vest combo. Her pants are a pale brown, and her boots are the same as Sabrina's. Her clothing looks rather lavish

The Acting Grand Master, Chloe, she insists they call her, listens to Adrien's tale. She explains she can help once things calm down with the whole dragon thing. He wants to help, but she can't just let him in for liability reasons and strikes a deal. If he can locate the one citizen that didn't check in and confirm their health after the attack, he earns honorary knight status

The knights and adventurers head out to seek out the temples of three of the four winds while Adrien and Plagg look for this missing person. They follow traces of Anemo energy, leading them to the roof of the knights headquarters where they come face to face with the figure from the woods, the missing citizen

The citizen attempts to run, but they stop her and say the knights are looking for her. The figure cautiously introduces herself as Alix Kubdel, watching the duo cautiously

Plagg speaks first breaking the silence, asking her about what she was doing with the dragon. You know, the dragon that attacked the city? Got an explanation for that?

Alix hesitates but explains that she was trying to calm down the dragon, bond with it. When asked why, she finally explains that she's the New Anemo Archon, and she's still getting used to what she has to do

New? What do you mean new? Plagg kinda hounds at her, Adrien apologizes, and Alix says the last Archon died, and she was eventually chosen as a replacement

By now the knights are returning from the temples and Adrien takes Alix in to talk with Chloe to convince her that they don't need to kill "Stormterror", the name given to the dragon by the city. Alix corrects them, stating his name is Dvalin

Alix has to reveal to Chloe as well that she's the new Archon in order to convince her to let them try Alix's "bonding plan", and they set into action. The group sets off for the lair of the dragon, to confront him headon

Adrien fights the dragon the same way as before, realizing Alix was the one that gave him the ability to do the funky blasting and flying, and then they've got him weak enough that Adrien can do some weird otherworldly healing thing on him

Apparently the dragon was poisoned by the monsters from the Abyss, and was under their orders. Without the aid of the Archon he couldn't fight it, but now that he's met the new Archon, Alix, all is great and dandy and they have a fun chat

They all head back to the city to celebrate, but they're ambushed by a group called the Fatui from one of the other nations, Schnezneya. During the ambush a woman known as Signora, one of the Harbingers who executes the will of the Cryo Archon, gets a hold of Alix

She snatches something called a gnosis from her, leaving her weak on the ground as they flee. The gnosis, uh, it holds like,, uh, the godly powers of an Archon? It's what makes em an Archon I guess? Sorta? Anyways Alix's was stolen so she doesn't have it now

And that's pretty much it. Alix goes to heal at this big ass tree and advises Adrien fo go check out the next nation, Liyue, and their Archon Morax, to see about his cousin and thats it

Adrien would do other stuff before leaving including meeting two Alchemists and helping them explore a mountain, assisting the two owners of the Harmony Tavern with some bullshit and all that but yeah

This is a very condensed version, of the events, but anymore detail and this would be that much longer lmao

If you have any questions comments complaints or whatever let me know. Sorry this was long I tried to condense it as best I could,

[artificial-ascension]

I see stuff for "what would the Wammys kids be like as parents" but never "what would the Wammys kids parents be like" so here.

Wammys Kids Parents HCs

Mello

Mello's parents were in an arranged marriage because of the mafia families they were in

They actually really liked each other so they didn't mind the arranged marriage

They were actually in an arranged marriage because they were the oldest kids of two of the most powerful mafias in Russia and the leaders of those mobs wanted to join forces and did that by marrying their kids to each other

Mello's uncle didn't like how things were being run and broke the mafia in two and went to war with his brother (Mello's dad)

When Mello's parents realized they were going to have a kid they moved to England and put his aunt (on his Mother's side) in charge

Mello's parents kept him a secret to keep him safe

Mello has his dad's eyes and hair and his mother's complexion

He had both of their intelligence

Both of them were really smart and hella chaotic just like Mello

They cared for him as much as they could without look suspicious to their neighbors

When Mello was 4 they got found out by their rival mafia and were killed

Mello wondered off and ended up at Wammys house afterward

Mello's status as the heir to a massive mafia empire was how he rose to power in LA

Matt

Matt's mom got pregnant when she was 17

Her boyfriend left when he found out she was pregnant

She gave Matt away to her boyfriend's cousin because she didn't have the time or money to care for him because of college

Matt's named after his dad

His dad's cousin was super rich and had his own wife and tree bratty kids who didn't like Matt at all

The kids hated him so much they convinced their dad to get rid of Matt and they abandoned him in Winchester because he had family there

