#if anyone had thought me capable of writing about the smell of rain and NOT reference THAT line

[xiakha]

FFXIVWrite2021 Prompt #20 - Petrichor

Raktapaska screeched and broke, dissolving into raw aether lifting into the air. But before the Warrior of Light and her conveniently gathered companions could celebrate (The bard had just pulled their horn up to blow on it), there was the crack of thunder.

"What was that? Ramuh returned?" asked Ryne, suddenly worried.

Urianger shook his head knowingly, "Nay, lightning doth not exist solely in the realm of magicks and primals. With the revitalization of wind and fire as well as the lighting and water from before, 'twould seem the aether has resolved itself as a storm."

Thancred scratched his head, "Now that you mention it, it really has been five years of nothing but occasional light rains and all of that damn light otherwise. Were there no storms since Xiao brought down all of those Lightwardens?"

"As I observed many times whence watching the skies yon the Waking Sands, storm clouds tend to grow in strength and power o'er the seas and expend themselves o'er the land. There simply was not enough sea or elemental aether afore now for more than a passing rain."

"Should Xiao be out there for this?" Gaia asked.

As the gathered adventurers marveled at the storm, a bolt of lighting struck the arena, causing several to panic and scatter.

"Nay, they should return posthaste!"

* * *

As the storm headed to Norvrandt, Ryne, Gaia, Thancred, Urianger, and Xiao returned to camp, finding it ruined. They'd need to repitch the tents and gathered the swept away supplies. Thancred's craft was flooded.

"Wait, what is that smell?" Gaia looked around, trying to discern its source.

"Some of the dried foodstuff may have gotten wet and--" Thancred took a whiff, "Oh, you mean that smell all around us?"

"Ah, I smell it too now! It's lovely, is it not?" Ryne looked over to Gaia for confirmation.

"Aye, 'tis the way dried earth will smell after a good rain. Our work is nearing completion." Urianger turned in place with his hands extended to demonstrate what work he meant. One could argue he was briefly happy instead of brooding or stodgy.

The Warrior of Light said something about geos something or other. The rest were not quite sure what she meant. Possibly it was a miner thing?

Gaia looked out to Eden, "I suppose, but why does it bring up nostalgic thoughts?"

"'Tis said that the sense of smell is the most ancient sense we mortals have, and thus it is tied with the deepest parts of our brain, the parts associated with half forgotten memories."

Thancred looked out back at where Amh Araeng would be, the crystalline wall of aether but a small line in the distance, "Perhaps not just half forgotten memories."

* * *

The storm hit Amh Araeng first, scattering merchants and miners both. But at The Inn at Journey's Head, many of the patients, no matter their degree of tempering, seemed to gaze their heads up in wonder.

Alisaie danced in the rain until she was fed up with being soaked and then raced for shelter, laughing all the while, it had been years since she last suffered to act on such a childish whim, but ah! What an occasion. The first good storm after a year of living in Norvrandt! As she breathed deep, recovering from her exertion, she thought of Tesleen, and well, it was good her face dripped with rain water.

She went looking for a towel.

* * *

It hit the Crystarium next, and a century of no weather besides light were starting to show its cracks. Or rather leaks. The Quadrivium was flooding! Craftsfolk raced to cover their works and stack the moisture sensitive lot higher up and deeper under the already-soaked-through canopies. The forges had extinguished themselves and so many blueprints were at the risk of ruin.

The grounds turned all muddy and the amaro and chocobo were all miserably wet. And it was only the quick thinking of a few able hands that the Hortorium escaped disaster. But despite all of this panic, the mood in the Crystarium was high. What an experience! It was a mediocre storm by historical accounts, but it was still the storm of a century for a century without storms.

The Exarch looked out at the grounds and breathed in the hustle and bustle. He smiled inwardly as he thought of the long road they had taken. After so long fighting and struggling to make a difference, it seemed as though it was all paying off finally. The First will be restored, and his life's great work will be finished.

* * *

The storm could be seen moving across the land at Eulmore and across Kholusia, and people gawked and gasped at the show of flashes and the distant rumble that followed. The scent of the sea overpowered anything that may have drifted over from the storm kissed mainland, but they had more to look forward to than backwards at.

By the time it had reached the Rak'tika Greatwood, the storm had lost a lot of strength, but still made a good showing. The Viis came out to dance with the Night's Blessed outside the Ox'Dalan Gap. The usual humidity and moisture in the air from the lake and swamps were replaced with the refreshing cold of the rain. For them, it was another day in a continuation of days, a remarkable one, perhaps, they would share stories of this on future nights, but all the same.

For Y'shtola, listening to the rain outside was nostalgic, but she had not the time nor temperament currently to run out to join the rest of the Night's Blessed. There was just... too much stuff to organize and pack away. She sighed deeply. She was really turning into Master Matoya, wasn't she. She thought of the ones that she was about to leave behind, for it was inevitable that she would leave them behind, either happily or tragically.

Runar... that was a conversation she was not ready to have, and every morning (now that there were proper mornings) she awoke by his side, she pushed the conversation further into the future. He would want her to stay, and her relationship with Xiao just confused and hurt him. She didn't want him to compare himself, but how could he not? She was as brilliant as the sun and all else paled like the moon in front of her. Y'shtola was ready to say she was perhaps in love, but she so deeply loved Runar as well.

Was her heart not to beat for two just because other hearts did not?

* * *

As the storm began to peter out, it at last arrived in Il Mheg. It roused Seto. It was pleasant. In his old age and large size, it may have well been a hard shower. How long it had been since he dived into the deep with Ardbert on his back! Oh the adventures they had! He shook out both pairs of wings and then kept them spread, feeling the rain fall on all appendages. How long had it been since he last got caught in such a storm and had Ardbert and his friends shelter beneath his wings in quite the same way! Alas, he was not as large then, so a poor shelter he made, but lo, he was ready and waiting to fill the role at this new opportunity.

A few of the youngest amaro came to huddle and shiver under his wings, as they were the only ones that would fit. It was not nearly the same, but Seto accepted it. He closed his eyes and breathed in his fond remembrances.

* * *

The storm died out at last somewhere north of Il Mheg, before it crossed over to the Empty again. There, coincidentally, a figure manifested himself out of the void. He looked around, kicked the wet soil at his feet as if to test out moving them, and glanced at his outstretched arms and body. Yes. This will do. It was a perfect irony. He breathed deep to fill lungs that hadn't been used in a century, then reflexively turned around to address--

No one. There was no one behind him. Why would there be anyone behind him?

He was struck with distant regrets that he could not place.

The rains have ceased, and we have been graced with another beautiful day.

But--

He shook his head to clear it. Why were those words rising to mind unbidden?

No matter. The Warrior of Light had to rise again to undo the damage to the Great Work that the Warriors of Darkness had wrought. There was much to do and so little time to do it in. The aether was tipping precariously away from calamity.

He had his duty.

[railroad-migraine]

I know I've already asked for a few but you're writing is 10/10 amazing. I am also super weak for Laudna though, so how about how Laudna would help an S/O who is normally tries to act strong all the time but after a long day they get to their room and just break down from the anxiety and all the responsibility. I just want the tall goth lady to take care of me.

Laudna is such a breath of fresh air (despite being dead) at the table and I love her so much! Marisha is thriving with her character <3

~ Poet

Comforting Anxious!S/O

Laudna

First of all, I have to make a point that Laudna could probably sense all the stresses and anxieties that had been weighing you down for what seemed like ages. You may have smiled, but it was strained. You may have laughed, but it was forced.

And when your willpower is starting to fray at the edges, she becomes more like a comforting shadow of yours. It's the little things that matter most: the afternoons when she stays by your side and links arms with you; when Pâté cracks jokes and holds your hand during dinner; when she keeps unwanted attention focused on her, hissing at strangers and enemies alike.

You're incredibly strong. She knows that.

But she also knows that you're only human. No matter how capable you present yourself to be, you're just as fragile as the next person.

When symptoms of you becoming especially overwhelmed make themselves known, she practically drags you away from whatever activities the party were doing and pointedly suggests an early night in. If anyone so much as objects, she whips around to face them, her neck cracking and her smile a little too wide. Cradling you into her gaunt form, she repeats her words, whispers emanating from the air around you echoing:

"I t ' s ... b e d t i m e ~"

She firmly presses a purse brimming with coin into the hands of the innkeeper, snatches a room key from behind the counter, and escorts you upstairs.

Once the door has been shut and locked, she settles you down on the bed as you release all your pent up emotions. She hushes and coos at you and lets you curl into her, resting her chin on the crown of your head, a hand roaming your back comfortingly. She envelopes you completely, but not in the way her Form of Dread does with her foes.

Her skin is cool to the touch, she's a little rigid and pointy in places, but her touch is gentle. She smells of rain and earth and something that maybe once was a floral perfume but has blended into something distinctly Laudna. The sensations put you at ease and ground you, your frantic thoughts finally being soothed. You are safe in her arms.

If you had found relief through crying, she has wiped your tear-stained cheek with an ancient looking handkerchief, tenderly murmuring how pretty your eyes are despite being red rimmed. Should you be drained of energy, she'll carefully, almost reverently, remove your armour and instead dress you in comfy sleepwear. She will brush and tie back your hair if it is long enough to do so. Once you have been tucked in, she will tinker about the room and give you some space to collect yourself independently.

Wrapped up in blankets, you soon find yourself reaching out for her, and she takes your hand with nothing but adoration in her gaze. Almost weightless, she pounces onto the bed and nestles you into her side. Before drowsiness takes you, she litters your face with kisses, the last one lingering a little longer on your lips before she whispers how proud she is of you, and wishes you a goodnight.

Laudna spent a good portion of her life (or unlife) alone, bar for for the voices and Pâté's company. She never wants her significant other to suffer the same way that she did, so she does all in her power to assure you that she is there for you. Always.

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Try

Warren Worthington III x Reader

Fandom: Marvel/X-Men

Summary: Warren has been through hell and then some, but will meeting his soulmate turn that around?

Note: That’s right, it’s ya girl, back on my BS. I watched Apocalypse again and BIG SURPRISE, I’m in love with Warren and Kurt all over again. Still hyperfixating on Pietro also, so…expect more fics for him as well. Anyway, I’m a ho for soulmate aus and I haven’t written one for birb boi in literal years, so here ya go.

Reader is: Gender Neutral

Warnings: swears, mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 2.8k

Warren knew one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt: he didn’t deserve a soulmate. He didn’t. There was no question in his mind. Anyone who was destined to end up with his winged, alcoholic ass had been fucked over by the universe. No one deserved to be stuck with him for the rest of their lives. And yet, these thoughts didn’t seem to erase the words written on his forearm:

Hey, um, you’re Warren, right? The Professor wanted me to talk to you.

Professor. He scoffed. He was never going to college. If his parents had gotten their way, their son “cured” of his wings, he would have ended up at Harvard or Yale or somewhere similar. But it was far too late for that. Sitting in a cage in the back room of an illegal underground mutant fighting club in Berlin…it was far too late for that. He’d probably die before he met his soulmate anyway, rendering the prophecy on his wrist—and theirs, for that matter—useless. A waste of space.

That was all he was anyway.

He spiraled. His dependence on vodka got worse. The fights got harder. He wasn’t making it out unscathed anymore, winding up with burns and scrapes and cuts, depending on what kind of mutant he was up against. One night, one of his cuts had gotten dangerously close to the writing on his wrist. He stared at it for a long time, tears burning his eyeballs until they escaped and dripped down his cheeks, angry and hot.

He hated it, but even after everything, he still had hope. He still had hope that things would get better; that he could be better, even if it seemed impossible.

And then it got…worse.

Apocalypse had come, turned his wings to metal, tuned into his anger, his rage at the world, turned him into a monster, complete with knives for feathers and winding tattoos framing his face. He wished he could blame it on mind control or something, but Apocalypse hadn’t brainwashed him, only used his anger against him. Turned him into a weapon.

And then everything went black.

When he woke up after the battle, he was in an unfamiliar room, large and white and sterile; it smelled like hand sanitizer. He heard the steady beeping of a heart monitor and when he sat up, he noticed how sore he was. His whole body hurt. His head spun. But he was alive. And when he looked down at his tattoo, the words were still there. Wherever his soulmate was, they were fine. His stupidity in joining Apocalypse hadn’t caused anything to happen to them.

For the first time in what felt like years, he breathed.

“You’re awake.” A voice said as a tall man with brown hair entered his room. “I’ll let the Professor know.”

“Where…” his deep voice rasped and the man pointed to a glass of water sitting on the table adjacent to the cot he was situated in. He picked it up and took a few long, greedy sips, not realizing just how thirsty he was until the cool drink hit his tongue. “Where am I? What is this place?”

“This is the infirmary at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.” The man told him, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “You’re safe here.”

Warren nodded hesitantly, but didn’t say anything else. Safe. The word was almost a myth to him at this point. But at least he felt like he could rest for a little while.

***

It had been a few weeks since Apocalypse and his horsemen had almost ended the world. Erik had decided to stick around, and two of the younger horsemen, Storm and “the Angel of Death,” respectively, had been absorbed into the school’s student body. You didn’t know the Angel’s name. No one really talked to him, not even Ororo, Storm, who had been quickly adopted by your friend group.

Supposedly, Peter had tried to talk to the Angel guy, but he didn’t say anything to him. Ororo theorized he probably felt guilty about the whole thing. She did. But you all knew she didn’t know what Apocalypse was really trying to do. He probably hadn’t either, but that didn’t seem to keep the grim expression off of his face.

It was on a nice, sunny day that Xavier called you into his office, and you went down without complaint, knocking on the door a few times before he called you inside. You sat in the chair across from his desk.

“Hi, Professor. What’s going on?” You asked.

“Ah, yes. Just the empath and healer I wanted to see.” He smiled brightly. “(Y/N), if you don’t mind it too terribly, I have a small job for you.”

“Of course! What do you need?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen our newest pupil, Warren, around.”

You thought for a moment. “The, uh, guy with the wings? The big metal ones?”

“Precisely.” He nodded. “Warren…he’s been having quite a hard time adjusting.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“He came to me yesterday discussing…well, quite simply, he was wondering if any of our mutants here would be capable of…reverting him to his previous state. His wings, before Apocalypse, were made of feathers. They’ve been serving as quite a reminder to him and it’s been weighing pretty heavily on him, both literally and emotionally.”

“Yeah, I’ve, uh, caught his vibes from across campus.” You nodded. “It’s like there’s always a rain cloud hanging over his head.”

“Yes,” Xavier agreed. “It doesn’t have to be right away, but at your nearest convenience, if you see him around, would you talk to him? Tell him I sent you?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll see what I can do.” You promised him.

As an empath and a healer, your first priority was helping others. And even if he was known to be a bit intimidating, you wanted to help him if you could.

So, you walked out of Xavier’s office, attended your final class of the day, and when it was over, you wandered out into the courtyard where, because of the nice weather, students were everywhere. And luckily for you, just as you suspected he might be, Warren was sitting under a tree, still sporting his leather jacket despite the warm weather.

You shielded your eyes from the sun and walked over towards him, your heart racing as you built up the courage to talk to him. So, you took a breath and said, “Hey, um, you’re Warren, right? The Professor wanted me to talk to you.”

He stared up at you for a long moment, his green eyes wide in shock. He took a breath, blinked a few times, glanced down at his wrist, and then back up at you. You could have sworn you saw tears beginning to form along his waterline, and you didn’t realize why until he said, “You’re my…No…Oh my God…I’m…I’m so sorry.”

You froze, your knees going weak. You glanced down at your bare forearm and read over the words he’d just said, exactly the way he’d just said them.

You’re my…No…Oh my God…I’m…I’m so sorry.

“Why are you sorry?” You whispered, lowering yourself onto the grass beside him, not trusting your legs to support your weight for much longer. Now you were the one with tears in your eyes. “Don’t be sorry.”

“You deserve so much more than me.” He insisted, his eyes locked on his boots, unwilling and unable to meet your gaze. “I can’t drag you into…this. Me.”

His emotions were heavy, a bleak blue and gray haze and you felt it radiate off of him in waves. His pain, his everything. And you felt it, deep within his chest. He thought you wouldn’t want him anyway.

“Warren…” You shook your head. “Why…Why would you think I don’t want you?”

He was shocked into silence for a few seconds, thinking over his words carefully, his jaw tense and hands shaking. “You’re a telepath?”

“Empath.” You corrected quietly. “And…a healer. Which is why Xavier sent me.”

“Oh. Right.” He swallowed thickly, nodding. “Did he…tell you why?”

“He did.” You smiled softly. “And I’m willing to try if you are.”

Finally, his eyes met yours and he could tell that you meant more than just the healing when you said it. The weak little voice in the back of his head was screaming for him to push you away like he pushed away everyone else, but looking into your eyes, a genuine and warm smile on your face, he just…couldn’t lose you.

He couldn’t lose anyone else.

***

Today was the day. Warren was sitting on a stool in the infirmary. Hank had run his vitals and the two of them were in the room waiting for you to come down after your class was over.

“(Y/N) is the one who saved you, you know.” Hank told Warren while he jotted down some notes.

“What?” Warren asked, snapping out of whatever daydream he had been caught up in. “What do you mean?”

“(Y/N) found you in the rubble. We didn’t think you would make it, but…they healed you. They insisted we bring you back here. Give you a chance.”

Warren was quiet for a long time, thinking about what that meant. Part of him wondered if (Y/N) had known back then that he was their soulmate, but he decided that would have been impossible with just their tattoos alone. Especially without context. They hadn’t known and yet, they’d still wanted the best for him.

“Didn’t know that.” Warren said, his voice soft and deep. He stared at the words on his wrist for a little longer, a hint of warmth swirling around in his stomach. Was this happiness? Was that what happiness felt like? He barely remembered anymore. But he knew there must have been a reason that when you walked through the door, his heart started beating a little bit faster.

“Sorry I’m so late. Professor Leaf kept us a little later than she was supposed to. Are you ready?” You asked taking off your backpack and setting it against the wall. As soon as you looked up at Warren, you felt the way his heart rate was increased and you didn’t miss the warmth swirled with the anxiousness. The anxiousness, you had expected. Even you didn’t know if you could pull off what you were going to attempt to do, but the warmth…it was a pleasant surprise.

“Don’t worry about it.” He told you, shaking his head. Was he…was he smiling? It was a small smile, sure, but you didn’t think you had ever seen him smile before. It looked good on him. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Alright.” You nodded, walking over towards him. Underneath where he was situated on a stool, Hank had laid out some pads from the training room, you assumed, to catch his metal feathers if they fell out rather than transforming back to his normal…feather feathers. None of you really knew how this would unfold. “Again, I’m not sure this will work. I don’t want to get your hopes up in case it doesn’t.”

“I’m not expecting it to.” Warren assured you, but it wasn’t in a rude way. “If it does, I’ll be pleasantly surprised. Cross my heart.” What he didn’t say was: You could never disappoint me. Not even if you tried.

“Okay.” You nodded, taking a few steps closer until you were standing right in front of him. He looked up at you and for the first time, you didn’t feel any negative emotions from him. Only anticipation and that lingering warmth. “Here goes nothing.”

You focused on the warmth in your own chest, the tingling yellow healing power that constantly swirled around your heart, and you forced it into your palms. You reached forward for his hands and he took the hint, his larger hands wrapping around yours.

Immediately, he gasped at the sensation, warm tingles running up his arms, down his spine. It stopped in the center of his back, right where his wings intersected with his body. At first, he didn’t feel anything. And then, he felt everything. The pleasant warmth flooded his metal wings, and one by one, the knife-like feathers fell out, each one landing with a thud against the mat situated underneath him.

Hank’s pencil jotted against his notebook as he took notes. He knew you were powerful, but he’d had no idea you were capable of something like this.

Neither had you.

Once the metal wings were gone, Warren felt a new sensation: another pair of wings, this one soft and familiar, slowly emerging from him. Part of him expected the process to be painful, like the one Apocalypse had forced upon him was, but it wasn’t. Warren chuckled to himself. Of course you would never hurt him. Not even unintentionally.

After a few minutes, the feathery wings had fully emerged, stretched out to his full former wingspan and he stared up at you in awe. You stopped your flow of power to him, but he held onto your hands, squeezing them to keep them in his grasp.

He looked back at his new wings, flexed them and moved them. They felt familiar, like they had always belonged to him.

“Thank you.” He said, giving your hands another squeeze, the warmth in his chest brighter and bolder than it had been before. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course.” You told him, squeezing his hands right back in a way that caused his heart to lurch. “I’m glad I could help.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but do you mind if I keep some of these for research?” Hank asked.

“Keep all of them, if you want. I don’t want them.” Warren told him, standing up from his stool, his hands still in yours. “So, um…do you want to go grab dinner or something?”

“Sure.” You nodded, smiling up at him. “See you later, Hank.”

“Bye, guys, have a nice night.” Hank said as you and Warren walked out of his lab. He couldn’t help but notice the way one of your hands remained in one of his as the two of you left.

***

Later that night, after dinner and after you and Warren had split for the evening, you were walking back to your room from Jean and Jubilee’s and you found Warren, lingering in his doorway, his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. His eyes widened when he spotted you and he held up a finger, indicating you should wait for him, so you did while he went into his bathroom and rinsed out his mouth, returning a few moments later.

“Hey.” He said, the word casual as it fell from his pink lips.

“Hey yourself.” You chuckled, feeling ridiculously underdressed in your pajamas. But then again, he was wearing his pajamas, too, a large black Metallica shirt and a pair of plaid pants.

“How…how are you? Feeling?” He stumbled over his words, chuckling as he rubbed the back of his neck. You felt a wave of nervousness rush through him. “Hank said sometimes you get tired after, uh, bigger healing jobs?”

“I’m fine.” You nodded. “For whatever reason, I never get tired when I’m healing you.” You chuckled, your cheeks heating up the slightest bit. “Well…I think I know why…”

“Heh, yeah.” He nodded, mulling over his next words very carefully. “Did you, um…I don’t know how to ask this. Did you mean what you said about…trying? About us trying…this. Trying us.”

“Of course I did.” You nodded and took a few steps closer to him. “You’re my soulmate.” You reached for his hand and he gave it to you, letting you play with his fingers. You felt the way his heart fluttered when you did. “Of course I want to try.”

“I’m broken.” He told you. “I’ve never done this before. I’m…I’m a lot, and I know that.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m a healer, huh?” You tilted your head. “And if we’re being honest, I’ve never done this before either. So how about we teach each other? Learn together?”

He smiled softly, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”

You let go of his hand and instead took the last few steps between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his torso. He froze for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. It had been…a long time since anyone had hugged him. But after a few moments, his arms got the hint and wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest. He rested his head atop yours and exhaled a long, long breath. And for the first time since you’d met him, you felt a wave of peace wash over him, encasing him entirely as his wings gently cocooned you in their warmth.

You felt his lips brush against your temple, pressing a soft kiss there. You looked up at him and his eyes met yours before fluttering shut as he leaned in to press his lips to yours.

[orionwhispers]

Bravado // Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - its been a long ass time and i wanted to ease myself back into writing but this ended up being long and also super super angsty. sorry that this illness imagine came during covid idk whats going on with my imagination lol. love you guys SO much thank you for always being there. reblogs, comments and likes mean everything to me.)

trigger warnings - LOTS of angst. fluff. implied smut. my hc that tommy has a fear of illness, bad descriptions of hospitals. 

He knew something wasn’t right the minute his car pulled into the driveway and you weren’t waiting for him under the great concrete arch, with that smile on your face that made his knees buckle and heart race like he was a love struck teenager.

You were always there as soon as he came home. Barefoot in a broderie dress in the summer with tousled hair and baby pink toenails. Wrapped in a hand knit blanket with fire flushed cheeks and woollen socks in the winter - even running across the gravel and into his arms in the middle of a storm, the ice cold rain whipping across both of your faces as you kissed under the light of the moon.

No matter how shit his day or week or month was, no matter what stained his hands or darkened his heart, no matter what lay heavy and hard deep in his gut, seeing you made everything vanish in the night air like wisps of smoke. You made everything worth it.

He refused to give into fear, he wasn’t that kind of man, so he swallowed all of the nagging thoughts and apprehensions as he came up to the dark foggy windows and the iron cast door. It felt strange turning his key in the lock without the weight of you in his arms or the sticky peach kisses you left down his jaw and neck, the smell of the vanilla in your hair and lavender on your skin.

The second thing that sent a jolt of white hot electricity down his spine was Mary, watching him anxiously and wringing her hands in the hallway. Usually, she was calm and collected, taking his jacket and leather travel bag with her signature placid smile and gentle fingers. Usually she would return to the kitchen and finish up whatever she was making - a hearty roast lamb with rosemary and garlic and glazed potatoes or a pheasant pie with honeyed carrots, always followed by a three layer chocolate ganache cake that was so thick and rich you practically had to saw through the sponge. She would always have dinner piping hot and dripping with gravy by the time the two of you returned downstairs, no matter how many hours it took for you to get... reacquainted.

Now she looked sheepish and pale, her skin almost translucent under the syrupy yellow lights. There was something about the way she stood, as still as a wraith, that made his blood run cold.

“Mary. Where is she?”

“Mr Shelby, I - ” Her voice was strained and hesitant, like a slowly fraying rope.

“Where is my wife?”

She moved forward, creases forming around her eyes. “We tried ringing you in Liverpool but the hotel said that you had already left, so we...”

“You rang me? Why? What’s happened?” He couldn’t hold back the desperation in his voice, and it lingered and festered around them both like a poisonous gas.

“Mrs Shelby came down with something a few days ago, we thought that it was just a common cold but unfortunately she seems to be getting worse.”

He tore upstairs before he could even think, his shoes leaving perfect muddy footprints on the cream carpet. He almost slipped at the top, and he lurched forward, his hands reaching out and holding onto the portrait hanging above the stairs for stability.

It was the oil of the two of you. A soft, personal picture that revealed more than he ever possibly could. The love in your gazes, the hint of a soft, drunk smile on the dangerous gangsters face as you leaned into him, melting into him like butter, him holding onto you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. It was his favourite photo, one that always washed a sense of calmness over him, a reminder of the woman that he loved and the way he felt around you. But now he felt as if was riding out a terrible storm.

He lived his life with no fear, he was capable and practical and used to the sound of bullets and the copper sweet smell of blood. There was really only one thing, one terrible thing that he couldn’t control, and that was what drove him crazy.

Sickness.

It gnawed at his insides like a rabid dog, clawed under his skin and settled behind his ribs. Losing someone he loved was like ripping out a piece of his heart straight from his chest, and he knew better than anyone what it was like to lose somebody to a violent, quick death - the pull of a trigger or the smack of a fist. At least in those moments he could lock them away in his mind, he could leap in front of a bullet or crack the neck of any man who dared to get too close to you, but there was almost nothing he could do to stop sickness, and the devastation it caused.

When you first met him it had been a surprise, almost amusing, that this powerful God of a man had these small little quirks. His house was always sparkling clean and smelling of Lysol, his fruit bowls were filled with citrus fruits and round, plump blueberries. He always made sure you were wrapped up warm in the winter, always placing his coat around your shoulders and bringing an extra pair of gloves in case you forgot yours. It was adorable, the way he took care of you,

It wasn’t till a little bit later when you learnt of those he had lost. His mother and his childhood sweetheart taken away from him much too soon. It broke your heart when he told you late one night of the sallow tint of their skin and the way he could almost see them vanishing from earth, the way that illness had moulded and changed those he loved the most.

You understood.

Your best friends older sister had died of tuberculosis when you were young. The elderly woman across the street from your first flat had passed away from a bout of horrendous smallpox. Your brother lost his first child to pneumonia. Times were changing but the fear of disease was ever present. Medicine was improving and so was knowledge, but still there remained a huge, dark cloud of what could happen, one that always hung around your husbands head.

——————————————-

All Tommy could think was the worst as he ran through the landing. His heart was in his ears and his bones felt loose, like the sweet liquorice the two of you would share at the pictures. He came to a stop by the bedroom door, tentatively pressing his palm onto the wood and ever so slightly pushing it open, listening to the gentle creak it made.

The room was warm. The lace curtains were pulled shut, and your favourite lavender candles were flickering on your vanity, casting syrupy shadows against the wall. He exhaled loudly as he saw you, bundled up under a mountain of satin sheets and hand crocheted blankets, your hair splayed across the pillows.

He moved to your bedside, pretending not to notice the large, untouched jug of water and the tissue box next to you, hoping and silently praying that you weren’t sick - just asleep and waiting for him, ready to wrap your arms around his neck.

You were silent, your lips parting every so often as you breathed, your chest rising and falling. He reached out gently, as though he was picking up shards of glass, and brushed his fingers against your cheek. Your forehead was beading with sweat, your cheeks flushed, and yet your skin was ice cold to the touch. He recoiled quickly, his heart dropping like a weight into his gut, and he inhaled a shaky, deep breath.

He saw something curled up beside your hands, a fluffy white cloud with sparkling emerald green eyes trained on him. Despite everything, he smiled. He thought of your birthday - of strawberry cheesecake and champagne, and surprising you with a ribbon wrapped little kitten as you woke up. He thought of that day often. How you smiled and leapt onto him with tears in your eyes, his whole world blissfully quiet as he spent the day in bed with you and your new best friend.

He would have preferred a big dog, one with sharp teeth and a menacing gaze to ward of visitors whilst he was away. But you were drawn to the tiny, malnourished runt of the litter who was scared of his own shadow. A kitten no bigger than the size of his clenched fist. A little white hairball who only ate and drank from fine pink saucers. A cat that had a very frustrating habit of crawling in the bedroom right as Tommy’s hand was up your skirt and his lips on the sweet spot of your neck, the tiny thing mewling and crying until you picked him up and nuzzled him into your chest.

He was a horse lover through and through, and never saw himself having time for any other pets. But in the summer when you saw the litter from one of John’s barn cats and fell in love with the sweet baby who mewled and cried and crawled right into your lap - he knew that he would give you anything and everything you wanted.

Including a cat who refused to accept that Tommy was the man of the house.

“Hello, boy.” He said, leaning over to scratch Comet under the chin, using a voice he only reserved for the two of you. “Have you been looking after my girl whilst I’ve been gone?”The cat meowed loudly in reply, pressing his head into Tommy’s palm but not moving from his spot beside you.

Tommy suddenly felt you shift under him and his heart lurched into his throat. He turned to face you, cupping the side of your clammy face as your eyelids fluttered open, blinking under the candlelight. A rush of red hot heat built up in his belly as you registered him, that angelic smile growing on your face, your tired eyes glimmering with recognition of the man you loved.

“Tommy?”

“Hi, Princess.”

You smiled sadly. “You’ve been gone for weeks - I missed you.”

He felt his brows crease as he rubbed along your jawline softly, trying to stop you from falling back asleep. He felt panic in his throat as sour as vomit, and he tried to bite back the nagging feeling that something was very wrong.

“No, sweetheart, I’m early. It’s only Thursday. I left on Monday.”

“Oh.” You said softly, your voice as gentle as the breeze rustling through the trees outside. “Well let me welcome you back properly - let me make you a lemon drizzle or a...” You lifted your head from the pillow and shuffled under your blanket, but he pressed his hands against your shoulder and held you down.

“No. You’re staying right here.”

“But - ”

“No.”

“Hmm. Don’t leave me, Tommy.”

“Never.” He said, his tone firm and cast like stone. He stroked your hair softly as your breathing slowed, but it didn’t nothing to quell the hard thump of his heart in his chest.

——————————-

Tommy left the room as quietly as he could after you had fallen asleep in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to move, not when you were pressed against his chest, looking ethereal but vacant, sweat beading under your brow and your face lacking colour. He wanted to stay with you, curled up by his side, his fingers laced through yours, the sound of your heart thumping in his ears.

But he was a man of action, and seeing you there - your lips cracked and dry, shudders passing through your body and goosebumps raised over your skin - he couldn’t fight the fiery urge to do everything in his power to make you feel alright again.

He found Mary waiting outside the door, chewing on the skin of her lips and swaying on the balls of her feet in anticipation. He grabbed her by the arm, harder than he meant to and something he would apologise for later, and pulled her downstairs, determined to let you rest whilst he got some answers. As soon as they reached the drawing room he spun her around, clenching his jaw and pointing a finger at the anxious maid.

“Where the fuck is the doctor? Why isn’t he here?”

“Mr Shelby.” She said, stepping forward calmly. “We phoned Doctor Moore and he came on Tuesday to see her.”

“Tuesday?” He seethed. “My wife has been ill since Tuesday and no one called me?”

Mary raised her hands in defeat, making it clear that the decision wasn’t hers to make. “He said it was nothing of concern . He gave her some antibiotics and told her to rest. She asked us herself not to call you, she knows how you.. worry.”

He ignored her sugar coated attempt to quell his anger, but if anything it made his vision darken. “When it’s my wife, It is always my concern.”

“Mr Shelby, we were just doing what we were told. As soon as we noticed she wasn’t getting better we phoned the surgery again, but Doctor Thomas was out for the day and said he didn’t think it was necessary to come round again, so we -”

“I don’t give a fuck. My wife is the number one priority. Ring every doctor in England if you have to, get somebody out here now to see my wife.”

He stormed away, anger pulsating through his veins, but he stopped suddenly, and threw out over his shoulder:

“And call Doctor Moore’s ’office. Tell him to expect a visit from the blinders soon.”

———————————————————

Once, when you were first dating, you found Tommy at the door to your flat at midnight, with scraped knuckles and blood dripping from his nose. You let him in, cleaned him up and sat with him in the bath until his skin was clear and his breathing was even. He knew that night, as you were pressed against his chest and his lips were pressed to your scalp that he was truly, madly and completely in love with you.

He remembered waking up the next morning, love drunk and blissful, and finding the bed beside him empty. He found you in the kitchen, wincing slightly and pressing a hot water bottle to your belly as you buttered a few pieces of toast. He rushed to your side with eyes as wide as saucers, concern lacing the features that were usually ice cold and hard as stone. You were completely baffled as he held you at arms length, his bright cerulean eyes trailing up and down your body for any signs of injury he might have missed. You were bewildered at the sight of the powerful man practically on his knees as he made sure you were alright, and you bit back a giggle as his warm palms spread over your abdomen.

“What is it? Whats wrong?”

“Tommy. Sweetheart.” You said softly, bringing his gaze level to yours. “It’s just - you know - that time of the month.”

He brushed off your embarrassment and ran his fingers through your hair, pressing a uncharacteristically gentle kiss to your forehead, sending a swarm of butterflies around the pain in your stomach.

“Do you need anything?” He asked, half ready to run down to the corner shop and buy any amount of painkillers or chocolate bars or your favourite lavender tea that you might need; not caring who saw the seemingly terrifying gang leader in the street with an armful of strawberry laces and salt water fudges.

You smiled like the summer sun and he melted, pulling you close as you whispered in the shell of his ear that you only needed him, and that was all you ever needed.

That was the first time you fully saw the extent of Tommy’s fear, but it definitely wasn’t the last. He knew he wanted you forever and always, and it took only six months of neck kisses and pillow talk, red hot jealousy and possessive hands across your skin and dancing in the rain and falling asleep under the pale yellow moon for him to put a ring on your finger. You were both consumed by your love, as though it was the only thing that mattered, it was insatiable and powerful - the wonderful mix of the devil and his sweet little angel.

And with that, came the good and the bad.

Like when you got food poisoning after Arthur cooked you a Sunday lunch to cheer you up whilst Tommy was gone. He came home to you retching over the toilet bowl with Mary holding back your hair, and swore that he would kill his brother with his own hands. Or when you slipped on ice and broke your arm while out with friends in London, and Tommy went ballistic and tried to ban you from ever leaving the house. It was just in his nature, how he always made sure you walked on the side furthest from the road, kept an arm slung around you whenever you were together, kept his eyes alert and vigilant no matter where you were - always looking out for his girl.

But he had never been like this.

———————————————————-

You were falling in and out of sleep. Waking up drowsy and heavy headed, squinting under bright lights, an ache in your skull and a burning in your throat. Every so often you felt a pinch in your upper arm, a squeeze on your palm, a kiss on your forehead - but you always drifted back into unconsciousness.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. The room was dark and you could hear the wind howling and whipping rain across the windows. You felt all too hot and all too cold at the same time, and the bed was damp with sweat. You struggled and tried to sit up, your head swaying and feeling as heavy as one of Tommy’s marble statues; as if you had been carved up and moulded. You could hear voices out in the hall, and unsteadily got to your feet, moving towards the noises.

“Pneumonia?” You heard through the thick wooden door, instantly recognising your husbands voice. “That’s impossible.”

“Sir...”

“Fucking. Impossible.” You knew his teeth were clenched.

The other man cleared his throat.“I know that it’s hard to hear, Mr Shelby, but your wife is very sick.”

“Just...” You felt your heart flutter and clench in your chest as the sound of his broken words, could practically feel his desperation and you wanted nothing more than to hold him. “Just tell me how to make her better.”

The second man spoke again, his voice softening and lowering, something you knew Tommy would hate. “Mr Shelby, the first round of antibiotics didn’t work and that means that it’s time for something stronger. Usually I would suggest the Birmingham hospital but I don’t think it’s equipped for...” He paused, trying to think over his words carefully. He wanted to convey the severity of the situation but also didn’t want to risk getting a bullet in his head from your very protective husband. “...This kind of reaction. I recommend we send her down to London for extra testing.”

“London? That’ll take two fucking hours. How the fuck can you recommend letting my wife travel that far? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I’m my opinion this is the wisest choice to make, but unfortunately that could mean your wife might get worse before she gets better.”

“Worse than she already is? That’s not an option.”

The man you assumed was the doctor was insistent, trying his best to portray the severity of the situation but failing as your hardheaded husband had already come to a decision.

“I’ll look after her here. She’s safest with me.”

Once Tommy had spoken that was the final result, and the doctor slinked away into the darkness and shook his head. You remained peering from behind the door, your tongue between your teeth and your heart hammering.

Tommy took one look at you and frowned, scooping you in his arms like a baby despite your protests. He ignored you, acting playfully and cheerful but you could feel his heated skin and the see flare of his nostrils. You wanted to help him but didn’t know how, and let him tuck you under the covers once again. He kissed your crown and stroked your hair and you wanted to speak but no words would leave your mouth.

“You stay there this time. You know I have no problem with tying you to the bed.”

You rolled your eyes as he left, and his clenched fists and tightened shoulders told you all you needed to know.

��———————————————-

Comet watched from his spot beside you as Tommy wrestled with the fire. He had noticed you shivering despite your high temperature, and bundled you up in blankets whilst sparking matches beside the fireplace. There were raindrops across his shoulders, evidence that he had been outside and to the log store right at the end of the property - a job that had always been for the Groundskeeper. Your precious cat nudged the tips of your fingers as you sighed and watched your husband throw kindling onto the coal, a deep unease settling over your gut.

“Tommy, my love, I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly true but you felt he needed to hear it. But you could practically see your words wash over him and evaporate like ocean spray.

He was shaking a metal tin in his palm as he worked, and you groaned and let your head hit the pillow as he pulled out two round chalky tablets. You winced as he placed them beside your glass, your mouth already tasting like the sour talc medicine you had come to loathe. He raised his eyebrows and shot you a look that told you he wasn’t far off plugging your nose with his fingers to force you to swallow, and you childishly stuck up two fingers as you took them.

Your stomach rumbled with nausea and you bit back the bile in your throat as you settled into the pillows. You watched your husband as he pulled off his crisp white shirt, revealing his taut tan stomach and the deep ink tattoos that you loved to trace with your fingertips and your lips. There was something about him standing there, with those damn cerulean eyes and hidden muscles, that boyish hair and slender fingers that you wanted desperately around your throat, that made a million tiny fireworks spark inside of you.

But instead you pushed him away from you despite your body wanting nothing but him wrapped all around you. “Don’t get too close. I might have something contagious. I can’t have you getting sick.”

He ignored you, smiling inwardly at the way you always put others before yourself. It was one of the million reasons he had fallen for you. You were sweating out a high fever and shivering in pain, and yet you always thought of him first. He pressed his lips to your temple and pulled you closer, knowing that skin to skin was a way to bring down a fever - even if it meant he had to restrain himself from tugging off your pretty little white nightgown and whatever frilly things you had on underneath.

“I’m not going anywhere. Fuck it if I catch anything.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one who will have to dote on you hand and foot, you big baby.” You teased, pressing yourself into him playfully, finally giving in.

He held you like a child, trying to hard to soften despite the way you felt underneath him. Everything on him was running a mile a minute, and he couldn’t help but want to try everything and everything to make you feel better. His hand was pressed against your temple to always try and measure your fever, his other palm across your chest to try and count your heart rate.

He could hear Mary treading across the landing carpet but he ignored his anxious maid, instead letting himself be completely consumed by the only thing that mattered - you.

This was something he had to do by himself. He was the only one who could care for you he reminded himself. And he let the words tumble over and over in his skull until they were all he could hear.

—————————————————————-

You had been asleep for a long time.

Every hour, after pacing the length of the hall and sanitising his hands and wiping the beads of sweat above your brow and above your breasts he woke you up and held a cool glass to your lips. You mumbled and moaned and pushed him away but he kept his fingers across your wrist - harsher than he ever had before - and kept you as close to him as possible.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cooked. Perhaps it was last valentines when the two of you had camped out under the stars, drinking icy white wine and sharing stolen, day drunk kisses. That night he had roasted a chicken over the fire and it had burnt to a crisp as the two of you rolled around the grass, his head buried in your neck as you giggled at the poultry going up in flames.

He was trying now though, easy, plain substantial meals that wouldn’t upset your stomach. Boiled egg and dippy soldiers. Crackers with smooth cheese. Bubbly water and ginger biscuits. Each time he went upstairs you pushed him away, your whole body shuddering and almost retching, and he felt like smashing the plates against the wall at his defeat.

It had been almost thirty six hours since he had come home and it had been almost as long since you had eaten something, and his heart thundered and shattered in his chest when he found you gasping and wheezing over the toilet bowl when you had taken a bite of toast to calm him. He rarely left you alone, only for a few minutes to put the still full dishes in the sink, to ring Lizzie and tell her that he wouldn’t be coming for reasons that he refused to disclose, to smoke a cigarette under the grey stone archway, his shaking hands and bitten fingernails barely visible through the sleepy rolling fog.