Matt's dad's cousin only took him in to look better than his ass of a cousin

Matt is the spitting image of his mother but has his dad's hair color

Matt's parents are still alive so technically he isn't an orphan

He has abandonment issues and separation anxiety from getting trown out so much though

His mom actually married and had some kids once she graduated and had a good job

She lowkey feels guilty for giving Matt away sometimes

Matt's dad is a hippy who lives in the back of his van and plays video games while coding for money

Matt probably has a fuck ton of half siblings from his dad being a man whore but it's not like he'll ever meet them

A

A's dad was an English sailor and his mom was a Spanish lighthouse keeper

They met in Spain and fell in love and went back to England to get married

His mom worked as a lighthouse keeper in Cornwall while his dad worked as a sailor

They had tree kids, A's older brother, A and A's little sister

A and his siblings spent most of their time with their mom but their dad spent all his time off from work with them

A's dad was very thinly built and honestly he looked like the basic anxious sad boy A with brown messy hair and freckles

Of course he was a sailor so he was actually pretty strong and hella brave

A's mom had dark skin, black curly hair and brown eyes with a much sturdier build

She was really sweet but was lowkey terrifying if you got on her bad side

A would be a perfect mix of both of them if he wasn't albino, but really aside from his lack of pigmentation he has a good mix of their facial features

A's dad taught A and his brother how to sail and took them on short sailing trips with him

He was going to take A's little sister when she was old enough but he died before he could

A's dad died at sea and only died because he stayed on the ship to make sure his whole crew got off when the ship sunk

A's mom taught him how to garden, fish, cook, camp, hunt and really live off the land in general

She died falling from her lighthouse in a bad storm

The fact that both A's parents died trying to help people inspired him to try and save people too

Which led to him trying to take up the position of L so he could solve cases and help people, which ultimately also led to his death

His brother became a Royal Navey admiral and his sister became a marine biologist later in life with A and their parents as their driving factors so at least that's nice

Beyond Birthday

B's parents were in a shinigami cult and technically B's dad is the shinigami Armona Justin Beyondormason but B never found out until his shinigami dad yoinked him out of Mu to tell him he's part shinigami and he forgot to tell him while he was alive (he didn't forget he just kept putting off until B fucking died) so we will discuss his leagal male guardian who died

B's parents owned a huge farm in Japan and taught B how to take care of animals and how to garden

A's mom had a personal garden of herbs and fruits and she used to teach B how to use herbal medicine and how to properly spice foods and most importantly how to make jam

B and his parents looked similar when he was little but he stopped looking like them when he got older

They all had slim builds, dark hair and pale skin and the only thing different was the eyes

B had shinigami eyes obviously and because he was part shinigami you could actually tell he had they eyes by looking at them

B could also turn them off (but he only acquired that skill later in life) and when he did his actual eye color was a dark brownish red

His eyes were also really wide like but not L wide just a bit less wide but still kinda weird

B's dad knew he wasn't B's real dad but he still tookcare of him and taught him things

B was homeschooled because 1. They wanted to indoctrinate him into their shinigami cult when he was young and 2. They didn't want the other kids or teachers commenting on his eyes

His dad was kinda boring and there wasn't anything cool about him, he was super average but he was good at farming and business I guess. Anyway if he had actually been B's dad I feel like B would also be really boring but more like the kind of boring of an abandoned building in the woods but there's nothing there and nothing cool or spooky happens

B's mom was way cooler, she taught B a bunch of old Japanese folk tales and legends and other cultural stuff. She also gave him plenty of history lessons about Japan and the surrounding area, really B just got educated on the entire history or Japan and it's culture and it fed his deep love and obsession with anime and manga when he was older

His mom's grandmother actually dressed up like a man Mulan style to fight in WW2 so he comes from a family of Japanese patriots so what would you expect

His mom taught him to defend himself too and she probably should have taught her husband because he died in a mugging

B's mom died in a freak train accident and B almost died but his shinigami ancestry have him a super human healing speed and endurance so he survived just barely

L

L's mom was a prostitute who got pregnant by one of her customers

She died of tuberculosis when L was six months old

She looked a lot like L with wild black hair, pale skin, no meat on her bones and wide, grey, eyes

L's dad was just some rich guy cheating on his wife and L looked nothing like him

L's mom lived with her brother above his bakery and L continued to love there until he was 6 and his uncle tried to kill him after getting drunk

Near

Near got put on the staircase of Wammys house in a basket when he was little so no one knew his parents

Near's parents were really weird hermits that owned a toy store and yes all their stuff was definitely cursed

They were both very quiet but they were actually pretty nice they just acted very strange

The both of them were black and Near dose have their body types and facial features and just like A, he looks a lot like both of them he just lacks pigmentation because he's albino

Unlike A he does have his parents grey eyes because Near doesn't have ocular albinism

They decided to leave Near on the door step of Wammys House because...?