He had grabbed handfuls of papers and the brass ink pen you had got him for your anniversary and broke his own rule - bringing work into your bedroom. It had always been a sacred space. For candlelight and soft laughter, aching hands and heart shaped bruises, a sanctuary for him to breathe and to love and to be loved fully in return. But he was afraid if he didn’t have a distraction, he might just completely lose it, and he had to be there for you.

So he sat squinting in his glasses, the room almost completely dark save for a few candles because of the migraines that had started to spread throughout your skull, and let himself be drawn into the mess of squiggly lines and numbers that suddenly didn’t add up, with you still centre stage in his peripheral.

After about forty minutes of rereading the same sentence a dozen times to try and make some sense of it, he heard your voice, like a small crack spreading across a sheet of ice, coming from the bed.

“Tom?” You sounded so weak, he practically flipped your cream vanity as he got to his feet and darted towards you. “I don’t feel well.”

He lifted you as you reached your arms up at him like a child. He almost gasped at the sweat pouring from your body but didn’t want to scare you, and instead held your shaking, shivering body against his own. How could you be so hot, yet so cold at the same time? Your skin was prickled with goosebumps yet you were burning with a fever, and for the first time in a long time, he had no fucking idea what to do.

He left you propped up against the headboard and he entered the bathroom. He ran over to the claw foot tub you loved, twisting the faucet and trying to find the perfect medium between boiling hot and freezing cold. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, just try and soothe your raging fever, and he ignored the shelves of expensive bath oils and scented soaps that you coveted, instead opting for a handful of something meant to ease tension - praying to whoever was listening that it would help you somehow.

There was a brutal, awful moment as he lifted you from the bed, limp as a rag doll, where he imagined what would happen if your heart were to stop. He couldn’t comprehend what it would be like to miss the weight of you in his arms, the smell of your skin, the feeling of your lips against him, the shovels stopping and fading into nothing. It hit him square in the chest, as merciless as a bullet, and he had to lean against the doorframe to stop the two of you from plummeting to the ground.

He undressed himself first. Tugging his white shirt off, sliding off his slacks and his underwear, keeping you as close to his chest as he could. Then he pulled your nightgown up and over your head. He gathered your hair and secured it up with a claw clip so that it was away from your face, the heat radiating off your neck as fierce as the fire now burnt down to ash in the bedroom.

He lowered the two of you into the bath, sinking down beneath the eucalyptus smelling lukewarm water, letting it wash over you both. Your teeth were chattering and you were barely awake. He gathered handfuls of water, letting it drip over your shoulders and pulse points, grabbing a washcloth and running it over your raised skin, hating how you barely registered his touch. As he scrubbed over your collarbones and up to your face he saw your lips had turned to an awful, silvery blue, as vibrant as a fresh bruise. He hissed and tugged on the plug, now determined to get you wrapped up in a fresh towel and tucked back into bed.

You were soft and placid and he helped you out, lacking the usual fire that he adored. Your eyes were glassy and missing their vibrance, like the vanishing spark of a lighter - and he felt miles and miles of invisible distance between the two of you. You were unsteady on your feet and he used his body to prop you up as he warmed your arms with a fluffy white towel. You suddenly stopped, lifting your hand to your mouth as you started to cough - a horrible, dry, gasping cough.

He noticed it almost immediately. His eyes darting to the splatter of red against the white, a smudge of crimson that was as loud and commanding as a siren, a warning signal that something was definitely not right. A bead of scarlet that would linger long behind his closed eyelids.

He managed to get you back into bed, remaining calm as he stroked your hair and kissed your temple. He tucked you under the duvet and waited for your breathing to even before he ran downstairs, his heart thumping in his ears as he practically ripped the phone off of the wall.

“Pol? Fuck. I think - I think I need help.”

—————————————————————-

The room smelt like bleach and metal. Unfamiliar and clinical. There was something hard on your chest and covering your mouth, it tasted like wet pennies and was as heavy as a hand over your throat, but for the first time in days you could finally breathe. You tried to sit up, but there was a needle in your chest, a gown you didn’t recognise cut straight down the middle to accommodate it. You struggled and lifted the thin bedsheet above your shivering torso, trying to look around the cold room.

“Careful!”

It was Polly, dressed immaculately despite her surroundings. She reached out and placed a manicured hand across yours, and you smiled at the woman who had always been a calming influence when you had joined the circus of a family. There was concern in her eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner and lifted lashes but still swimming deep around her pupils. That made you frown, and you moved as much as you could to face her.

“What happened?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, choosing her words. “You gave us quite a fright, love.”

“I did?” Your memories of the past few days were much like a fever dream, blurry and distorted snapshots were all you could really remember.

“Your pneumonia got worse. A lot worse.” She paused, looking over to the door and you followed her gaze. “They found fluid in your lungs.”

“So...” You started, gesturing to the needle in your abdomen and the breathing apparatus around your head.

She nodded. “Yes. You were in surgery. It was touch and go for a little bit.”

“Really?” You were bewildered. You couldn’t remember anything, let alone having major surgery. You looked her straight in the eye, asking her the questions that had been on the tip of your tongue since you had woken up. “Where is he? Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s outside.” She clicked her tongue, reaching deep into her purse and pulling out some hand cream, gently rubbing your dry hands like she was your mother. You leant into her touch despite all of your questions.

“What? Why?”

“I think he blames himself. God knows what goes on in that mans head. All I really know is he was bloody terrified.” She paused, looking over in the distance. “I’ve never seen him so scared, not even on his wedding day.” She smiled sadly, trying to lighten the mood, but it soon faded. “He didn’t leave your side the whole time you were asleep.”

Your heart thumped in your chest, a soft aching that you knew all too well. “I want to see him.”

“I know you do. But right now...” She stopped right as a handful of nurses entered, clad in long blue dresses with white aprons, hair tied back and smelling of strong soap and disinfectant. You lost Polly in the bustle as one spoke softly to you before tugging on the needle right beside your ribs, your eyes just catching hers as she left, a promise to see you soon on her lips.

It wasn’t her you saw next, but Tommy.

The nurses had cleaned you up with wet flannels and bowls of warm soapy water. Your hair had been braided and your face washed, and walked you arm in arm over to the bathroom so you could relieve yourself. A skittish doctor followed after, his eyes darting across you and his touch gentle as he changed your dressings and took your blood - obviously under strict instructions from your husband, and despite everything, you smiled.

You were sat listening to the clock tick. A romance novel you had been given was dangling dangerously close to the end of the bed, but you were too tired to focus on it. You heard the door squeal softly, and the sound of familiar footsteps across the tiling, each small thud sending shockwaves across your spine.

“Tommy.”

He looked tired. Exhausted rather, as though he had been awake all the hours that you had been asleep. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was sallow and bruised. His clean shaven face was dark with stubble and his hair was ruffled and unwashed. You longed to reach out to him and cradle him against you, but he stood in the doorway, lingering like a ghost.

“Tommy?” You repeated, your voice almost a whisper, breaking his already shattered heart once again.

“How are you feeling, my love?”

You smiled softly, like spun sugar and sweet honey. No hospital bed or itchy gown could dull your infectious light. “Better now.”

He approached you almost cautiously. He settled down on the hard chair beside your bed and stroked a line down from your temple to your lips, his touch setting you alight like an electrical storm. There was a sadness in his eyes that reminded you of how he got when things were bad, and you willed him to come back to you. His touch was tentative and he inhaled shakily as you cupped his hand with yours, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of his palm.

“Don’t scare me like that. Ever.” He was stern, as though hoping his words would make it true. “I mean it.” He kept his gaze on your pretty face, trying his best not to stare at the harsh bruising on your delicate flesh or the sickly tone of your skin.

“Tommy I’m going to get sick, even you can’t stop that.” You teased gently.

“I can bloody well try.” His hands cradled your face, pulling you into him and kissing you fiercely, still mindful of the wires and tubes taped to your body. There was something about the tenderness and deep longing in the kiss that when mixed with your total exhaustion and love for your husband prompted tears to start falling from your eyes. You sniffled as he pulled away, concern dripping from his beautiful features, his powerful mind wanting to do everything and anything to stop your hurting.

“Hey, hey.” He said, running his calloused fingertips under your eyes and wiping your tears away. You leant into his touch and he kissed your temple, squeezing you even tighter into him. “You know I hate it when you cry.” He toyed with your hair and winked playfully. “Besides, all you need to focus on is getting better. You’re going to have to take care of me when we get home, this week has given me a fucking stroke.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing the inside of his wrist. “You’re a idiot, Thomas Shelby.” You blinked at the clock looming above you both, wanting to stay in your blissful bubble but also knowing that Aunt Pol would probably be in the vicinity harassing a poor nurse over your results. “You should go and find Polly, let her know that everything’s alright.”

He shook his head and nuzzled his nose across yours, an act so innocent that your heart dipped and swooped in your chest. “Later.” He said, breathless and consumed by you. Everything had been too much. Almost losing you had been harrowing, it had punctured him completely and he just needed to feel his girl safe and warm around him. He needed to know that you weren’t found anywhere.

“I just want to stay here for a while. Just me and you.”

You grinned. “Always.”

[lilith-of-rivia]

The Bard’s Sister  Geralt XFeamle!Reader Part 3

Part 1    Part 2 

Masterlist 

Summary: Its finally your birthday. You not only get a lovely gift from mum and dad but also from your brother and his companion who has taken a very big likening to you. 

Trigger Warnings: Drinking, some cursing

Pairing: Geralt XFemale!Reader Jaskier XSister!Reader

Word Count: 8,979 (I know its a long one XD I fit a lot into one part) 

If you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know!! So sorry this took so long. it was a lot of writing and I knew I wanted to get the party done in one part. the next part will be the beginning of the travels!! Would you guys rather have SMUT in the next part or wait till the part after that? let me know!!! All my love!! -Lilith

Sleep eluded me. After eating the meat pie from the kitchen and a nice hot bath I thought sleep would’ve come much quicker. I was tired, physically and emotionally. I could feel it in my bones but every time I closed my eyes I remembered that my brother would be leaving again in a few days. I had three more days with him but it didn’t feel like enough. Not after all the time we lost. I wanted to ask him to stay with me, but I knew it would be selfish of me. 

Jaskier’s departure also meant Geralt would be leaving too. It was probably for the best… the feeling I have for the witcher shouldn’t exist. They shouldn’t exist, because I was not delusional. I knew the Witcher’s were re-programmed into believing they were not capable of love, that they were loveless monsters, not only incapable of giving love but incapable of receiving love. I didn’t believe any of those tales. I had studied the trails Witcher’s must go through to become what they are. 

It is disturbing. They break young men’s wills. Make them believe the world will never offer them love, all to fuel their agenda. Witcher's never go through anything that makes them incapable of love. It’s very evident in my brother’s relationship with the witcher. Had Geralt not been capable of feeling “human” emotions, he would’ve left Jaskier to die when he was attacked by the Djinn. It was a perfect way for him to get rid of my brother, it wasn’t technically his fault or his doing. My brother could’ve died and he could’ve washed his hands clean of him. 

The way he kissed my hand the first day we met, was like he was attempting to give his best first impression. He tried his best to show respect, maybe so my mother and father would like him more. He showed me kindness, tenderness. Any time he touched me was feather-soft. Maybe he was worried he’d hurt me or scare me away...

The way he kissed Hildi’s hand. The way he smiled at my brother’s stupid jokes. There was so much more to him than anyone realized. 

I stood from my bed walking over to my desk. I sat down and lit the lantern with the candle from my bed. The fire in the corner of my room didn’t provide nearly enough light to reach me. I grabbed my journal and some charcoal. I moved over to the large windows and sat down. The glass was cold under my touch, the moon was nearly full. It lit up the garden below me. It was the most perfect view of the gardens my mother spent so much time tending. The light blue hue cascaded along the hedges. The flowers dimly lit. I scribbled down the date in my journal before I began sketching the view in front of me for what seemed like the 500th time. I always found something new. Tonight was a quick sketch, just of the basics. I was hoping it would make me sleep but nothing seemed to work. 

My body was smothered in quilts, my arm draped lazily over my head as I tried my best to sleep. The thin nightgown I wore was perfect for warm summer nights. It kept me cool and didn't stick to my body when I sweat.   

The night was still, everything in the walls of the castle was silent. I cul hear the crickets and the frogs below me, but nothing else. 

Squeak squeak 

My eyes snapped open, my heart beating rather quick at the sudden sound from the room behind my head. It took me a minute to remember that Geralt was sleeping next door. I had heard him go to bed hours ago and it had been completely silent since. But now I could hear him moving over and over in his bed. 

“Geralt…” My voice was barely above a whisper. No one could hear me, no one but a witcher's ears. If he was awake I knew he could hear me. 

“...if...if you’re awake, tap the wall twice.” I held my breath waiting for a moment. My cheeks turning red in embarrassment. 

Tap Tap

I smiled at the small sound signaling to me he was awake. 

“I can not sleep...care to take a walk?... Tap twice for yes.” I wondered if he could hear the smile through my voice. 

Tap Tap

I smiled wider, getting up from my bed. I grabbed a candle from my nightstand after throwing on my silk robe. It wasn’t the warmest fabric in the world but the summer air wasn’t too cold. 

I quietly tiptoed to the door, opening it slowly to not let it creak. There on the other side was Geralt. His hair was no longer pulled back in a tie out of his face, no it was messily about his head, some small knots in the thicker areas. Small strands stuck up everywhere. His eyes were hooded a little in sleep. He had a small smile on his lips, his hands tucked into his underarms as he waited for me. He reached out, taking the candle from me before offering me his free arm. 

“Princess…” he greeted with a small cheesy bow of his head. I giggled, softly shaking my head. My hand gripped around his bicep, squeezing it softly. It was as hard as a rock, my hand barely made it halfway around it.

“Hello, Geralt,” I whispered and he smiled. We began walking down the corridor, the hall dimly lit by the moonlight and the few candles lit. 

“No sleep?” He asked.

“No...my mind won't stop wondering…” we walked down the stairs, slowly as to not let the guards know anyone was awake. 

“Care to tell me why, dove?” He whispered. His arm moved slightly, making me let go almost immediately. Before my hand reached my side his fingers laced in between my own, squeezing it. I could feel the warmth in my cheeks, the small act making my heart melt. 

“Walk through the garden with me?” I whispered leaning in a little closer to him. He made me feel safe. Not that I didn't feel safe in my home, I knew how safe I was compared to many others but he just made me feel a type of safe I'd never felt. 

“Of course, lead the way.” we continued down the hall, walking towards the gardens. 

As we veered a corner Geralt's arm quickly wrapped around my waist as he silently, and quickly tucked us behind a suit of armor in the corner. His arm squeezed around my waist. I could feel his breath in my ear. It sent shivers down my spine making me twitch slightly. He chuckled lowly, his thumb stroking my stomach. 

“Do I scare you?” his whisper was low, very close to my ear.

“Never,” I said with no hesitation. My head turned towards him, his eyes shining in the dark. He gently put his finger to my lips. 

“Shhh.” I nodded my head, our eye contact not breaking. His fingers softly traced my jawline, moving till he was cupping my cheek. He broke eye contact for a second as his eyes flicked to the hall we just exited. Not a second after he looked me in the eyes again I could hear footsteps. They were walking down the hall towards us. Geralt took a breath in. After a minute the person was gone. Geralt’s hand was still on my cheek and the other hand wrapped around my waist. 

“You are so beautiful.” My throat went dry. My hands started to get clammy. 

Everything in my body urged me to just grab his face and kiss him, but that small voice kept me back. My fear overtaking the decision. I gently grabbed his hand that was on my face, leaning into him. I kissed his wrist softly. His skin was so warm, warmer than the average man for sure. I wanted to hold him. Feel his skin on mine.

“So are you,” I whispered. His eyes practically rolled out of his head as he smirked like I just made some lude joke. He grabbed my hand and led me to the hallway and out the door to the garden. The moon was bright. 

Geralt started to walk in front of me, pulling me deeper into the garden. Soon we were surrounded by my mother’s Roses and lavender bushes. The smell was intoxicating. It was the center of the garden. Geralt grabbed my waist again. Pulling me closer to him. I was shivering slightly. The air was cold from the late-night rain we had. Colder than I thought it would be. My hands Gently went to his chest, softly pulling and toying with the strings on his tunic. 

“You are beautiful Geralt. I wouldn't joke about that.” My voice was no longer a whisper, it was still low but he could hear me better. 

“I have been called many things in my day dove, but never beautiful.” His arms were tighter around me, his shoulders were tense. He was more alert outside than he was inside, I understood. His training not wanting him to think anywhere is safe. 

“If you want, I’ll make sure to call you that more often.” He chuckled softly at my words. I couldn't help but feel angry, not at him but at the world. The way they treated him, his kind for things they all don’t deserve. My hands went to each side of his face, as I gently made him look at me. 

“Geralt you are so much more than this world will ever give you credit for...I can never say I understand what it feels like to live in your skin, but I can tell you that you do not deserve that cruelty that is thrown your way. I know not all witchers are like you, I know many of them live up to the expectations my kind has put on you. But you do not. You are far from a monster Geralt of Rivia. You-'' one hand rested on his chest above his slow beating heart “-you have a heart of gold. And I’m so sorry you've never been treated with the love and care you deserve and need.” his hand was now covering my own over his heart. His other arm is still tight around my waist. My face and his had drafted closer as I spoke, he leaned forward, pressing our foreheads together.

“Fuck…. (Y/N)...I’m not good with words. But - I, uh thank you…” his voice was so deep it made it hard to focus. His cheeks were light pink. His eyes flashing from my lips to my eyes. I couldn't help but giggle at how frazzled he got over words he deserved to be told. My heart yearned for his touch. Everything he touched was like a small fire deep inside me. I had courted many men in my life. Many I thought would be my endgame, but none ever made me feel the way he did. His lip inched closer to my own, slowly before they were centimeters apart. He wouldn't kiss me without permission. 

“You may kiss me Ger-” his lips were on mine before I could finish my sentence.

 My arms wrapped around his neck, his own wrapping tighter around me nearly lifting me off my feet. 

Our lips moved together slowly, softly. I could feel every inch of his body pressed to my own. All my thoughts were him only. His intoxicating scent was filling my nose as I breathed slowly. He smelt of sandalwood, maybe a little bit of mint. Nothing I'd ever smelled before. The way his hands held my back, softly running up and down the silk of my robe. Everything he touched felt like a new fire was spreading. His lips were sweet, of honey. They were surprisingly soft. They made me feel like molten hot lava. My hand gently combed through his hair. His teeth softly nipped my bottom lip before his tongue infiltrated my mouth. Our tongues danced together, our hands wondering, touching, feeling every inch. The world around me didn't feel real. My body was in the garden but my head was in the clouds. 

He pulled away from me, barely. The loss of contact made me whine softly. I felt colder without his lips on mine. His hot breath fanned my face as he breathed in and out. I opened my eyes, looking into his. His hands left my back moving to my face, his forehead back on mine. 

“You are intoxicating, princess.” His words were velvet. They made my insides turn in the most delicious way. My body yearned for him. His fingers delicately traced the frame of my face. 

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” I leaned into his hand. The warmth of his palm being a decent replacement for his lips. 

“Jaskier will leave soon...Three days from now.” his hand left my cheek, wrapping around my body, gently turning me so my back was to his chest. His arms circled my waist as he held me into him. His chin rested on my shoulder as he listened. 

“When Jaskier leaves, you'll leave too...and I'll be alone again.” The thought of them leaving made my stomach ache. I had been alone most of my life. Yes I had my parents and they were great, but they were not my brother. 

“All of my friends I grew up with are mothers now. They have lives of their own. My mother and father cannot be my friends, they are my parents. It's nothing the same. I never realized how much I missed Jaskier till he came back.” My throat tightened as I spoke, the feeling of my tears burning my eyes becoming more overwhelming. My hands went to his around my waist as I held them closer to me if it was possible.

“I don't want to be alone again…” The tears slipped freely down my face, my head dropping. 

“I sometimes wish he never left. I know that is selfish of me, but I miss him so much. Sometimes it takes months for me to get the letters he sends me. I never know if he is alive or not.” My crying became a little more intense as I spoke. My voice wavering. I Let go of his hands, covering my face with my hands as I rubbed away the tears vigorously. I hated crying in front of people, it showed weakness, made me vulnerable. 

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to put you in this awkward situation,” I whispered. One of his arms left my waist, only to wrap around my shoulders, pulling me tighter into his chest. 

“Do not apologize princess…” His lips met my temple in a soft kiss. His lips lingered there for a minute. 

“Who have you been training with?” He asked. I couldn't tell if he was trying to change the subject because he wanted me to stop crying or if he didn't know how to deal with me crying. 

“You may know him, I'm not sure. He never spoke of anyone from his past. He’s a retired witcher. He stumbled into our kingdom when I was 15. My mother and father were scared of a looming war between my country and Lyria. One of my uncles had knocked up the king's younger daughter. A large threat was over my head for a couple of years. So they asked him when he came into our country if he would train me. So I could take care of myself if I was to leave under a new identity. For the last ten years he came for a couple of months, we started with book training rather dull if I do say-” I chuckled at the memory of how many times I fell asleep reading the dull books he would bring with him. “We gradually moved into combat training. I know he didn't train me nearly as hard as he had trained the witchers in his court. But there were days I felt like my limbs would fall off, but last year he told my parents that he was confident that I would not only be able to live on my own in the world, but he was confident I would thrive. His name is Vesemir. He’s due to show up for our training any day now.” Geralt’s eyes were looking at me when I turned to see him. He was smirking softly. 

“What?” 

“Vesemir was my instructor at Kaer Morhen. I’m the witcher I am today because of his training.” My eyes must have bulged out of my head. He laughed at me making my cheeks flush red. 

“You are telling me, I’ve been trained by the same man who trained you? And he never bothered to tell me? What a jerk.” I turned my body around in Geralt’s arms, my head now laying on his chest, my arms around his waist resting on his back. He was much, much, taller than me. 

“Vesemir has always respected my privacy, don't harp on the old man too much.” His heartbeat was distracting me. It was much slower than mine. It was like a lullaby. My hand covered my mouth as I yawned, his head tilting down as he looked at me. 

“Common, you have to sleep. You've got a big day tomorrow.” He was talking about my party. His hands gently pulled me back from him, his fingers laced with mine as he led me back through the garden into the castle and down to my room. 

We stood outside the door, his hands mindlessly fidgeting with my robe. 

“Stay with me tonight?” My hands pressed softly to his chest. 

“I don't know princess...I don't want your parents to get the wrong idea of me.” I nodded my head, understanding and respecting his wishes. 

“Will you be my date to my party tomorrow?” I asked timidly, my eyes focused on his silver pendant.

“I would be honored, Princess (Y/N).” His fingers hooked under my chin tilting my head up so my eyes met his own. 

“Jaskier has your clothes, the party starts at noon.” He nodded his head. 

“I'll be here waiting for you, little dove.” his lips pressed to mine. It was the softest sweetest kiss I had ever shared. It wasn't long, only a few seconds. His hand reached behind me as he opened my bedroom door for me. I leaned up, kissing his cheek softly. 

“Good night Geralt.” I backed up till I was through the threshold of the door, my eyes not leaving him. My hand went to the door. 

“Goodnight (Y/N).” I smiled and closed the door softly. My forehead gently leaning on it. My heart raced faster than it ever had. I wanted him back with me and he hadn't even been behind the door for a minute. 

I moved to my bed, hanging my robe on the wooden bedpost before climbing under the warm comforters. They were not nearly as warm as he was but they would do. 

Tap Tap 

A smile stretched across my face. My knuckles softly tapping against the wall in goodnight. As I drifted into sleep finally, Geralt was only on my mind.

“Princess (Y/N)...” The sound of someone's voice broke my sleep. My eyes fluttered open, the sun burning them as it shone brightly through my window. 

“Princess…” There was a small knock on the door. I couldn't tell who was at the door. I sat up in bed, the quilt bunched at my hips. I rubbed my eyes messily, moving my hair from my face. 

“Yes yes, please come in,” I called my voice hoarse from the lack of water throughout the night. The door opened and Fesca and Neshe entered. They were women who worked in our court. My father and mother never believed in having unpaid servants. 

No one in my family did. Before my great-great-grandfather founded and rebuilt our kingdom my family lived in incredible poverty. Many of my late family died of famines and illnesses due to not having money or food. When my father took the throne he made sure to keep the rule alive. We had many workers in the castle. But they were all paid and had housing courtesy of my father and mother.

Behind the two women, their daughters followed. They were much younger than me, barely 18.  

“How did you sleep, my dear?” Neshe asked a sweet smile on her lips as she moved to the curtains, drawing them closed. My feet met the hard cold floor as I stood and stretched my muscles. 

“Very well thank you,” I said with a smile. The four women walked around my room, Neshe was getting my dress ready, while Fesca and her daughter were preparing items for a bath. 

“Here you go, miss.” Ari, Fesca’s daughter said with a smile as she put down a tray of food at my vanity. 

“What time is it?” I asked as I moved to the vanity, examining the plate full of fruits and a muffin. 

“Nearly ten, miss,” Ari said as she made my bed. 

“You don't have to do that,” I said looking back at her, smiling. 

“I know.” She said back with a smile. 

“Your mother instructed us to tell you that you are not allowed to leave your room until the party this afternoon,” Neshe said as she started to boil water over the fire for the bath. 

“Knock knock!” My head turned to the door, it was Jaskier’s voice. 

“Come in,” I called and the door burst open. Jaskier was standing in the doorway with a huge grin across his face. He was carrying a large bundle of flowers. All types from roses to tulips. 

He walked over to me, setting the flowers on my bed before hugging me tightly. My arms wrapped around his waist, my head resting on his lower chest. 

“Happy birthday baby sister,” he whispered into my ear. I smiled and squeezed him tighter. 

“Thank you, Jaskier. Thank you for being here.” He stepped back from me, looking back to the door. 

“Geralt common!” He called, my cheeks heated a little as he entered. He was wearing what he was last night. Part of me felt like it was all a dream, everything from his hand on mine to his kiss. Our eyes met and he smiled at me, winking softly. He too was carrying a large bundle of flowers. 

“Oh gods Jaskier you didn’t have to get so many,” I said with a laugh as Geralt placed them on my bed next to the ones from Jaskier. 

“Oh but I do, little sister. There are enough flowers in each bouquet for every birthday I’ve missed.” I smiled up at him, my heart swelling. 

“Thank you, Jax”  

“Eat.” Neshe nudged me as she began pulling hairpins and brooches out of my vanity. I grabbed the muffin and took a bite, Jaskier pulling my desk chair over so he was sitting in front of me. Geralt sitting on my bed. Neshe started detangling my bed head, separating and pinning sections back as she started on the intricate style she had thought of for the day. 

“You washed your hair recently, correct?” She asked as she handed me a glass of orange juice. 

“Yes ma’am,” I said with a smile before drinking the juice and setting the empty glass down. 

“You are such a compliant princess.” Jaskier snickered. 

“Much more than you were as a young child Jaskier. You gave me hell every single day.” Neshe said behind me. 

“I respect them, Jaskier. They look out for me.” I said with a roll of my eyes finishing the muffin and grabbing the bowl of fruit and the fork. Jaskier reached overtaking a strawberry and plopping it into his mouth. 

“Rude,” I mumbled under my breath as I ate the fruit. Neshe continued working on my hair as I finished eating, the other three women walking around my room, tightening up and getting the bathroom ready, the tub is filled with boiling water. Many different oils and flowers added, the room soon smelling fresh and fragrant. 

“Knock knock.” My eyes flew to the door that had opened slightly.

There stood a man, not as tall as Geralt but very close. His hair was a white silver, but much shorter, straight too. It was pinned further back. His face was much older than Geralt’s, not only with wrinkles but scars. His build was large, he was a very intimidating man. But what Witcher isn’t. 

“Vesemir!” I quickly moved from Nashe’s hands, walking over to where he was standing a bright grin on his face. He quickly engulfed me in a hug.

“How are you kid?” He asked, pulling back from me, eyes searching my face. 

“I’m wonderful, I’m so happy you're back,” I said smiling brightly. I looked at him but his eyes were over on the other witcher in the room, who was now standing. 

“Well well, look what the cat dragged in,” Vesemir said with a deep laugh. He gently let go of my shoulders walking over to Geralt who was smiling back. 

“Could say the same for you old man.” They shook hands, before hugging each other very quickly. My brother stood up and looked from me to Vesemir.

“Jaskier! So good to see you again.” Vesemir said. 

“How do you know my baby sister?” Jaskier said, looking confused. 

“He’s the one I’ve been training with, Jaskier. Father and mother love him.” Jaskier let out a frustrated breath pacing slightly.

“So you mean to tell me you've been seeing my baby sister for years and never once thought it was important information to share with me??” Jaskier’s voice was getting louder and shrill.

I walked over to him gently putting my hand on his arm. 

“Jaskier he was doing it to protect me and you. He wasn't allowed to tell anyone outside of these walls what we did when he came here. Father and mother made those rules. Don’t be mad at him for following the rules. Just as he did with you and Geralt. I had no idea-” Nashe’s hands were on my shoulders leading me back over so I was seated, her fingers working gracefully in my hair. “I had no idea he had trained Geralt until last night. He never told me because he respected Geralt and his privacy.” Jaskier sighed, nodding his head. His calm demeanor only lasted a minute before he looked at me and his eyebrows furrowed together.

“Wait, last night? When last night? When were you alone with him??” Jaskier turned his attention to Geralt, his hands on his hips like a tutting mother. I bit my lip gently looking away from him. Fesca came over clapping her hands together with a smile on her face. 

“Okay gentleman, I'm going to ask you all to leave. We need to get her ready for the party. You can continue this reunion later.” Jaskier huffed frustrated before walking out of the room, leaving Geralt and Vesemir. They both looked at each other then at me, Vesemir smirking at me. 

“Here you go, the first part of ya gift.” He handed me a book. 

‘A Mage’s Guide to Healing’ 

“What is this? I'm no mage.” Vesemir smirked. 

“You do not know everything Miss (Y/N). You may find it useful. ” With that, he turned and walked out of the room. 

Geralt turned to me and smiled. He knelt in front of me so his eyes were level with mine, his hands grabbing mine. He gently kissed my knuckles. My stomach erupted in butterflies.

“You might need to talk to Jaskier before I do,” I said. He chuckled softly, our eyes meeting. 

“What shall I tell him?” His thumbs stroked the back of my hands. 

I shook my head forgetting Fesca was still working on my hair causing her to grunt in frustration, her hands holding the sides of my head so I sat still. 

“My dear, if you want me to finish this so you can enjoy the company of the Wolf this evening, you need to sit still.” I smiled bashfully, glancing down at my hands with my eyes. 

“Sorry, Fes…” I mumbled. 

“I'm not sure what to tell him. Maybe you should decide.” Geralt nodded in agreement. He stood up slightly, leaning over and kissing my forehead softly. I could hear the women behind me ooing quietly. 

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours, dove.” I smiled up at him, squeezing his hands gently. 

“Okay, Geralt. Maybe tell him outside.” He laughed softly walking to the door, his hand on the doorknob. 

“Okay, dove.”

Once the door was shut Neshe appeared in front of me, she had a smirk on her face. 

“You and the witcher my dear?” She sat in the chair Jaskier was in. Ari and Yennaa were behind me helping Fesca with my hair.

“There isn't anything other than what you saw. He cares for me, but we all know he can't care for me in the way I wish he could.” I said looking over the book in my lap. 

“I don't know (Y/N)… the way he looked at you is how my pa looks at mum,” Yennaa commented. Her mother and father had been together longer than my mum and dad. The connection between how Geralt looked at me to how her father looked at her mum made my heart sore. 

“I...I hope so...He makes me feel things no other man has.” 

Fresca gently squeezed my shoulders, sliding a silk bonnet over my hair, tying it behind my head. 

“Alright dear get in the bath, wash yourself up and we'll be back to help with your dress and makeup.” I nodded and thanked them as they left the room. I undressed quickly, before sinking into the hot bubbly water. 

____________________________________________________________________________

“You look beautiful my dear. You wait here to get your mother and father.” I smiled brightly at Neshe and the other women.

“Thank you. And thank you so much for your help. "They smiled and left me alone in front of the mirror 

The dress was so beautiful. 

Hildi had completely outdone herself this year. The dress was dazzling baby pink, with hundreds of stars stitched into a beautiful mesh fabric. It had sleeves but they did not come up my arms. Instead, the sleeves came right above my elbows. My décolleté and shoulders bare, showing off my breasts a bit more than I normally did but I had never felt more beautiful. Fesca had outdone herself on my hair, every pin was perfectly placed, every curl held beautifully. My crown was dazzling in the noon sun, sending rainbows around my room as it sat gracefully on my head. My attention was turned to the small knock on the door. In stepped my mum and dad. My mum's hand went over her mouth with a small gasp. 

“Oh my goodness. My baby girl is a grown woman. You look absolutely beautiful my love.” She came to me, hugging me into her tightly. My arms wrapped around her shoulders tightly. Her fingers stroked my back softly. I inhaled her scent, snuggling my face into her maroon dress. Her hugs were like none I'd ever had. They were everything I needed some nights... 

“I love you, mum…” She pulled me back from her and looked me in the eye, her fingers stroking my face. 

“I love you more than you will ever know.  Now, your father has a gift for you.” My eyes went to him. He was dressed in a solid green velvet suit, a white button-down under his fest. He looked dashing. I smiled at him as he walked over to us, a small box in his hand. 

“This is something I had made for you when you were born. We both wanted to wait till you were older to give it to you. I think now is a perfect time.” He handed me the box with a smile. I gently took the box and opened it. 

“Dad….” It took my breath away. A beautiful ring was in the center of the box, gleaming in the sun. 

There was an opal stone in the center, two little gold moons on each side of the opal, that symbolize a full moon. There were six diamonds embedded into the ring. Three on the top, three on the bottom. Everything had been placed on a gold band. I looked at my father, his eyes were welling with tears. 

“You've always been my little girl, and no matter where you go or where I go, I never want you to forget how much I love you.” My arms wrapped tightly around him as I practically threw myself on him, tears slipping down my face. I felt my mother’s hand on my back as she hugged us. 

“Jaskier you can come in now.” My mother called out. I could hear the door open, then soon my brother's arms were wrapped around my mother and me. All four of us were back together again. 

“Happy birthday Little Pea.” My dad whispered with a small chuckle. Jaskier laughed in my ear, making me laugh softly. The nickname my brother called me for many years had been forgotten after he left. No one else is using it. 

“I love you all.” My dad pulled me from his chest, whipping my face before grabbing the ring and putting it on my right ring finger. 

“Okay we’ll leave you with your brother to go great with your guests. Don't be too long.” My mother said, booping my nose. I laughed softly nodding. 

The two of them left the room, leaving just Jaskier and me. He turned to me, looking me up and down before bringing me into another bone-crushing hug. 

“I'm so happy you're home Jax…” I whispered into his black velvet tunic. He too looked quite dashing. His shirt was tucked into some dark blue trousers a black leather belt holding them up, and some very nicely polished black boots up his legs. His hair was curly and his smile was bright. 

“I missed you so much, Little Pea.” He pulled back and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“So Geralt spoke to me earlier today.” I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks and ears. 

“About…?” 

“He told me about the kiss last night, told me he didn't want to hurt you. I told him he had to talk to mum and dad, not me.” I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose. 

“Jaskier, it's not that serious. Why would you tell him that it's not-”

“He already did it love. They gave their blessing.” 

“I...they did? For what?” 

“To court you of course!” He said with a laugh. 

“But you'll both leave soon-”

“Don't overthink it, common he's waiting outside.” He walked to the door opening it. Sure enough, there was Geralt. He was breathtakingly beautiful. He was dressed head to toe in black velvet, his hair clean and combed, pinned back, his face freshly shaved, a small rose pinned into his shirt. The first three buttons of the shirt were undone, revealing his deliciously hairy chest and his silver pendant. 

Breath.

I took a deep breath, my eyes looking him up and down taking him in. It wasn't until we met eyes I realized he was doing the same to me. 

“You look beautiful.” He breathed out, walking towards me. I reached my hands out to him, he gently took them pulling me into him, his left arm looping around my waist. Our faces inches apart. 

“You look so handsome Geralt. You clean up quite well. Black velvet is your style.” I said with a smile, my hand on his shoulder, the other still in his hand. He leaned down and softly kissed me. It was short and sweet. Yet it filled my body with warmth and butterflies. I was sure he felt the temperature of my skin change. 

“Common people are waiting for you, princess.” He whispered as he pulled away, my hand wrapping around his bicep. I looked at him as we walk down the hall towards the grand hall. 

“You are a breathtaking creature (Y/N). I do not think I have seen anyone so beautiful in my 87 years.” My heart raced in my chest as he spoke, my hand gripping his arm a little tighter. 

“No one told me I was falling for an old man.” I joked as we approached the door to the great hall. One of my father’s soldiers was waiting for us. 

“Princess.” He said with a soft bow of his head. I smiled softly at him, curtsying to him softly. 

“Derlor, it’s good to see you again.” I let go of Geralt’s arm, stepping towards Derlor hugging him gently. He was my father’s right-hand man, everything my father needed he went to Derlor. He had been working in my father’s court for nearly 30 years. 

“This will be the first birthday that I don’t get to escort you. I’m not sure what to do with myself.” I smiled and shook my head. 

“Relax, enjoy yourself. Maybe ask Hildi for a dance. You know she has a soft spot for you.” I said stepping back to Geralt’s side, my hand on his arm again. Derlor looked at the witcher next to me, eyed him up and down before stepping in front of him. 

“I know her parents like you, and I trust their judgment but understand one thing Witcher; if you hurt her in any way I will kill you. You may be a feared monster slayer but you do not scare me.” I rolled my eyes softly, everyone was going to threaten the witcher on my behalf. Flattering but annoying nonetheless. 

“If I hurt her. I will gladly lay down my blade and let you do your worst, sir.” Derlor smiled. 

“Good. Now time for your entrance princess.” He walked to the door pushing it open. I could hear the people quiet down. Geralt leaned down and kissed my cheek quickly, leaving the spot hot in his wake. Derlor stood at the end of the red rug in the center of the room. He cleared his throat. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the lady of the hour, Princess (Y/N)!” Geralt and I started walking down the center of the carpet. On either side were people from all over our kingdom. Many nobles I had known for years. I smiled at the familiar faces, as we continued walking to where my mother, father, and Jaskier. 

“As many of you know, we have been preparing our daughter to take over for us one day-“ My father said, stepping forward, taking my hand from Geralt and smiling at me. 

“But seeing as myself and my wife are in great health and nowhere near the end of our reign. And as you can all see our son has returned from his many great travels.” Vesimer walked forwards, a smile on his face and a pack in his hands. 

“Your mother and I both think you are ready my dear,” Father said looking me in the eyes. 

“Ready for what dad…?” I whispered, my voice wavering slightly, my stomach flipping and swelling. His eyes drifted behind me, looking at who I guessed was Geralt. 

“You will be leaving the kingdom for a while.” My mouth ran dry, my eyes going to Jaskier who was beaming. 

“We know that you will be in good hands, not that you need it. You will be leaving with Jaskier and Geralt and traveling the Continent to your heart’s content.” My hands squeezed into his harder as he spoke, my eyes burning with tears, my eyes bouncing between him, Jaskier, and my mother who was also near tears. 

“You need to see the world, see what you can help improve on when you take over. Meet people, taste danger a little.” My arms wrapped around his neck, hugging him tightly, my eyes closed the tears of joy slipping down my face. 

“Thank you, dad…” I whispered and he chucked. He pulled me back and Jaskier came and stood in front of me. 

“I've missed so much of your life, and I regret it so much. You have turned into such a wonderful young woman and it would be an honor if you joined us in our travels.” I could feel Geralt’s hand on my back as he stood next to me as I looked at Jaskier. My eyes gleaned at him, searching his facial features for any hesitation in the offer. 

“You’re both serious?” I asked. 

“Vesemir is very admin that you would be beneficial to me, in more ways then.” Geralt said with a small wink. 

“So what do you say, do you want to come with us?” Jaskier asked, his hands holding mine. 

“What a stupid question Jaskier! Of course, I want to!” The smile on my face nearly hurt, I had never been so happy in my life. I didn't have to say goodbye to Jaskier or Geralt, not for a while anyway. Jaskier grabbed me, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug which I gladly returned. 

“Everyone please, enjoy yourself! Food will be brought out soon!! Ale. wine and mead are already out! We thank you all so much for coming to celebrate our daughter’s birthday!” My father said to the room full of people who all clapped and cheered. 

I turned away from Jaskier to Geralt who was still standing next to me. I put my hands on his chest gently leaning into him, his hands going to my waist. 

“Are you sure you're okay with me coming along? I would hate to be a burden on you.” Geralt shook his head, smiling softly, his fingers stroking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

“From what Vesemir told me today, you will only be an asset to me and my travels. Unlike your brother who just annoys me.” I laughed softly, rolling my eyes. 

“You love him,” I said with a smile. He huffed, taking my hand in his leading me to our spot at the table. 

“If you didn’t you would have never followed him for weeks to an unknown country to meet a sister you had no idea existed. Face it witcher, my brother has weaseled his way into that heart of yours.” He was filling his plate with food and a smile on the corner of his lips as he listened to me. 

He handed me the plate of food I thought he was preparing for himself. 

“Thank you, love,” I said as I took the plate from him, watching as he got some for himself. The people around us talking, laughing, and beginning the party that would surely last into the night. He leaned over, kissing my cheek softly then he started to eat. 

The party had been going for hours. Everyone was a bit drunk including me. The wine in my cup had been the fourth do far, and I'm a lightweight. My body was warm, the sweet taste of the cherry wine lingering on my lips as I listened to my brother sing and play his lute. As the song ended I put the cup down, nearly knocking it over in the process, clapping for Jaskier. 

“Jaskier come here!” I yelled with a slight giggle. He came over to me, his face red as he breathed hard, he too was drunk. 

“Any song requests my lady?” He said with a cheesy bow of his head making me laugh maybe a little too loud. 

“Sing me the song you first wrote for Geralt?” His face lit up as he looked behind me to Geralt who was sitting at the table next to Vesemir. 

“He hates that song (Y/N),” Jaskier said making me laugh more. 

“Oh but he’s never had it sang to him here! Jaskier we love him here. Common the people will sing, children will dance. Maybe hell get some coins tossed at him!” Jaskier laughed with me.