They just did

For some reason they decided on an orphanage way away, it was probably some weird choice they made because I don't the the fog told them but hey they inadvertently caused the death of a mass murderer 18 years later

Near's parents are still alive and living in their little store and Near actually tracks them down after a bit and hangs out with them and buys their toys

Near's parents also have two more kids and Near likes to hang out with them and help you younger siblings in their classes

[gottaenjoythelittlethingzz]

Early Evening

Part 2 of the ongoing, loosely interconnected series Swellview has a New First Lady.

Summary: When Ray returns to the Man Cave after a particularly messy battle against a villain, we get to see the internal workings of Cheyanne's and Ray's flirty, romantic relationship. And Cheyanne reveals exactly how much sway she holds over Ray.

*Keep in this series can be read on AO3 & FF.*

~~~~~

Cheyanne had just finished closing up the store for the night. Another shift gone over without a hitch. The counters were wiped down, the junk was newly organized into bins and separated from any loose odds and ends, and the sign hanging on the glass entrance to Junk N’ Stuff read, ‘Sorry, we’re NOT in’. The cash register was emptied, and she carried the day’s meager profits in the elevator, counting bills as she rode down.

When she stepped into the Man Cave she noticed it vacant. This suited her well. It was nice when she could turn in for an early evening. A rare occurrence in these parts.

She was halfway to the sprocket which would lead her further into the expansive underground maze when a swooshing noise halted her footsteps. A single tube shot abruptly to the floor and a blue-and-red-suited superhero dropped in.

“Honey, I’m ho-hughhh.” Ray came tumbling out of the tube clutching his stomach and nose independently. His sarcastic comment lost behind a violent, extended wrenching noise. Since he’s so use to the tube ride it was clear his nausea was in response to the black soot smudged across him from head to toe. The gooey substance was largely crusted on and had entered ever crevice possible. It replaced his normal golden eye makeup with a smoky eye look. The smell it produced wafted across the Man Cave floor and Cheyanne smelt it herself before he approached her.

Cheyanne went to cover her own mouth and nose before smiling sardonically and using two fingers to trace a subtle path from her manicured brow to her peaked lips. She tapped them lightly when questioning, “So, how’d it go?”

“Terrible!” Ray roared. He further smudged the muck on his face and temporarily lost his balance when he could no longer see. Thankfully, he stopped with a few feet of flooring between himself and Cheyanne to correct his eye sight. “Professor Putrid had us chasing him all over down town and into the Swellview ‘Sludges and Slops’ disposal plant. I fell into a vat of tar trying to land a punch on him when he sprayed me with canned skunk spray.”

“That’s horrible.” Cheyanne made her voice sound soothing and sympathetic while simultaneously desiring to reach for a bottle of Febreze. “It should really be a more difficult place to break into. How did – hmph – how’d you catch him? I assume you did in the end.”

“You better believe we caught him!” Ray scraped at his skin with both his hands looking much like a kitten trying to cleanse itself without help until he opened one eye and then finally the other. “Henry used his super power to taunt Professor Putrid in a game of tag. Led the gross weirdo underneath a bucket of quick dry cementing mud. Done in by his own prototype. They’ll have to chisel his face free to get a clear mugshot of him.” Getting his first proper look at Cheyanne in what had been hours, Ray attempted to draw nearer to her while regaling his heroic tale. “The bucket was just dangling there. Suspended ten feet off the ground. Can you believe it?”

Cheyanne made a circular motion with her arms to raise them in question. A visual distraction as she took a sizeable step backwards at the same time. “Who would have thought?”

“You’re one to know, Chey. Anyone who would do half of something like this to the Man Mane is going to serve time.” He ran his hands over his hair trying his best to peel strands loose. The tar had plastered the locks to his scalp and refused to budge. He took another step forward. He hoped to be met with affirmation of his character. “Man, I’m going to have to do my most advanced hair care routine.” The process was designed to be grueling, employed numerous creams and gels, and was assured to undo most any damages.

“It sure is a good thing there’s a new suit in each gumball because that tar is never coming out.” Cheyanne tried to take a step forward to meet him halfway, but another wave of vile odor hit her nostrils, and she relaxed her arms by her sides. Least he think she was offering her hands. “Speaking of taking criminals to jail. Is that were Henry is now?”