“Okay okay fine, only for you.” Jaskier walked over to the stage with the other bards whispering something to them before yelling over the crowd of people. 

“This song is for my baby sister. I haven’t sung this one in a couple of years, but I think you lot will like it more than anyone I’ve ever sung for!!!” The crowd clapped for him as they all looked at him. I glanced behind me looking at Geralt who knew what song was coming. Our eyes met. I giggles and winked at him. 

“When a humble bard

Graced a ride-along

With Geralt of Rivia

Along came this song” 

The crowd erupted into cheers, the smiles on their faces only growing, including my own. Many children ran into the middle of the room staring up at Jaskier as he sang, eyes gleaming. 

“From when the White Wolf fought

A silver-tongued devil

His army of elves

At his hooves did they revel

They came after me

With masterful deceit

Brokedown my lute

And they kicked in my teeth”

People started singing along to the second verse. The room is filled with slurred, off-tune singing of my people. The warmth spread through my chest as I saw Jaskier’s face light up in a way I had never seen before. His attention went to Geralt momentarily looking at him with the same disbelief. I looked at Geralt to see he held the same expression. His smile was genuine, eyes wide as he listened to the people listen to the song about him. I left my spot from the middle of the room, quickly walking as to not trip in my drunken state. I got to the table in front of Geralt, my smile wide as I extended my hand. 

“Care to dance with me witcher?” He cocked a curious eyebrow at me, probably due to my drunken state. 

“I'm not much of a dancer, Dove.” He said, making me shake my head walking around the table, and grabbing his arm. 

“Neither am I, that's what makes it fun.” He grunted standing, reluctantly following me into the crowd of people who cheered louder for him. 

“Toss a coin to your Witcher

O' Valley of Plenty

O' Valley of Plenty, oh

Toss a coin to Your Witcher

O' Valley of Plenty”

Jaskier and the other bards stopped playing and singing, the crowd in front of him continuing the verse. Myself included. The sound of everyone singing my brother's famed song made my heart sore, everything was perfect. Even Geralt was smiling as he let me dance and spin with his hands, once taking his eyes off my body. 

“You Witcher are a hero here!” I yellow over the music and crowd. He pulled me into him, his lips capturing my own in a very wet, sloppy kiss, impart due to my drunken state. The alcohol coring in my veins made me want to tear his clothes off then and there and let him have his way with me. But I wasn't drunk enough to let it happen. My arms wrapped around his neck as I kissed him back, the music and people drowning out of my ears as I tasted his lips. Everything about him was so intoxicating.  

After a while he pulled back, my lips wet with his salvia, my chest heaving up and down, and my mind racing. I felt dizzy from the kiss. 

“Common let’s get you some fresh air, dove.” He whispered, his arm wrapping around my waist as he led me out of the grant hall and onto a balcony. With one look from Geralt, the two love birds who were already out there left without a word. The cool night air hit my face and made me feel less dizzy. I walked over to the stone wall on the balcony, my hands resting on it, cooling me off more. Geralt's arms wrapped around my waist from behind holding me tightly and close to him. 

“You are a rather drunk princess.” I giggled and nodded. 

“I don't drink very often witcher, it goes straight to my head.” a large yawn interrupted my train of thought. Geralt chuckled and kissed my head. 

“Would you like me to take you to bed?” My eyes felt rather heavy, the winemaking me more sleepy as time progressed. 

“I'm such a  dud, it's not even midnight,” I whined, smacking my hands on the stone softly. Geralt chuckled and ran his hands up and down my arms and shoulders. 

“Common, you don't have to push yourself if you're tired.” Geralt started pulling me back to the door leading into the hallway. 

“Fine. only because you're so nice to me.” I grumbled as he led me down the hall and into my room. He shut the door behind us as I walked over to the vanity, plopping myself down. 

“I hope no one misses me too much. I desperately want out of this dress. It is beautiful but I cannot breathe.” Geralt chuckled from his spot at the door as he watched me attempt to pull the pins and brooches from my hair. I started to get frustrated, my hair being too intricately done for my drunk self. 

Geralt wordlessly walked over to me and gently started to help me pull the pins from my hair. His fingers combed softly thru my hair, scratching my scalp gently as he worked to get them out of my hair. The small action was nearly lulling me to sleep in the chair. I heard a knock at the door which snapped me out of my sleepy state, my back straightening. 

“Yes?” I turned around and saw Jaskier peeking through the door. 

“You vanished, just wanted to check-in.” I smiled sweetly at him. 

“I'm a very drunk Jaskier, I desperately want to sleep.’ He walked into the room and towards me. He was carrying a pitcher of water and a cup. 

“I figured, drink this and-” He pulled out a vial from his pocket and handed it to me.

“-Vesemir gave this to me, says it is the perfect cure for a hangover. Also gave me one.” I smiled and placed the vile on my vanity along with the water and cup. 

“Thank you, Jax.” He smiled and hugged me before turning and leaving to walk out the door, before he did he turned and pointed a finger at Geralt.

“If you decide to do anything dirty with my sister-”

“Jaskier!” I all but shrieked. 

“Just, be quiet my room isn't too far away.” I could feel my face turn bright red, my fists balled at my side as I stood from the chair. 

“I’m going to kill you.” Geralt’s arm wrapped around my waist pulling me back before I could attack my drunk brother. The door was shut and he was laughing down the hall. 

“Such a prick.” I groaned and turned around pouring myself some water and drinking it. I grabbed the vile from the table pulling the cork out. Before it could be brought to my lips Geralt stopped my hand and brought the vile to his nose. He inhaled deeply a few times before realizing my hand, 

“Just had to be sure.” I smiled and drank the contents. The taste was vile.

“Oh my god, that is awful,” I said coughing. Geralt laughed softly at me, tilting his head to the side slightly. 

“Help me unlace my corset?” I turned my back to him. I felt his fingers delicately untied the lace one by one. I took a deep breath, breathing properly again. As the lace was losing the dress started to slip down my body. I quickly caught it before it dropped down my waist. Thankfully my back was to him. I heard him clear his throat. 

“My night slip in on the bed, can you hand it to me?” I heard him move before the slip was in front of me. 

“Could you, uh turn around?” I asked. 

“Of course princess.'' After a minute I turned my head and saw he was facing the other direction. I let the dress fall from my body leaving me all but bare except for my undergarments, I slipped the night slip over my body and gently brushed his back. He turned around and smiled. 

“Stay with me?” I asked softly. 

“Of course dove.” He led me to the bed, pulling the quilts and sheets back allowing me to crawl in. I watched as he discarded his vest, and shirt leaving him in his tight trousers. My eyes wandered all over his scared torso and arms. He was breathtaking. 

“You're staring dove.” He chuckled making me blush, hiding my face in the quilts. 

“Can you blame me?” He laughed softly and walked to the door. 

“Where are you going?” I asked, sitting up slightly. 

“Just to grab something more comfortable to sleep in, Dove.” He walked out the door leaving it open. He returned minutes later, in the same sleep pants he was wearing the night before, less tight. He shut the door and the curtains, walking over to the other side of the bed before getting in. 

He scooped me up, placing me closer to him, my head on his firm chest. I could hear his heartbeat it was slow, soothing. His fingers stroked aimlessly over my body. The last thing I felt before sleep took me was his warm lips on my forehead.

@weallhaveadestiny @ayamenimthiriel @niiight-dreamerrrr @rn7rocks @fire-in-her-veinz @eternallyvenus

[kakashiswilloffire]

Orange Sherbet

ao3 link

tw: suicide attempt, overdose, painkillers, mentions of self harm

words: 3.5k

He was a drain on Gai.

His students didn’t need him—they’d surpass him soon enough.

There were still villagers who called him Friend-Killer Kakashi.

He still saw faces every time he laid down to sleep.

He felt Rin’s blood splash onto his chest every time he used the Chidori.

He couldn’t help Itachi.

He couldn’t help anyone.

Sometimes he understood what must’ve gone through his father’s head.

Sometimes, the corner store doesn’t have orange sherbet.

Kakashi is suicidal and we hope Gai can help.

If there was orange sherbet at the convenience store on the way home, he’d stay alive. They always had pints of ice creams and other frozen treats—it was something he had promised to treat himself to when he felt this way. They had made him write down all these promises during his last few mental health sessions with various Yamanakas, listing three people he could talk to when he felt lonely, three distractions he could use to keep himself sane for a few minutes longer, three reasons to stay alive. When he felt like he couldn’t stand to live another day, he had to summon Pakkun, read Icha Icha, and eat something special and different. Pakkun was still recovering from their last rough battle together. He had read each volume of Icha Icha so many times they risked falling apart upon his next touch. So orange sherbet it was.

He’d never cared much for sweets, of course. But there was something nostalgic about orange sherbet, it wasn’t quite as punch-in-the-face sugary as ice cream, but still gave a slight buzz and coated his tongue. In the back of his mind, he remembered his father—or was it Minato?—buying a pint for each of them and snagging two disposable spoons so they could enjoy them as they walked back from the training grounds. Or was it three pints with Rin and Obito after difficult missions? Something Gai or Tenzou insisted on buying for his birthday one year? Everything blurred in his mind, unable to clearly break each memory apart to see it again.

He pushed open the door, hearing the dull chime of bells as it swung forward to let him into the packed corner shop. He made his way to the freezer without taking in any of the other colors, sights, or smells around him. He remembered his goal. One pint of orange sherbet. Buy one, eat it, and try life again tomorrow.

The freezer door was coated in a light fog, but he was in no hurry to see through it. It was just him and the shopkeep cashing out an older civilian woman. He skimmed his eyes across the rows, looking for the familiar orange carton.

Where was it?

He tried again, looking more carefully at each row, all the way across, then moving down to the next systematically. His heart rate jumped roughly 15 more beats per minute.

They always have it.

He opened the door, searching furiously with his eyes now that there was no frost in his way. He knelt to the ground, checking the bottom rows thoroughly.

It has to be here.

He glanced at the shopkeep, bagging the woman’s groceries as she talked animatedly about something he didn’t care enough to make out. He slid his headband up a couple of inches, barely exposing the crimson eye hidden beneath. With as much chakra as he dared use given his current state, he searched the frozen rack again.

Every flavor of ice cream he could think of, and a least a dozen more he would never consider. And toward the bottom, there was lime, lemon, and raspberry,

No orange sherbet.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained squatted down with the freezer door open, focused on the empty slot where it should be. The shopkeep, now with no other customers, cleared his throat loudly and gestured for Kakashi to shut the door. He blinked twice, then rose, hearing the door seal as he returned to his feet.

“Anything I can help you with?”

Kakashi blinked, again. There was all this noise roaring in his head, and he felt flushed. After a beat too long, he understood what had been asked and shook his head.

“No, ah… Thank you.”

He nodded and quickly ducked out of the store.

That was it. He had to write down three reasons. Reason one was currently out of commission because of him. Reason two had been violently abused so that he had something to do with his hands when he was so full of fire and anxiety that if he wasn’t holding something he’d— well, whatever came easiest or first. Digging his nails into his arms, forming tiny red divots. Scratching until the skin was raw and angry. Slamming fists into his thighs. Step one was always untying his kunai pouch and letting it fall. He’d learned that early on.

Reason number three to stay alive, and the agreement he’d made with himself today, was the convenience of dropping by the store for a small treat. Without that, he wasn’t sure how to proceed.

Walking back to his apartment, he thought about the previous weeks. Those promises had all begun the same way, but ended in a different direction. The format was simple: if blank, then I won’t kill myself today. He used to use a similar format: I can’t kill myself until blank. The problem with that was dreaming far enough ahead to find a goal worth the pain, effort, and time, and also, what to do when the goal was met. You can’t kill yourself until you make chunin. You can’t kill yourself until you complete an A rank mission. You can’t kill yourself until you make jonin. You can’t kill yourself until… what? Until I come back from a mission with no casualties? Until I can become close to someone without them dying in front of me? It spiraled too quickly to come back from.

The simpler way to go about it was short-term goals. Can’t kill yourself till after dinner. Then you’ve gotta brush your teeth. Then read a chapter of a book, or two. Then you’re tired, and you can sleep until the alarm wakes you far earlier than the sun would, and you live until you feel like you can’t again. But even that had its downfalls—if you can’t be bothered to brush your teeth tonight, you’ve gotta find something to keep going.

It had been Gai who suggested rephrasing the prompt to its latest version. On a day I challenge you, Rival, you can’t end the passion of youth! The challenges had been almost daily for a couple of months after that, until Gai had left for an extended mission and Kakashi had been thoroughly encouraged to stay a similar amount of time in the Yamanaka’s care. He’d begrudgingly admitted later that both of those developments had helped, and it had been a few years since his last bout with depression like this.

But it had been like this for a few months now, and the clouds fuzzing over his mind didn’t seem to be letting up. So he revisited some old advice. If it doesn’t rain on the way home, he’d stay alive. The sky remained cloudless. If Naruto pulled something stupid during training, he’d stay alive. It only took fifteen minutes before Sakura started yelling at him. If there was orange sherbet in the corner store—But there wasn’t.

Somehow, he made it inside his apartment, not quite recalling the rest of the walk through the dull ache behind his eyes. He slipped his unzipped vest off his shoulders, not noticing it hit the floor. Routine dictated that next was the kunai pouch, then the bandages, then—

He was sitting on the floor and wasn’t sure how he got there. Sitting was a generous term, he supposed, as his legs were fully outstretched and he was propped on one forearm with his head against the wall. His eyes slowly screwed tight as the dull ache sharpened briefly, then the static between his ears picked up in volume. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and gradually got back to his feet, stumbling into the living room.

He slumped across the couch, staring at the ceiling. He remembered the routine, drilling itself into his head. His vest was off, he needed to remove the kunai pouch, then the bandages, then the shoes, and put all of that away before removing the rest of his clothing to take a shower. After that was dinner, then two hours of free time to fill with whatever he was capable of, then bed. Lately the free time had been compromised of staring at the pile of clean laundry on the chair opposite him that had needed to be put away since Wednesday. He knew the routine. He decided to get a jump start on free time anyway.

He began counting all of the socks he could see sticking out of the collection of clothes. Organization and listing had always helped situate his mind and get him back on track. After ten or so minutes, he was finally able to unstrap the kunai pouch, tossing it across the room, taking care to not pay attention where it landed. There had been a week where Kakashi didn’t even carry the bag because Gai had taken it and every sharp object he could find in the apartment under the pretense of helping him hone his taijutsu by not relying on weapons. He had been content to let Gai keep the explanation at that. That might be something to revisit soon.

No. Gai had already done more than enough for him.

Kakashi found himself standing in his small bathroom. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d been in the living room, but he was now free of his bandages and shoes. He shrugged, reaching behind his head to untie his headband. Somehow, it had gotten knotted worse than usual and a section of his hair was caught in it. He yanked viciously at it, breathing in through gritted teeth at the sting then feeling himself relax ever so slightly. Forgoing undoing the knot, he slid it along the trapped segment of hair until the headband came free. That made it on to the counter. That never saw the floor, unlike every other part of his wardrobe had

.Next to the headband on the counter was a scattered collection of varying sizes of orange plastic bottles with thick white caps. The clinical labels all had his name, and the names of various antidepressants and antianxiety medications, as well as several painkillers and muscle relaxants and some antibiotic from the mission a couple years back where everyone returned miserably ill. Most of the bottles were empty, and he had held on to them meaning to get them refilled. He always had good intentions, but there was so many things to do in a day, and he ran out of energy usually three or four items into his list.

The one thing he could always count of having around, though, was some kind of pain relief.

Missions were hard, somehow harder now than ever with him as a jonin leader. He still had teammates, but they relied fully on him to take the brunt of every attack and to protect them at all costs. He couldn’t blame them, of course. They were children. He wanted nothing more than for them to be children and not suffer the same losses he had.

Still, he was sure to return from every mission above a D rank with at least a few nasty bruises. And any time Gai could rope him into a training session, he knew he’d come home needing ice packs and the heating pad and whatever else he could get to be able to train with his team the next morning.

And that was how he found himself glaring into the mirror, the bottle of white tablets shaking in his fist.

He was certainly in pain, that couldn’t be argued.

But how many to take?

No orange sherbet.

He shook his head vigorously again, walking back into the living room and falling onto the couch. He focused on a mark on the ceiling, breathing faster than he understood why while his vision started swimming.

There wasn’t orange sherbet.

He was a drain on Gai.

His students didn’t need him—they’d surpass him soon enough.

There were still villagers who called him Friend-Killer Kakashi,

He still saw faces every time he laid down to sleep.

He felt Rin’s blood splash onto his chest every time he used the Chidori,

Sometimes he understood what must’ve gone through his father’s head.

He couldn’t help Itachi

He couldn’t help anyone,

Sometimes, the corner store doesn’t have orange sherbet.

Sometimes, the little orange bottle that rattles doesn’t rattle any more.

He was in the kitchen, water dripping off his face and hands as he panted over the sink. How did he get here? He swallowed hard, his mouth somehow still dry, and turned the water off. The prescription bottle was laying on the floor. Then so was he. Against the cold tile, he was able to relax just a bit again.

It’d be over soon. He wouldn’t hurt anyone else ever again.

His thoughts became harder to string along, but that didn’t bother him. The thoughts he could connect didn’t sting as much as they usually did. It might be nice to put away that laundry, actually.

Every muscle was heavy. There was so much weight on him, and he couldn’t move. How much time had passed? He thought his heart was starting to race, and wondered if he was having second thoughts. But he couldn’t feel the ground beneath him any longer. He struggled for hours, days, to move his index finger to trace the hem of his shirt over and over. Could he feel it? Was he moving?

He rolled to his side, slowly bringing his knees up to prepare to stand. But his body didn’t move. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He couldn’t? His… It was his body. But? Was he? Could move? …Him?

Several centuries had passed before he heard the key in the door, and the door had already been sealed shut before he understood what the noise was.

“Ka-KASHI! In celebration of your return home from your latest mission, I made sure to grab a treat. Do you remember when you left the ANBU and we went to the corner store together? What a celebration to end all celebrations that day was! I was sure to grab the finest, most youthful of every snack—orange sherbet!”

***

Gai held the thin plastic bag up triumphantly, two pints rolling against each other. Normally he would have also grabbed spoons, but assuming Kakashi would be home, he was sure he could find two spoons somewhere in the apartment, even if he had to wash every dish himself.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed to him that Kakashi was on a downswing lately, but he’d always been the counter to balance his own exuberance, and he had complete confidence that they would move past this, too.

He nudged the flak vest that was crumpled on the ground at his feet. Kakashi must’ve been itching to take it off to have removed it the second he got inside. But why wouldn’t he have hung it up, or placed it at least near the hamper? This wasn’t part of the routine. Had he been badly injured on this last mission?

That must be it. He would have come home, shed his clothing, and jumped in the shower to clean his wounds and begin loosening his muscles. Much to Gai’s dismay, Kakashi seemed to be magnetically repelled from hospitals, preferring to treat his wounds himself as long as he could walk. So he must have some sort of torso injury, maybe bruised ribs or a minor stab wound, and he was surely tending to it quietly deeper inside the apartment.

The laundry he had helped Kakashi wash last week was still in the soft, cushioned chair in the dim living room. That wasn’t too surprising, he knew that was the first thing Kakashi would let fall by the wayside if something wasn’t going to get done. As long as the clothes were clean, he could wear them, even if they hadn’t been neatly hung, and that was something Gai could live with.

What he did not appreciate the sight of, however, was the kunai pouch halfway under the end table near the entry way. With such an inconvenient location, Kakashi surely must have made an effort to lose the bag and the knives it contained. He felt his heart swell with pride that Kakashi had the forethought to disregard the bag, but his heart deflated just as quickly with the knowledge that Kakashi felt it necessary to do so.

As he continued into the apartment, he called out his rival’s name once or twice. He must be home. The barrier seals hadn’t been placed over the front door, which means he either was here, or kidnapped from here, and the building still existed, so he must not have been kidnapped. So where was he?

Conscious of the rapidly melting sherbet in his hand, he turned down the hallway to the kitchen to leave the bad in the freezer while he helped Kakashi, presumably in the bedroom, bandage his wounds.

As he rounded the corner, flipping on the lights as he went, he heard a small groan. Nothing at eye level. Cautiously stepping forward, his foot sent a small orange plastic bottle skittering across the tiles.

Gai was barely aware of the sherbet hitting the ground.

Kakashi looked terrible. It was not particularly strange to find him lying on the ground, but there was absolutely no color in his face. Both of his eyes were lazily opened, and neither focused on Gai’s as he kneeled down to check his vitals. His breathing was shallow and his heart rate garbage.

“What did you DO?”

Gai yanked Kakashi up into a sitting position, grabbing for the prescription bottle. Depending on what it said, maybe this wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Maybe he’d been poisoned. Maybe even food poisoning. But the signs of an opiate overdose matched the label printed in cruelly clinical terms and he crushed the plastic in his fist. Kakashi needed to get to a hospital, and he needed to get there immediately.

He gathered his rival in his arms, not noticing his weight nearly as much as he noticed how limp he was, making no effort to not be ragdolled around. As he stood up, he took stock again of Kakashi’s breathing—shallower than a moment ago. After a second’s hesitation, he reached for the edge of his mask and yanked it down under his chin, hoping the direct access of air to his lips and nose might help. His lips had some color in them still, and he looked away, trying to respect the privacy of the man who he would kill as soon as he was saved.

***

Some time in the next twenty-four hours, Kakashi’s eyes opened. When they did, blinded by the light and surrounded by medical whites, he was shocked to find himself actually in heaven. What brought him back to earth was Gai, unceremoniously slapping his shoulder.

“What, my dear, dear rival, were you thinking?” he said, thankfully not as loudly as he could have.

Kakashi was at a loss. There were dozens, hundreds of thoughts racing through his head, but they all seemed password-protected and he didn’t have administrative access. He could barely open his mouth, covered by a thin towel, let alone form an explanation that would have made any sense to Gai.

Instead, he surprised himself by feeling the towel suddenly go cold and cling to his skin.

Gai panicked for a moment at the sight of Kakashi’s tears, then took a deep breath and slid forward to the edge of his chair. He brushed a warm, calloused thumb across his rival’s face.

“I know you’re in pain. I do. I don’t understand it, but I believe that you’re in pain and we’re going to help you get better.” He took a shuddering breath, noting that it was thicker with emotion than he had anticipated. “I don’t know what the future is going to hold for us, but the passion of our youth, and especially of your youth, Kakashi, is not close to over. So, whatever it takes, whatever the Yamanakas advise and whatever you need, we’ll make it happen. I love you, and you’re not going anywhere.”

Kakashi’s eyes widened, and Gai became aware that he had opened his Sharingan at some point to record this moment in his memory. He swallowed, feeling his throat begin to ache.

“I love you.”

Kakashi’s tears began falling in a steady stream, and Gai remained exactly where he was, brushing soft, silver hair off of his rival’s forehead. After a moment, he leaned further forward and pressed his forehead against the space he had just cleared.

In a small, scratchy voice he had not heard from the man laying before him ever in the past, he heard a whisper that nearly broke his heart.

“I love you too.”

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith//spencer reid - chapter 8

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

pairing: Fem!OC/Spencer

word count: 3.9k

content warnings: discussion of a dead body (for a case), discussion of sensory overload (idk if that's a warning but just in case).

A/N: sorry this took so long! i've had a lot of writer's block with this series, but i'm feeling a lot more motivated with it, now. anyway enjoy!

masterlist

my feet slam into the pavement at a rate that makes me wonder if my heart can take it. I can feel the air in my lungs, stinging, and the way it never seems like enough. I can't stop. my arms are pumping and my legs burn.

I'm sure I look like a mess right now, exhausted and sweaty as I make my way up the biggest hill by my apartment. I haven't been running in a while, and this incline is even more daunting than it was before.

I use the momentum I've built from before now and force myself up. every breath rips through me violently until I'm sure that if I stop running, I'll collapse. but I keep pushing, knowing it'll be worth it.

I hated running until college. just absolutely despised the thought of getting outside and forcing myself to move quickly. the older I get, though, the more refreshing it's gotten. it helped me escape from midterms, from the pressure that constantly seemed to mount with every passing day. sometimes it feels like all of it keeps piling on, and it's never going to stop.

of course, that's not really the way to look at life. I've had things to balance out the work, friends to call and ways to let out the hammering violence that always seem to fill the spaces between my ribs. running clears my head when nothing else does.

once I get to the top, I bend over and rest my palms on my knees so that I can relax. I can hear my heart beating in my ears and can feel my pulse thudding against my throat. it's good, though. I needed to do this again, to get exercise.

I resist the urge to lay down flat on the pavement. DC isn't really a good place to do that; everyone around me is on a morning stroll with their partner or they're out for a jog themselves. I pass several enthusiastic-looking dogs out for a walk. the sheer number of people around me should make me feel normal.

it doesn't.

I straighten and stretch out my muscles, wincing at the way my calves feel if I move them funny. I don’t want to get called in for a case today, but that's naive. there will always be another case because there will always be people we need to stop. maybe I'm just not jaded enough to not care. I like to think that's a good thing, though.

...

when I head into the office a couple hours later, there's a to-go cup of coffee resting on my desk. I smile to myself, set my bag down and shrug off my coat, then peek over the divider to see Spencer with a case file open and an identical to-go cup a couple inches away.

"is this your doing?" I refer to the coffee. he nods and smiles at me, seemingly not in the mood to talk.

"thanks, Reid."

sitting down to do some work, I sneak a peek at him. Spencer is acting different from last weekend. more shy. I'm not really sure the reason, unless he just felt particularly outgoing at the party and is now back to his default self.

we get a case before the hour is up, and then my mind is occupied by the details.

jet rides, though now a familiar routine, are probably my favorite part of the job. I don't feel totally unproductive, but I still have time to unwind and talk to people on our way. Emily and I have gotten much closer within the past few weeks and sometimes she tells me stories about her old job that keep me on the edge of my seat.

there's something so mysterious about her that I just appreciate; she's like a cool older cousin to me. and she's great at making fun of Morgan, which is something that I've found enjoyable as well. sometimes he needs to be knocked down a peg-- she's the woman to do it.

"how many?" I trace my finger down the smooth skin of Derek's arm, where he's lifted his sleeve just enough to show the inked lion. it's a big tattoo, and I'm somewhat surprised he has one at all. he just doesn't really seem the type.

"five right now." he flexes his bicep flirtatiously, and I immediately remove my hand with a repulsed expression, rolling my eyes at the chuckle he lets out.

"don't feed his ego like that." Emily warns from across the table. she's flipping through one of the plant magazines that we've stashed in the snack cupboards (much to Hotch's disapproval). I turn to see Morgan's reaction.

"you a little jealous, Prentiss?" he teases. her only response is a glance that dares him to push further. they both know that Emily has absolutely no interest in him, which I suppose adds to their friendship. Morgan leans down by my ear, but he makes no effort to quiet his voice. "you should ask about her tattoos."

"you have tattoos?" my eyes widen at this, voice a little louder than usual. Hotch glances over at us from his seat a ways away, but doesn't say anything. Reid is passed out on the couch, strangely tired for the middle of the day; Rossi's writing something in his miniature journal.

"that's not anyone's business." she says more to Morgan than to me.

"I wanna see!" I set my glass of ice water down on the table and straighten up. Emily pretends to be exhausted by the persistence, but she closes her magazine momentarily.

"look, I can't show them all here." she raises a suggestive eyebrow.

"then how does Derek know?" I smirk. Emily makes a face, but Morgan is the one who replies.

"this one gets a little loose-lipped when she drinks too much." he teases. I snort and glance at Emily. I've seen her tipsy before, but never drunk. at most, she gets affectionate with all of us and calls us her best friends in the whole world. which, honestly, isn't an unwelcome sentiment.

"I do not." she argues.

"yeah, you do." Reid mumbles from the couch cushion where he's been resting his head. I jump at the sudden noise, and we all turn to him.

"look who's up." Emily smiles. Reid stretches his legs out, limbs so long that his feet hang off the end of the couch. he's wearing mismatched socks again today, one with bananas and one covered in sushi rolls. I smile to myself.

"I'm not," he argues. "someone had to correct you."

Morgan and I let out an amused laugh. my eyes dart between Spencer and the two other agents. "I feel like I'm the only one here who hasn't seen Prentiss drunk."

"yes, you have." she frowns.

"no. not, like, plastered."

"don't let Garcia hear you say that." Morgan laughs. I snort.

"why?"

"any excuse to party, and she'll take it." he shakes his head affectionately.

"she'd just call it bonding." Prentiss adds in. I have a soft spot in my heart for Pen. for all of the darkness we see here, she makes it a little bit brighter with her quips and sparkly pens and neon glasses. she's a blessing.

"what's so bad about that?" I defend for her sake.

"nothing's wrong with it, per se," Emily shrugs. "it just means we aren't as professional as we should be."

"I'd argue that our job actually means we get to let loose more when we have the time." I shrug. Morgan offers his fist to pound, and I oblige with a satisfied smile.

"you two are children, you know that?" Emily gestures between Derek and me. I shrug, about to return to my crossword when she speaks again. "how many tattoos do you have, Clea?"

I blink for a second, deciding whether or not to lie. it would be kind of cool to sound badass, but I don't know if I even have the mental capability to fib to a bunch of profilers. "none."

"what?" Morgan looks at me with confusion.

"yeah, none. why is that such a big surprise?" I laugh at their reactions. Prentiss is alarmed, too.

"I don't know-- you seem like the kind of person to get a heart tattooed on your thigh or something." Morgan shrugs. I make a face, silent.

"that's offensive."

Prentiss snorts and finishes her drink. I peek over and see Reid with his eyes closed but a slightly amused smile on his face. by the couch, I can see through the window. we're slipping through gray clouds that are saturated with rain, and the weather change causes the jet to shake a bit.

my fingertips wrap around the arm of the seat and Emily eyes me warily.

"you okay?"

"don't like flying." I answer, nostrils flaring slightly. usually with these trips, I've been able to hide my apprehension for flying by holding onto my knee below the table or something, but the sudden jerks are putting me off.

it's stupid-- plane anxiety is ridiculously common, and I don't think it's necessarily unwarranted. the problem is that to a bunch of people trained in behavioral analysis, it shows a blatant fear of not having control.

which is true, but it's not like I need that plastered all over my face every time we board a flight.

"would you get a tattoo if you could?" Emily changes the subject, thankfully, and I bite down on my bottom lip.

"I think so, yeah." it's said without much thought; all that's on my mind right now is wondering what our ETA is. Morgan shifts in his seat to smirk.

"really."

"sure."

he nods appreciatively before turning to look back out the window. droplets of moisture are collecting there, but they only distort the image of Portland stretched out below. the water is steel gray and rippled with wind.

I've never been here. for some reason, I find myself wondering what it smells like. that mingling of city scent and ocean, if they meet in the middle to form their own distinct identity. if it will settle on my tongue and in my clothes.

it's funny to me that when I go to different places and return, I don't notice how different it all smells until I breathe it in through the fabric of my shirts, and from there it all comes rushing back. Spencer mentioned during a case once that scent creates the most powerful memory reaction out of all our senses-- and I believe it.

DC smells like humidity and rain-slicked streets, Montana like dust. even the jet has a particular one that I don't associate with anything right now, but I know I will in the future. like I'm standing in the formation of a memory.

half-baked.

...

we've got the hoods of our raincoats up as we make our way into the office of our latest victim. Morgan holds the door and I wander in, staring up at the enormous glass walls of the place. a stray droplet falls from the hood of my jacket and onto my nose, rolling down the bridge and causing me to sniffle.

her boss is surprisingly dismissive of us when we get to his office, reluctantly getting off a phone call and giving me something of a dead-fish handshake. as we take a seat at his desk, I can smell the overbearing stench of his expensive cologne.

he's got exactly the kind of look that I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole: taut, judgmental face with a stiff mustache and slicked-back black hair that honestly is probably dyed. his eyes linger on me for a bit longer than I appreciate, but I clear my throat and try to brush off the discomfort.

Winona's body was found in a ditch off the side of a highway, dumped like trash. based on the ME report, she was alive when he threw her in, but died shortly after from her wounds. the whole thing is gruesome and as her employer notes her tendency to daydream and occasional tardiness, I want to reach across the table to smack him.

Morgan is able to keep his cool better than I can, nodding. I know it's important to know her behaviors in order to build our profile, but I still don't like the way this guy is talking about her.

"she wasn't really the strongest employee we've got, but she was nice enough around the office." he shrugs. I notice the gold wedding band that glints on his ring finger, the way he leans back in his swivel chair. he's got evaluative eyes.

by the time we're done, I'm practically flying out the door of his office and hurrying to the elevator. we got what we needed to know from him, if not through a somewhat convoluted method.

"nice guy." I note sarcastically after punching the down button. Morgan tucks his hands into his jeans pockets and looks at our warped reflections in the elevator doors.

"we talk to a lot of people like that. you get used to it."

"didn't seem too concerned about her at all."

"I don't think guys like that are concerned about much more than themselves."

"you should have mentioned a tax evasion investigation happening around here," I smirk. "that would probably put the fear of God into him."

Morgan chuckles and looks over at me. it would be unprofessional to fist bump with so many people around, although the smile we share is definitely a great equivalent.

as we pack into the metal box with a bunch of employees, they look at us curiously. the enormous FBI label on the back of our jackets probably doesn't help, but I pretend to look like I know what I'm doing as we step out into the lobby.

in all reality, faking it until I make it is the only thing I know how to do.

...

the late night cravings come as a surprise as I stand over a map of Portland. my eyes are starting to cross from staring at all the minuscule details for so long, and my fingers are twitching from a mixture of hunger and overloaded caffeine.

we were supposed to go to bed about two hours ago, but I know for a fact that I'm not the only one sitting in my motel room with open files and a determined expression. I do happen to be the only person rooming alone, however, and the silence has been helpful.

Reid's been working on a geographic profile, but there's something missing. I'm not sure what it is. all I know is that if I don't figure it out soon, it's going to eat away at me. based on his activity patterns, there are only a few more days before this guy abducts another woman.

except now I'm just thinking about how much time we don't have, and that sort of sends me into a spiral, too. I'm prepared to always be running against a clock for this job, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. I'm going to lose it if I stare at any more tiny lines indicating roads or side streets or whatever else demands attention.

I need to get out of my head.

before taking time to really consider anything else, I grab my phone and look up pizza places nearby. what I need right now is some sustenance and tv-- or at least something to distract me enough to recharge.

I change into my pjs and wash my face while I wait for the delivery person to arrive, try to ease the day out of my bones. there used to be a whole process for me after work every day, where I'd shut off my brain. The Real Housewives of Atlanta provided ample help for this, along with fuzzy socks and glasses of red wine. I can make do with this.

once the pizza guy comes and I pay for my food, I don't even make way to my room; instead, I go to the person I know who needs this more than I do.

"Clea?" Spencer rubs his eyes as he swings open the door, glasses held in the other hand.

"hi." I smile brightly.

"what are you doing here?" his soft tone and the dim light from a motel lamp in the corner tells me that Morgan is asleep right now in the other bed.

in response to his question, I hold up the box of pizza with a grin. his eyes widen.

"I can't eat all this alone." definitely a lie, but saying that he needs to take a break probably wouldn't sway him enough.

for a second, Spencer seems to debate this in his head. when he runs a shaky hand through his hair, I roll my eyes. "it's pizza, dude. not a wedding proposal. you can go back to the case in twenty minutes."

he nods this time and looks up at me as I turn and start toward my room. closing the door gently behind him, I don't miss the way he increases his pace a little to catch up with me.

"did you get mushrooms?" he asks. I throw him a disgusted look before realizing what he's talking about and breaking into a grin.

"you remembered!" I reference my hatred of the fungus. Spencer smiles with pride, turns his gaze to the carpeted floors. I unlock the door and let us in.

"of course I remember," he snorts. "it's hard to forget."

I giggle at the way he immediately uses the sink to wash his hands, and I join him after setting the box on the bed.

"favorite soap scent?" I ask absently. suds cover my fingers as he rinses the water from his. normally, this isn't a question I'd ask, but Spencer seems like he would have a response.

"you know, I really enjoy anything fresh-smelling," he thinks about it. "like waterfall smell."

"I like those, too."

"what's your favorite?"

"there's this brand that I love that specializes in antibacterial soaps, and they have a lavender one that literally makes me ascend." I laugh. Spencer is drying his hands with a folded towel and his face lights up.

"Ravi's Organics?" he suggests. my heart leaps with recognition.

"yes! oh my god, have you used their cracked cinnamon one?"

"I have the hand sanitizer in my bag." Reid's eyes are so pretty. they sparkle with a hazel color, almost chocolatey in the cheap motel light.

"they have a hand sanitizer for it?" my jaw drops. he nods and I shake my head slowly. we walk over to the bed to eat the pizza. he seems hesitant, though, and pauses.

it takes me a second to remember that Spencer has different boundaries and is just kind of awkward in general. even though there's no obvious tension between us, I don't want to make him uncomfortable, so I plop down on the floor.

"you like Ravi's Organics." he states it back to himself more than to me, and as I pop open the box to reveal a beautiful pepperoni pizza, I nod vigorously.

"yeah, it's actually kind of a funny story," we start to dig in immediately. I lift an enormous slice to my lips and bite into the perfection. it's so good. "when I was little, my parents used to call me Rascal."

"Rascal?" he laughs through a bite of food.

"like the raccoon? from that book?" it's a kid's story.

"why?" he snorts. I take a second to chew before replying.

"I just get really overwhelmed by certain sensory things-- like, I hate being sticky or having any kind of weird texture on my hands. so whenever we went out to eat or anything, I would always sit on the outside of the booth so I could run to the bathroom and wash my hands as I pleased." I explain all of this with a slight frown on my face. it's true, I've just never really thought about it.

"I don't like sticky stuff, either." he offers.

"yeah, it got pretty bad. but I guess I just grew out of it. I'm not sure when." I pluck a piece of pepperoni off the top and slide it into my mouth.

Spencer takes in this information for a second while he eats, and I'm momentarily worried that I've overshared. he came for some food and now I've served up a weird childhood memory to accompany it.

but then he does something funny and altogether endearing.

"actually, raccoons are very cleanly creatures, despite their dietary habits." he tells me.

frankly, it makes me feel better than anything else that he could have said. "fastidious little things, right?"

"exactly." he chuckles. his shoulders are hunched, elbows leaning on his knees.

"fix your posture." I say gently, noticing the way his spine curves abysmally when he's sitting across from me. his cheeks turn a pretty pink, but he follows directions.

"is it that bad?" he's a bit embarrassed. immediately, I soften and do what comes easily, making a joke.

"if you don't work on it, you're gonna be living in a French cathedral by the age of thirty."

Spencer snorts-- genuinely almost chokes on his food-- and looks at me with his almost childlike eyes. there's something in them that I can't decipher at all, almost so obvious that it completely goes over my head.

"that was mean." he's still trying to recover from the onset of giggles, and I lean forward to grab another slice, suppressing a proud grin myself.

"your future straight-backed self will thank me."

"I'll remember that." he nods dutifully.

"I'm sure you will."

we share a secretive smile before I bite into my pizza and launch into a different subject. the more I learn about Spencer, the more I want to know. I feel like there are things beneath every new surface that would be fascinating to understand.

"what's it like having an eidetic memory?"

he frowns like he isn't sure how to answer. I thought he'd already have something locked and loaded, a prepared response for a question he definitely gets frequently. when he opens his mouth, I find myself hanging on every word. "it's... interesting."

"blessing or a curse?"

"both."

"would you ever give it up if given the option?" I narrow my eyes a bit. I'm especially curious about this.

"no." this is delivered with certainty. for a second, I stare at him with about a million more questions in my head. of course, they're completely out-of-bounds and way too personal, but they're still there.

"hm." I say instead. as usual, delivering thrilling commentary at every turn.

Spencer peeks at me over his pizza for a second, seeming to want to say something else, but decides against it. our eyes meet; I'm not sure what it is, maybe a silent agreement or something else that's unspoken, but we decide not to press further on either end.

whatever he's got tucked away in that big brain of his, he's not ready to talk about it with anyone-- much less a new colleague in a dumpy motel. there's a time and place for certain things, and boundaries to respect.

I change the subject before he can make some lame excuse to leave. for some reason, I just don't want him to leave me here in this room.

taglist (lmk if you wanna be added/removed for this series): @reidsconverse @voidsfilm

[kiirokero]

Nepenthe (KTH)

Nepenthe: A drug used to induce forgetfulness of pain or sorrow; something capable of causing oblivion of grief or suffering.

Part of the “Protect the Village!” Oneshot Series!

Masterlist

Pairing: Baker!Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Fluff, angst if you squint, romance...? Reader has troubles with their emotions and TaeTae tries to help them, ft. a blonde smug Jimin,

Note: Time to sleep. Catch up on writing :)

Summary: Mama always said that sweets give you cavities. But she didn’t warn you about the boy who makes them. Or, having an insatiable sweet tooth has left you spending much of your time in Taehyung’s bakery. But nobody prepared you for the feelings your cold heart caught.

Word Count: 2.4k

      Contrary to popular belief, you did have feelings. You felt happy, sad, angry. You were human. But people tended to forget that. Whether it was because you were academically intelligent or you were just an easy target, you were used to... Well, getting used. 

     You were often the cash cow. The dead horse everyone thought was entertaining to beat. The goose with the golden egg and no farmer would leave you alone before you popped out the next solid gold money maker. And when you gave in and gave them what they wanted, you were the one left behind, high and dry. 

     Years of being treated like this in college left you emotionally unavailable. You opted to protect yourself from the hurt you felt by not allowing yourself to feel at all. You had built up your walls so thick that you barely allowed yourself to even feel happy half of the time. Many people tried to break down the brick hell you’d banished yourself to, but gave up when the stone didn’t relent. But it's not like you care, right?

      You didn’t care that you had nobody to voice your worries to late at night when the self doubting thoughts plagued your mind. You didn’t care that people avoided you because of your frigid nature that left the happy little people in Bangtan Village uncomfortable. So what if you didn’t have anyone to catch you when you fell? You didn’t need anybody. 

You just needed your comfort foods. 

     Yes, maybe it was an unhealthy habit to drown your self hating thoughts in the taste of sugar and cinnamon. Maybe anyone looking into the state of your mental health would cringe at the way you personally dealt with it. Who cares? This was your life and you would live it however the hell you wanted to. You were tired of others dictating you. 