An expression flitted across Ray’s face, one like he had not only forgotten his sidekick had been with him mere minutes ago, but it was as though he had forgotten the teenage apprentice existed entirely. “Yeah, yeah. Henry’s taking Professor ‘Pitiful’ to Swellview county prison. Should have dropped the mad scientist off by now.”

“What have I told you about making Henry go by himself?” Cheyanne’s voice shifts from playful to maternal.

“Henry knows where the prison is. He’s been enough times. He’s totally fine!” Ray manufactured excuses. “This was just an annoying level three villain who didn’t even have a superpower. It’s not like I asked the kid to take Arson Boy to jail by himself.”

Cheyanne shook her head with concern. Her brown eyes were always warm, deep pools of understanding but could turn stern all the same. “I don’t like Henry taking criminals to jail on his own. Some of the officers pick on him for his age. The criminals could escape from him. And besides, a crime isn’t solved until the perpetrator is put away. You should have to complete each job with him. I don’t care if Henry’s getting older and is able to handle more responsibilities. It simply isn’t fair to him that he ends up pulling more hours at work than his boss.”

Ray renewed his tactic with an equal level of enthusiasm that he carried with him down the tube. “But, what if I said I wanted to hurry home to spend more alone time with Mrs. Manchester?” His eye brows climbed his forehead. He reached for her again. This time planning to snake his arms around her curvaceous waist.

“No, no, no.” Cheyanne skipped around the couch, using the furniture as a barrier between herself and the immature man. “Not until you’ve thrown that suit out in a dumpster somewhere far, far away, and taken a long, long shower.”

“Come on,” Ray clasped his hands against the rim of the mobile amenity. He made quick crab walking steps to the left and right while verbally taunting her. “You know I like to fool around in uniform.”

“That’s fine, except we can’t actually see it underneath all that foul muck!” Cheyanne was able to expertly predict Ray’s movements. She herself was unable to bite back the adoring smile from creeping onto her face.

He pointed an accusing finger her way. “Don’t act like you don’t like it just a little bit when I come back sweaty and grimy from an epic battle. You know you’re the only person I can temporarily share my ability with, huh?” Ray’s face was completely overtaken by his perfect teeth shining through his victorious grin. He could easily be swayed by his own words even when they didn’t work on anyone else around him. “It’s kind of our ‘thing’, right?”

Cheyanne gasped playfully and brought a hand up to her chest, bracelets shifting noisily to follow the path through the air her arm created, suggesting she was offended by his lewd suggestion. “There’s a lot more going on with you than natural bodily fluids, okay?”

Before she could condemn him further Ray sprang into action. He catapulted his legs over the couch, slide across the table, and landed with his feet on the cushioned seat directly in front of Cheyanne. She was startled by his boisterous movements and leapt backwards straight into the monitors’ chair. She was able to narrowly dodge his sweeping arms.

“Ulch,” Ray complained. He collapsed against the backrest. His head and arms drooping over the edge. “You’re really not going to jump on this opportunity while there are no crimes in progress, and no one is down here to bug us?”

Cheyanne cocked her head and calmly stood from the seat. She spun it in her hands and walked behind the object to place it between them. “Maybe I will reconsider…” She tapped her nails rhythmically to call his eyes onto her. “But first you must get rid of that old suit. And you have to shower - twice.”

Ray smirked at the images his idea called to mind. “Or maybe you could join me in the –.”

“Shower twice!” In a flash, his face morphed with disgruntlement. Flopping dramatically onto his back and sliding off the couch feet first, he began begrudgingly heading towards the stairs. His feet stomping. He might have mumbled something under his breath.

“And darling,” Cheyanne called to his retreating form.

Ray stopped to look over his shoulder. Hope swelled upon hearing his pet name used.

“Put on one of the shirts I like.”

Ray rotated his shoulders to face her, his expression suddenly befuddled. “You mean, don’t put on one of the many loud button up shirts I wear?”

Cheyanne clicked her tongue and nodded assertively.

He brought his hands up to his chest where he tapped his fists together. “Th-the blue one or the purple one?”

Cheyanne gave him a once over before replying with a curt, “Surprise me.”

“And then, maybe…” his voice trailed. The back of his neck warm to the touch.

“I can be persuaded.”

With an emphatic nod, Ray stated, “I can do that.” He promptly headed towards the shower. A new sense of urgency in his steps.

~~~~

No edit this time, but maybe in the future. Feel free to let me know what you think of this couple so far!