     So you often found yourself at “Kim’s Confections” sitting in the corner, looking out with window while you ate your danish and sipped your tea. Every single day, whether the sun was up or down, you sat in the same seat, at the same bakery. You changed up the pastry, of course, you could only eat danishes for 3 days straight at most. But the routine of visiting the small shop was one thing that never changed. 

     As leaves fells and winter came, you visited the bakery. As rain fell and flower bloomed, you visited the bakery. You like the atmosphere the bakery gave off. The aroma of sugar and bread that wafted through the air made your body feel like jello as you could easily fall asleep to the smell. The small wooden tables that were scattered around made the shop feel more personal. The food that never failed to melt in your mouth calmed any tension that seeped into your bones. 

But one thing about the bakery that didn’t calm you down was the owner himself. 

Kim Taehyung.

      Nothing was wrong with Taehyung, per se. He was an attractive guy who always had a friendly, boxy smile on his face. He had beautiful brunette hair and majestic auburn eyes. His skin was always shining, 24/7, always looking like he walked off the cover of a magazine. Even if you gave off a cold, icy aura that screamed “Don’t talk to me,” he never once failed to give you a smile and a warm welcome. 

     No, you were never purposely mean to Taehyung. You never snapped at him or showed any sort of distaste towards him, because you didn’t have any. He just confused you. Normal people would stop trying to be nice to you by now. Most people would take your less-than enthusiastic responses as rudeness or dislike. Not Taehyung though. 

      You often asked yourself what was up with him. I mean, who would look at you and think, “Yeah, I’ll give the snow queen a shot,” Nobody. Except Kim Taehyung, apparently. Without fail Taehyung tried to initiate conversations between the two of you that would last more than a few one words answers (Mostly from your side,) He would ask how your day was or what you did over the weekend. To which you would respond with “Good” or “Nothing,”

      It’s not that you didn’t want to talk to the guy. He just made you feel... Weird. His smile made your heart quicken. His laugh made your cheeks heat up. Whenever he had his eyes on you, your hands would turn clammy. It just made you feel... uncomfortable. You were used to feeling 2 things, “Bleh,” and “What am I doing with my life,” not some odd feeling of quickened hearts and clammy hands. 

      But alas, no matter how much you wished to banish the invasive feeling all together, your sweet tooth needed to be satiated. So here you were, standing in front of “Kim’s Confections,” Walking in and chiming the small little bell that hung above the door. The familiar sight of wooden chairs and the glass display case full of confections filled your eyes. But there at the counter was the man himself. 

      “Hello Y/n! Welcome back!” Taehyung said with a smile on his face, enthusiasm laced in his voice. “Hello,” You said, sounding dead compared to his lively way of speech. “What will it be today, sweetcheeks?” Taehyung smirked, resting his head on his hand as he leaned over the counter. “Don’t call me that,” You said, not liking the heat that made its way onto your face the moment he called you “Sweetcheeks,” 

      Taehyung chuckled, saying nothing, just gesturing to the glass case of goodies. Taking a look, you noticed your favorite was in stock today. Red velvet cupcakes. “That one, please,” You said, pointing at the mouth-watering pastry. “Coming right up, sweecheeks,” Taehyung smiled. You decided to ignore the endearing nickname, instead trying your best to cool down the heat on the tips of your ears and apples of your cheeks. 

      Taehyung grabbed the cupcake and put it on a plate for you, sliding it towards you as you handed him the money you’d already fished out of your wallet. “Thanks,” You mumbled, grabbing the plate off of the counter. “Anything for you,” Taehyung smirked. You didn’t say anything else to him as you went to your corner to eat your cupcake. 

Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another.

      You’ve read The Iliad a thousand times before. You know how the adventure ends and what the climax of the story will be. You knew what happened to the characters, and you were well versed in the outdated way of speech. But that didn’t mean you appreciated the interruption of a certain blonde haired male. “What Jimin?” You groaned, putting down your well-worn book, glaring at the man in front of you. “Ah you wound me, Y/n. I just wanted to see you is all,” Jimin shrugged. 

      “See me? Dumb move,” You countered back, face unchanging. Jimin just chuckled, shaking his head with a smile. “You know, I was talking to Taehyung and he said you barely speak a word to him. That’s surprising since your with him every day,” Jimin smirked, swiping off some stray frosting that laid on your plate and putting it in his mouth. “I have nothing to say,” You said, turning to look outside the window. 

      Jimin scoffed, “I find that hard to believe. Tae can make anyone talk, do you not like him?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. “I didn’t say that,” Was your immediate answer, debunking Jimin’s dumb theory. “Well, you kinda did,” Jimin teased. “He makes me feel weird,” You admitted, unable to face the man in front of you. 

“He makes you feel weird?” Jimin asked, confused. 

“He makes my palms clammy and face hot. He’a like a witch or something,” You sighed. 

      You didn’t know Jimin, no. Jimin was one of Taehyung’s friends who tried even harder than him to get on your “Good side,” When in reality, there was no good side. You were just in a perpetual state of saying “Cool,” and throwing up peace signs at everything life threw at you. So no, you weren’t Jimin’s friend. 

So the unimpressed, disdained face you gave him when he burst out laughing at your words wasn’t entirely unwarranted. 

      “Oh my goodness, you’re funny,” Jimin chuckled out. “What did I say?” You asked. “You have a crush on Tae!” Jimin whisper shouted. Your eyes widened, and you flicked his forehead. “What are we? Twelve? A crush? That’s preschool shit,” You seethed, not allowing yourself to believe what Jimin was saying. “Woah, calm down Y/n. Crushes are normal,” Jimin explained, right before Taehyung came up to grab your empty plate for you. 

      “Did you enjoy the cupcake?” Taehyung said in his deep baritone voice that made goosebumps rise on your skin. You nodded your head yes, avoiding looking right into his eyes. “I’m glad,” Taehyung whispered to you, giving you a smile as he walked back to the kitchen with your plate. You watched him go the whole way. 

      “Scratch that, your head over heels,” Jimin spoke up, and you whipped your head around to glare at him. “Shut it,” You spoke through gritted teeth, gathering your book and purse, standing up to leave. “I don’t have a crush. That’s childish,” You countered, but Jimin just gave you a knowing look, a smirk plastered on his face. 

     You never missed a day to visit the bakery. But maybe you should’ve today. It was pouring outside. Thunder rumbled through the air and lighting flashed through the sky. You were without an umbrella or anything to protect you from the rainy onslaught that was happening outside the shop. 

      Sighing, you flipped through the pages of The Iliad. You had just finished the story another time, and the epic was still too fresh in your mind to begin reading again. So you sat in your corner, listening to the pounding of rain that rammed against the shop windows. 

“It’s pouring out there, huh?” 

      Taehyung’s soft, deep voice cut through the rain ambiance that filled the tiny shop. You nodded, tearing your eyes away from him and suppressing the thoughts of his muscular figure from your mind. “Do you have someone coming to pick you up? I don’t want you walking out in that,” He asked, coming to sit in the seat in front of you. 

      “I don’t,” You answered, avoiding his gaze. “Really? No boyfriend coming to sweep you off of your feet?” He chuckled. You shrugged, picking at the edges of your book. “I’m not girlfriend material,” You sighed, finally looking up to meet his gaze. “Not girlfriend material?” Taehyung asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “I just have too much baggage, I guess,” You shrugged. 

     Taehyung chuckled, “Everyone has baggage, Y/n,” Was his answer, looking right into your eyes with his deep auburn ones. “I guess,” You mumbled. The two of you sat in silence for a couple of minutes, just listening to the sound of the rain outside as the two of you just enjoyed each other’s presence without the other knowing it. 

      “I think you’re girlfriend material,” Taehyung spoke up suddenly, startling you out of the thoughts that swirled around your mind. “Ha ha,” You sarcastically laughed, but Taehyung doubled down. “I’m serious, Y/n,” He said, leaning forward on the table. “No I’m not,” You argued, shaking your head at what you believed was a ridiculous claim. 

     “Why do you think that?” Taehyung asked, but you didn’t respond, feeling the walls you meticulously built start to crumble. That scared you. You’ve always been focused on others trying to force your walls down, but you never thought about what it would be like for someone to urge you to bring them down yourself. To want to willing talk about the thoughts that plagued your mind. To let someone cozy up with you inside your walls. It was scary how you wanted to talk to Taehyung. 

      You didn’t know what it was about Taehyung that made you want to let him in and turn your hell into a sanctuary. Maybe it was because he was always so nice. Or maybe it was because he made the best comfort food you’d every have. Whatever it was about him, he was starting to get through to you, and it scared you more than you’d like to admit. So you shut down. 

      Taehyung kept asking you why you thought that or what made you think that you were any less than amazing, but you just kept shaking your not wanting to open your mouth in fear that you’d spill out all of your emotions like a hangover full of regrets and puke. 

     You heard Taehyung sigh as he got up from the chair. You felt your heart squeeze at the thought of him finally giving up on you. You knew it was a bit selfish to expect him to stick around after you gave him no reason to, but it still hurt. You were so out of tune with your emotions that you had a hard time identifying what was what. 

Was this disappointment? It’s been a long time old friend. 

Was Jimin right? Am I in love? Is this what love feels like?

      A hand placed a plate with a cinnamon roll on it in front of you. The aroma of cinnamon filled your nose, and you cracked a small smile at it. Taehyung sat back down in the seat in front of you, giving you a warm smile. “You don’t have to push yourself to answer,” Taehyung spoke up, “I don’t know exactly how you feel, but my friend, Yoongi, is like you.” He smiled as you took a bite of the cinnamon roll. “He says that talking to others about feelings is a monumental task, so don’t feel obligated to answer my question. You have your walls for a reason, Y/n. It’s up to you if you want to let me in. But I will say, I’m waiting at the door with cookies.”

      At his words, you gave him a sincere smile. The first sincere smile he’d ever seen from you and you could tell by his huge, boxy one that it made him happy. “Thank you, Taehyung,” You said. “Anything for you, sweetcheeks,” Okay, so maybe your heart was a bit cold. Maybe the thick walls you built around yourself prevented you from properly processing your feelings. Maybe Jimin was right and the clammy hands and giddy feeling you got from being around Taehyung was love. 

But right now, the two of you didn’t care. 

Because you were in the middle of your first genuine conversation. 

[mourningbirds1]

Prospect fic: He Is Home

An Ezra x Reader one-shot

Rating: Explicit for smut Relationship: Ezra x Fem Reader (You) Tags: Smut; Taking A Bath Together; Soft Touching; Oral Sex, F Receiving; Vaginal Sex; Hurt/Comfort; Forehead Kisses; Angsty Fluff; Magical Healing Cock Wordcount: 3K

Also posted on Ao3 - link is in my Masterlist. I also have a Javi x Reader one-shot A Walk In The Woods (smut)

A/N: Written for @yespolkadotkitty​‘s follower celebration writing challenge for the prompt All along, I believed I would find you. Thank you to Kitty for the beta 💗

Summary: You are walking in the rain and feel lost and confused, so you take refuge in Ezra’s house and he looks after you. 

He Is Home

You thought you’d grown strong enough to cope with bad weather after walking for so long, through all seasons. It had been hard at first, but you’d soon learned how to protect yourself from the elements. There were still odd days when you struggled, but you’d remind yourself that everything was temporary. And anyway, even the harshest sun would mellow into a soft glow at dusk. The hardest rain would eventually ease and reward you with the sweet scent of new growth. 

But something has changed today. You tell yourself it must be the cumulative effect of the journey so far. You just need a break, that’s all. Only there’s no place to stop. 

This wind is not the strongest you’ve walked through, but today you’re gasping as it whips around your face and steals the breath from your nose and the words from your mouth. You keep your head down and brace your body against it, but you can’t seem to pick up speed like you would have done yesterday.

Objectively, you know you’ve withstood heavier rain than this. But your shoes have holes that were not there yesterday. And you swear your coat used to be waterproof, but today it is letting in the rain. 

Even so, you know you’d have coped with these setbacks once. But you are suddenly, inexplicably, unable to cope anymore. 

You turn a corner and for a moment your heart feels lighter. You forget your wet feet and your freezing hands because you can see a light up ahead. If you can just keep going for a few more minutes everything will be okay, because you know that is where Ezra lives. 

And the light means he is home.

So you cover your mouth and nose with your scarf to block out the wind, and you pull up the collar of your coat and bring all your attention to your feet. Telling yourself that if you put one foot in front of the other enough times, eventually you will reach him. And so you do.

You open his garden gate and walk up the little path that’s lined with fragrant lavender bushes. You can smell something savoury and herbal and you look down to see that you’re standing on little thyme plants that are growing in the cracks of the path. 

His door is solid wood and you brace yourself as you lift your hand to knock on it, because you know that it will hurt. Your knuckles are so raw from the cold wind. But before your fist makes contact, you hear locks turning from the inside and you know that Ezra is opening the door for you.

He looks just as you remember him. The tuft of pale hair. The silvery scar on his cheek. Soft, dark eyes that turn down at the corners. There are crinkles around them and you find this so comforting because you know these lines are markers of his experience and wisdom. He has already crossed rough terrains and withstood plenty of harsh weather and now he can guide you through them and shelter you from the worst of them.

He’s horrified that you are in such a terrible state. “Come inside, little bird!” 

But you just stand there, feeling too weak to take another step. Too drained by the huge burst of energy you had to summon to come this far.��

He can see that you need him to help you. He steps out and wraps his strong arm around your waist and takes your hand, encouraging you to lean on him.

“I di--didn’t know where else to go,” you tell him, your teeth chattering as you step into his little house.

He closes the door, shutting out the weather, and guides you into his arms. He is so warm. His arms tighten around you, urging you to press the length of your body against him. He doesn’t seem to care that you’re making him wet. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe in his comforting, familiar smell. Your lips are wet with rainwater and you press them against the bare skin of his neck and feel his pulse. He is alive. He is real. He is holding you with all the patience in the world. 

“It’s alright now, sweetheart,” he says. He’s stroking your wet hair and pressing kisses there. His breath is warm and you can feel the soft brush of his scruff against your scalp.

He puts a gentle finger under your chin and tilts up your face so that he can kiss you and warm your frozen mouth with his lips. You place your palms against his broad chest and your fingers clutch lightly at his soft black shirt. 

He draws away and takes hold of your hands. When he feels how cold they are he makes a disapproving noise and brings them together, covering them completely with his big hands and rubbing to generate heat.

It’s been so long since anyone has touched you like this and his tenderness makes you let out a little sob of relief. 

He takes you back into his arms. “Shhh, now. Y’just need a hot bath and a warm, soft bed. How does that sound?” You make a quiet noise of agreement and nod against his chest. 

He leads you into his kitchen and pulls out a chair for you. “Sit here while I fix you something warming to drink,” he says. He speaks softly, with that same kindness you remember. “Shall I make you that drink you always liked so much?” he asks. 

You nod, “Yes, that’d be nice.” Until this moment you had forgotten all about it. You suppose that your recent struggles must have pushed out nice memories like that to make space for your problems. You wonder what else you’ve forgotten.

There are copper saucepans suspended from a rack above the stove. He takes the smallest and fills it with water and sets it to heat up on the burner. You aren’t sure what he adds to the water. This was always something he used to do for you when you’d had a bad day. 

While it’s heating he disappears for a minute and returns with a towel and a thick blanket that he unfolds and drapes over your shoulders. After he’s tucked it securely around you, he crouches down and removes your wet shoes and wraps your cold, wet feet in the warm, fluffy towel. 

He kisses your forehead and goes back to work on your drink. 

When it’s ready he pours it into your favourite cup and places it into your hands. “I can’t believe you still have this,” you say.

“Of course! Why would I discard something important to one who’s so dear to me?”

Sweet, sweet Ezra. Why did you ever leave him?

While you drink, he crouches at your feet to rub them with the towel, drying between your toes and pressing the soft cotton to your skin, the heat of his hands seeping through the fabric and warming you. 

“Now I’m gonna go run your bath. You want to wait here or come with me?”

You don’t want him to leave you. Can’t bear to let him out of your sight now that you’ve finally found him again. “I want to stay with you, Ez.”

“Then so you shall, beautiful girl.” 

You stand up and find that the drink must have bolstered you because it’s a bit easier to walk now. You follow him to the bathroom and sit on a chair with your drink while he draws your bath. 

He adds bubbles and some scented oil. The room is soon filled with fragrant steam and you breathe it in and it warms your throat and lungs. 

While the tub is filling up he takes your empty cup and sets it aside.

“Shall I leave you alone now, little bird?” he asks.

You look at the tub. It’s a huge, antique thing. Freestanding, with clawed feet. Plenty big enough for two people. “Will you get in with me?” 

He holds your face in his big, gentle hands. “If that’s what you want, nothing would make me happier.” 

You watch as he pulls off his shirt and takes off his pants and then he’s naked before you. He lets you look at him for a moment, unembarrassed by your gaze. Every part of him is beautiful. His broad chest and long arms. The softness of his belly. The little patch of pale skin at his hips. His pretty cock and his sturdy thighs. You reach out and run your fingers over a few new scars. They do nothing to diminish his beauty. 

He smiles fondly, “I can see you’re enjoying the view, sweetheart, but it’s time to get out of these wet clothes.”

He helps you undress because your fingers are clumsy. Still a little numb from the cold.

Ezra gets in first. He leans against the curved end of the tub and makes space for you to sit between his legs. You’re still a little wobbly so he reaches up and gives you his hand to hold while you step in and sink into the blissful heat of the water. It’s the perfect temperature. Exactly what you dreamed of as you trudged through miles of relentless rain and wind. 

You ease yourself down and settle between Ezra’s thighs and he guides you to lean back against him. You breathe out a long, shaky sigh as you relax against his warm, broad body. You can feel his firm chest cradling your shoulders and his belly against your back, then his scruff of hair and his soft cock.

His strong arms are draped around you, caging you into his body and keeping you safe. You let your head tilt back and rest on his shoulder and he nuzzles into your neck, giving you sweet, open-mouthed kisses, and little puffs of air as he breathes against your skin. 

You lie there for a while like that while he kisses your neck and your shoulders. And you touch him, too. You stroke his thighs and his arms. You trace your fingertips over his hands and lift each of them to your mouth so you can kiss them, delighting in their size and how powerful and capable they are.

Ezra washes your hair and your body with soap that smells of orange blossom. His broad palms feel just as roughened and calloused as they ever did as he strokes them over the soapy-slick skin of your breasts and your chest, and then your arms. 

You sigh again, so calmed by the reassuring feel of him behind you and the soothing touches of his hands. The warm water is easing your aching muscles and you feel languid and relaxed. You hook your leg over the side of the tub and nudge lightly at his hand, urging it between your spread legs. Ezra’s hand drifts down to your patch of hair and he lets his fingertips trail over your mound and outer lips. Back and forth, swirling, slow and lazy.

“Is this what you need, sweetheart?” he whispers.

You make a contented noise and tilt your hips into his touch. You can feel his cock getting hard but he ignores it and just carries on stroking you. It’s so relaxing that you drift off to sleep. He wakes you by kissing behind your ear. 

“Water’s gettin’ a bit cold now. How about that soft bed?”

“Mmm, that sounds perfect,” you say, smiling and drowsy.

You get out of the tub and he gives you a big soft towel and you both get as dry as you can and, leaving the towels in the bathroom, you walk naked to Ezra’s bedroom. There’s a little fireplace in there and it’s already built up with kindling and logs. You watch him as he crouches and lights it. 

When he’s done he turns and sees you standing by the bed. “Get in, little bird. We’ve only just got you warmed up.” He pulls back the bed covers. It’s the most comfortable bed you’ve ever laid in. The sheets are so soft against your naked skin. 

The rain is beating against the window pane and the wind howls around the chimney, making little whistling noises. But it can’t reach you here. You stretch out and give a little laugh and wiggle your toes. Delighting in being so warm and dry at last. Ezra is propped up on his elbow watching you, smiling and pleased at how happy you are, and he leans in and kisses you deeply, stroking his tongue against yours, slowly and thoroughly. 

You pull him closer and arch your chest towards his, letting your breasts touch his bare skin and feeling him moan into your mouth as he kisses you. Ezra loves how soft you feel against him. You run your hands across his broad back and can feel his muscles shift beneath his skin as he climbs on top of you, making space for himself between your thighs. When your hands trail lower and squeeze his behind, you feel his lips smile against your mouth. You smile, too. 

“Let me feel you, Ez,” you say. He adjusts his arms to allow his warm, heavy weight to cover you, pressing you into the mattress with the length of his body while he kisses you. When he feels you shift, he lifts his weight off you and kisses down your throat and then your breasts and then down, down until he’s nuzzling sweetly into your cunt. You watch him as he goes down on you. He takes his time over it, holding your thighs open and using his clever tongue to give you a blissful orgasm.

After you’ve come he kneels back and you watch his beautiful cock twitch as he licks the taste of you from his lips and takes in the sight of you, happily pliant and relaxed. All ready for him to take his place between your thighs. You spread your legs wider for him, welcoming him as leans in to press his hard cock where you’re wet for him. 

He braces above you on one arm and reaches down with the other to take hold of himself and he pushes into you, slow and easy, like you are where he has always belonged and always will. Filling you like no one else ever has. You lift your legs and wrap them around his hips, letting him push deeper until he’s fully seated inside you.

“Kevva, you feel so good, sweetheart,” he says, and he rocks into you and you move with him. He makes love to you with slow, powerful strokes, letting you feel the delicious stretch of him filling you again and again and again. 

You think about rolling him onto his back and riding him so he can watch his cock sinking in and out of you, but this feels too good. This is what you need. His arms are braced either side of you and his chest is pressed against yours. You love how he’s covering you with his body, and filling you with his cock. Keeping you safe and satisfied. 

He’s grunting softly and you’ve always loved that about him - that he lets you hear how good you make him feel. 

“Can you come like this?” he asks, as he grinds against your clit. His voice is tight and hopeful, but you know he’d give you whatever you need. You wouldn’t always be able to come without the direct pressure of a fingertip on your clit, but you’re so turned on and it’s been so long since you’ve felt him inside you that you know this will be enough tonight. And anyway you can’t bear to have him draw back to make space for your hand. Neither can he, you think. You nod quickly, yes. 

“Good girl,” he says. He speeds up his thrusts, his breathing growing harsh and feverish, his eyes losing focus now as he savours the exquisite clutch of your slick heat enveloping him completely. His breathy grunts become louder and more desperate and the sound of him, so overwhelmed by you, is enough to make you come. He fucks you through your orgasm, telling you you’re a good girl and you’re beautiful. He praises how incredible you feel coming on his cock. His hips stutter against you, once, twice, and he moans with relief and pleasure as his come pulses into you. You tilt up your hips and spread your fingers over his behind and urge him to bury himself deeper, deeper. You want to keep him this close, always. Inside you and flush against you. Right where he belongs. You never want to let him go.

Finally he goes still and heavy. He keeps his cock buried deep inside you so you can feel it while he tells you, “I love you, my darling girl.” 

You realise you knew this already, but you aren’t sure how. Perhaps he’s told you those words before, and this was another memory that’s been pushed out of your brain to make space for worry.

“I love you, Ezra,” you say. And his soft smile tells you that he’s known this all along.

He eases himself out of you and rolls to the side, taking you with him and lifting you onto his chest. You drift off to sleep in his arms, feeling peaceful and full of afterglow.

In the morning Ezra brings you hot coffee and good things to eat. It’s still raining but there’s nowhere you need to go, so you sit in his cosy kitchen, basking in the heat of the wood-burning stove while he tells you about the good books he’s been reading and his new favourite project – raising plants from the seeds he gathered in his prospecting days.

Life is coming back into focus now. Good memories making space for themselves where once there was only room for fear. 

“I’m sorry I went away, Ezra. I don’t know how it happened. I won’t leave again.”

“Little bird, I know you think you flew away but you never really left. You were right here with me all along, safe inside my heart.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Masterlist I also have a Javi x Reader one-shot A Walk In The Woods (smut)

[lucidpantone]

Preview: The three sided king

Yes I am still writing this fic and this chapter is almost done. Its super long chapter but here is a preview.

Incase you need to a recap of where we left off: Published Chapters

Aquarias 1470

He is standing on the axis.

Barely visible between the white florets.

It’s soothing on the inside.

Like a concentrated dosage of vitamins and minerals.

The walls surrounding him are lacquered in a mint hue. Cool and expressive, a pigment rumored to remove free radicals from his interior.

The south wing of the palace seemed to suffice.

The Duke’s quarters were generous and ample. For all the Duke’s pomp and circumstance he actually required very little to live comfortably. He had only one request and that his chamber be adorned with white flowers at all times to quench his need to bring beauty to life via his skills on parchment.

Drawing was the only therapy that would help elucidate the Duke’s mind. It would bend time and submerge his troubled thoughts into a state of calm and as he sat in his quarters trying to unravel the enigma that caught him off guard; time got lost like a billow in a breeze and before he knew it a portrait of the prince of swords was looking back at him. Within seconds after laying eyes on the prince he had become the antioxidant for the duke’s deteriorating soul; an unforeseen remedy wrapped up in a beautiful creature with hickory ringlets that fell perfectly past his shoulders and a chocolate gaze complimented by perfectly placed laugh lines.

It’s hard to forget the moment he laid eyes on him. The smell of rain had just smacked him across the chest as he rushed up the stairs to the rotunda. The rate at which the heavens spilled their tears onto the palace courtyard matched the virago of the many scorned women Sander had left behind. As Sander greeted the Duke of Burgundy and his wife the rain began to whip around like a serpent dancing to a siren’s song and thunderclaps began to roll tide across the grey sky.A lightning fork lit up their drop back like an ominous foretelling of their preordained future but in that moment he first caught a glimpse of him and his center of gravity shifted.

His bride-to-be Mary of Burgundy had stepped forward to curtsy for her lord, revealing the prince hidden by her side. Sander instantly fixated on him.  The prince had locked his gaze onto the ground. Focusing on something Sander could not see. Sander was in dire need to see every inch of his chiseled features. Sander was discreet in trying to move his gaze from Mary to the prince but he was suddenly nervy and his suave demeanor broke for a matter of seconds when he fumbled out a high pitch overly zealous greeting, "The Prince of Swords. It's nice to make your acquaintance".

The prince broke thought and looked up at Sander with a curious expression. The prince was nothing like Sander imagined him to be. He was a living cypher. A being in need of decoding. A walking enigma. His features were tender and his eyes warm but also hard edged. The initial flicker of warmth the prince had radiated seconds before was quickly replaced by a glacial facade. The prince was cool and collected, beautiful but stone like but one thing was certain the Prince of swords was no brut he was a man capable of dancing on a knife's edge, conquering a nation, riding into battle and becoming a champion. He was much more compact than Sander had expected but in possession of a noticeably stealthy physique. Sander and the prince both got lost in each other’s gaze for a prolonged second as they shook hands when the prince’s father, the Duke of Burgundy, broke the occasion.

“Here, here. I see you have met my son, the prince of swords”

Sander threw the prince a soft smile before breaking his gaze and looking towards the fast approaching Duke Of Burgundy.

“Yes, yes I have my lord”

“Be careful with that one. I know he doesn’t look like much but blink too slow and he’ll have the dagger of Burgundy at your throat.”

As the Duke of Burgundy positioned himself horizontally to Sander’s right shoulder he preemptively began to move Sander towards the long line of courtiers waiting to introduce themselves to him with their high born titles.

Sander took two steps forward alongside the Duke but then paused and quickly turned back and headed back to prince.

It was practically a whisper, the first of many that they would exchange as Sander cloaked their exchange with a secondary handshake and said softly.

“Sander, by the way”

Robbe’s eyes grew wide and his mouth opened a bit in shock as he knew it was uncommon for Duke’s of Sander status to exchange such pleasantries amongst those unknown to their court but he reacted quickly as to not offend the Duke and matched his lords volume.

“Robbe” he sighed out softly.

Sander smiled and in that split second he saw it again. The warmth Robbe had been hiding from the rest of the world.

--

Sander snapped out of his memories and was back in his quarters surrounded by the mint hues as he heard his chambers doors being pried open.

He quickly stood up off his chair and discarded his parchment and charcoal on it.

As he walked towards the door he recognized the voice on the other side.

Charles’s voice was animating through the chamber doors as rambunctious and cavalier as always as he strolled into Sander’s hideaway.

“My lord---” Charles interrupted Sander with a palm up salute.

“I told you to call me Senne. That’s what my family calls me and you're soon to be family right?”

Sander threw Senne a half baked smile as validation and proceeded to appease his request.

“Of course, Senne.”

Senne clapped his hands together enthusiastically signaling his entourage to show Sander what he came here for.

“Ahhhh… I brought you something for tonight”, Senne called over one of his servants.

The servant laid down a strange looking object on Sander’s bed. As Sander examined it he found it quite a peculiar gift.

“A mask?” Sander questioned wiping all offense from his tone.

“Yes, You’ll be the bull tonight for our masked ball to celebrate your addition to our family.”

Senne’s tone ranged from devilish to persuasive, mercurial to Insidious but Sander knew these overt insults were merely a test of wit and dominance.

To appease the Burgundian duke Sander played coy and shot him a thankful smile and opened his arms wide as he folded them in front of himself and curtsied towards the duke and spoke clearly.

“My lord if you wish me to be the bull. Then the bull I shall be.”

“Good. I think it suits you. Makes you stand out and we wouldn’t want anyone to miss you.” Sander didn’t miss the slight dose of passive aggression laced all over Senne's voice.

“I’ll leave you one of my servants to help you get ready” Sander noted that a mid sized male stepped forward from Senne’s kings guard with large fluffy curls adorning the top of his head.

“Thank you” Sander stated.

Senne and his court began to exit the mint hue room when Senne turned around like he just remembered what he actually came to Sander’s quarters for, “Oh before I forget…. don’t indulge too much on the festivities tonight. I arranged for the Prince to show you around the grounds in the early morning”.

Sander’s ears perked up at the sheer mention of the Prince.

“I’ll be sure to behave myself sire” Sander gives Senne a light nod as Senne turns and heads toward the exit once again.

“My lord would you like help getting dressed for tonight?” Senne’s kingsmen interrupts Sander’s thoughts.

“Yes, of course. I am sorry I didn’t catch your name….”

“Younes, my lord”

“Younes, please call me Sander” Younes gave Sander a soft smile in agreement.

“You should start getting ready Sander. The masquerade ball has been planned for weeks and it's the highlight of the season. Your betrothed has been planning her outfits since it was announced.”

Oh great Sander thinks not only has he been given short notice but now he also needs to pass some predetermined litmus test that the Burgundians have surely been cooking up for him.

He’ll just rely on his bravado and dynamism to survive the occasion.

“So you don’t know what my betrothed will be wearing tonight?”

Younes gently puts his right hand over his heart and softly whispers, “I’ve been sworn to secrecy”.

Sander lets out a soft giggle.

“Ok understandable. Wouldn’t want you to break any pacts.”

“What about the Prince? Do you know what he’ll be wearing?”

“Oh of course but everyone knows that” Younes reassures.

“He’ll be the lion” Younes states matter-of-factly.

“The Prince is always the lion”

“And why is that?” Sander asks curiously.

“Because the prince has never encountered prey he couldn’t kill.There’s a reason they call him the Prince Of Swords…..Don’t let your guard down or he’ll be the death of you.”

----

The darken corridors felt like a labyrinth.

A maze of endless entry and exit points on a journey to nowhere.

The palace was a mere whirlpool of decor that captured the zeitgeist of the time.

Tapestries adorning floor to ceiling windows.

Polished stone staircases.

Portraits of past rulers and the coat of arms of the burgundian nation stapled across every possible crevice of available wall space.

Sander felt like some sort of heretic. He didn’t belong amongst these people. He gave no credence to their cause. If anything he was the antistasis to their campaign secretly lobbying for their demise and permanently obtuse to the burgundian struggle. He knew there was no permanence to this betrothal. He would never allow himself to wed a kin of the three lions. This agreement was merely for show; a pit stop till he got back to his real life.

He sauntered down the palace halls with little regard to their importance, going out of his way to belittle all the objects the burgundians treasured like some sort of ignorant dilettante.

Sander knew he merely had to survive these grasslands. Deem himself a poacher within this big cat habitat. Become merciless and when an opening presents itself, drive an arrow through the heart of a lion but first he would need to learn how not to become the prey.

He came out of nowhere.

Hidden by the cover of night.

He was observing him from the end of the long hallway. The lion standing at ready. Taking him in. He wore a burnt orange colored cape with hand etched gold trimming. His chocolate orbs the color of an afternoon sunset. His face adorning the face of a leader of the pack.

Sander just stared at him.

Curious.

Drawn in.

His feet pick up pace towards him. Completely oblivious to the fact that he himself is drench in a disguise. For tonight he is but nothing but a bull; temperamental and sinister. A green eyed monster ready to crash land on his own personal matador.

He almost reaches him and then the lion looks out to some unknown voice down the hall and runs towards it, getting lost in the sea of creatures in the throws of their festivities inside the grande ballroom.

The bull lets his instinct guide him and blurs into the terrain of blushing birds, bunny rabbits, deers and wolves all dancing in unison with one another under the twinkle of the ballroom’s candlelight incandescents.

For one night only mere mortals have morphed into beast, hounds and the feather habitants of a wild life Archipelago. The bull weaves his way around a pack of wolves, passes a litter of kittens when he suddenly feels a serpent wrap its scaly surface behind his neck and tug him in their direction.

“There you are?” The Marchioness Deruwe spoke in a possessive tone.

Sander flung his head in a 90 degree turn towards her direction.

The Marchioness Deruwe was a beautiful creature. That was not something that was ever up for debate but she was conniving and a master of the game. She maneuvered courts to her will. Destroying young maiden’s reputations on a whim. Her prowess for dismantling those who opposed her was so infamous it travelled with her across the channel to the Burgundian realm. She was a flower of the Yorkist faction. Her father had married her off to a French Marquess at the tender age of 16. Most young English maiden’s would have been intimidated to enter the French courts so unestablished but the Marchioness had spent her entire life bossing her pack of blonde hair, blue eyed hyenas around every Yorkish social event. To the Marchioness getting in the good graces of King Lucas and Queen Daphne was nothing more than sport. Another challenge to show off her skill set. It took no more than a season until she was trotting around the French palace like she owned the place. She worked her angle to its utmost potential, securing her husband the Marquess Deruwe a role as official acting liaison to the French king throughout the Burgundy nation and so here she stood exactly where Sander expected her.

Regal, drenched in beauty, playing her role. Moving puzzle pieces around. Advising young courtiers who were on the hunt for some prey and willing to do anything to climb up the social ladder to land themselves a big fish.

“My lady”

Sander slightly bowed in her direction as she placed her hand out to be kissed by Sander’s lips.

“My lord”

She said in giddy almost pantomime fashion.

It was strange for Sander to have the Marchioness validate his presence. For so long she had only toyed with him. Wound him up and dropped him like he was some rudimentary tool the Marchioness had outgrown and had no use for anymore. He hated to admit it to himself but she had taught him how to love. To love only for gluttony, to never share or truly give yourself to another but to merely take and when all resources had been depleted to move on to the next bigger and better thing. Sander had experienced this first hand as a young adolescent who lost himself in the Marchioness' blonde locks and lean figure and late nights falling asleep on her bosom but as intense as their “love” was, Sander just became another victim of her wicked game. She gorged and binged herself on his love mosaic, his unrelenting joyful spirit that illuminated a room like a moonbeam in the middle of a forest but once the affair was all over he was left a mere shell of himself. She had taken everything from him. Sander felt he had no other options but to resign himself to a monastic order or to become an agent of this dark market where love was a tool for savagery, negotiation, lust and pure greed. Sander had turned himself from a victim to a lothario. Only playing the game of love for sheer sport just to quench his blood lust.

Sander lost track of time and didn’t even realize how long he had been standing in front of the Marchioness spellbound by her presence when his axis shifted and he saw the lion surrounded by his pack. He snapped into animation and headed towards the lion passing a hoard of mice, a stallion and his mare.

The troop of big cats all turn towards the bulls' direction as he comes to a halt mere feet away from their king. The lion walks forward to meet the bull and as they close the distance and stand mere inches from one another about to break out of this wild life sanctuary and into the human realm the ballroom goes dark.

A sudden cacophony of screams and squeals rumbles through the ballroom.

“Who do you want to be tonight?” The Duke of Burgundy asks the wildlife in a demanding tone.

“Do you want to be a predator?”

“Or the prey? …...Tonight ladies and gentleman or should I say inhabitants of the animal kingdom. Tonight there are no rules. You can be who you want to be under the guise of moonlight.”

“If you dare not play our game and you absolutely must light your way through tonight's festivities then take one of the candles that the servants are providing but if you're brave and truly want to get lost in the darkness then the castle is your playground for one night and there is only one rule,what happens in the darkness stays in the darkness”.

The roar of the wildstock animates through the ballroom and orbs of light begin to appear in front of masked beast, birds and prey.

A gothic melody begins to fill the room as the musical entertainment for the evening amplifies through all corners of the palace.

The orbs begin to make a circular formation and the heat of the flames subdues the wild life.

The candle flames waltz back and forth.

And the hot blooded creatures move in the shape of a half crescent moon.

More orbs begin to light the room and the moon phases begin to decorate the floor as they do the night sky.

The green monster suddenly feels a tug of his wrist as gravity and his heart desire walk towards the moon phases and the lion and the bull head towards the dancing troop standing side by side, when the lion does a sudden about face and is standing directly in front of the bull.

“Dance with me?” the lion asked in a meek tone. One anticipating a denial.

“I don’t wish to embarasses you my prince but one is not a dancer”

The bull notices the lion's chocolate gaze scan his person when a sickly sweet tone comes out lightly encouraging the bull.

“Just follow along. I promise I won’t lead you astray. Just trust me.”

The lion lifts both his palms to his shoulder height facing the bull and the bull matches his movement.

The lion settles his palms against the bulls as they stand two ready pilgrims; palm to palm in holy palmers' kiss.

As the gothic chimes began to pick up pace the lion demo’s a gentleman’s curtsy which the bull mirrored. They retouch palms but this time they point their hands towards the sky and as the bull and the lion brought them down so did each pair of courtiers in the ballroom and took their position to begin the waltz.

The lion and the bull stand shoulder to shoulder vertically, each positioning themselves to face opposite sides of the ballroom but completely interlocked via one's right arm into the other’s left.

“You ready?” The music begins to speed up.

“NO” Sander chuckles out embarrassed.

“Did I mention I am really really bad at this…” he admits with a lack of confidence that is foreign to him.

“Well I think it’s fate then because I’m really good at this” Robbe shoots Sander a wink.

The pair of gentlemen begin swaying in a whimsical harmonic intonation. Fluted skirts twirled around them under the incandescent flicker of limelight radiating  around the ballroom.

Robbe’s mood becomes rather chipper as an uptempo beat begins to sound around the room and an uncontrollable laugh begins  bubbling up to the surface. Sensing he has the upper hand, Robbe is suddenly full of gumption and can’t help but tease the Duke.

“You really are bad at this, aren’t you?”

Sander is moving his limbs around aimlessly with a lack of grace that you could mistake him for a duck failing to take flight.

All feathers, no grace.

“Stop laughing at me” Sander demands in a playful tone.

Shooting him a makaveli smile. Robbe begins to untie his connected arm and gently grab Sander’s hand to guide it towards the heavens emulating a wedding’s arch.

“Tsk, tsk ……. Come on my duke go on” Robbe signals to Sander to go under the arch suggesting that he was about to twirl Sander mid dance.

Sander stalls for a second but as Robbe pulls on his arm he follows his direction.

“You’re enjoying torturing me too much my prince”

Sander knows that to the rest of the courtiers he must look clumsy and foolish but in that moment he couldn’t care less. The prince stirs an unfamiliar feeling within Sander. He feels weightless, airy and unencumbered. He knows this feeling is what Bernard would call fun or what he was adamant Sander was hesitant to experience in life, which was a carefree playdate. One without an agenda, an individual he could let go with and maybe one day even feel compelled to show his true nature too. The real Sander, the one he hid from the world.

Now that Sander had let Robbe have a little fun with him. It was time he matched the prince at his game.

Sander tugs on Robbe’s arm and pulls him towards him. They are standing so close together that Sander can feel the hot breath of royalty when Robbe doth protest to Sander hand gripping his slim waist.

Sander leans in towards the side of Robbe’s face and whispers lightly.

“Ready?”

“What?” Robbe replies with an inquisitive squint adorning his eyes.

“We're not going to stay here all evening are we? The night is young...”

“Sander I can’t lea---”

“On the count of 3” Sander reenforces.

“But my fiance is waiting…..” Robbe whispers, trailing off in a barely audible volume towards the end.

“3”

Before Robbe can fight the instinct to relent. Sander is rushing him out of the ballroom, leaving the prideland behind. Emergency evacuating from the serengeti and rushing down a dark corridor camouflaged by the night sky.

Before they both know it they have reached the rotunda the place where Robbe’s first laid eyes on Sander under a lightning painted sky that only served to  illuminate Sander’s chiseled face; and though Robbe was lost for words in this moment he would look back at their first meeting and recall that even amongst the torrential downpour and screams of mother nature there was no denying that Robbe always knew that Sander would be the one.

____________________

“Have you lost yourself in lunacy?”

Robbe turned to Sander, sporting a sour expression.

“I didn’t think you would lack imagination my prince”

“I don’t” Robbe spoke sternly, surprised at Sander’s use of his formal title.

“Oh no? Seems like you're questioning my intentions.”

“Is the prince of swords fearful he will be led astray?”

Both men stood silent staring at one another. Calculating their next decision as if the weight of a nation depended on it.

For Sander, Robbe had the properties of a seductive paramour. He knew the prince was promised to another and that whatever he sought from him would be nothing more than a diliance by night. A transaction that could only take place in the cloak of darkness but he didn’t care. When he was in his presence he felt displaced, rocking on the edge of an axis, chemically imbalanced, filled to the brim with potency.

For Robbe, Sander was the last drink of the night he should have walked away from. The moment you recall the next morning that tipped you over the edge. He was a deadly sin manifested in a man. Sander was Robbe’s last everclear.

Both men hear the squabbles of hyenas approaching their territory and on a lion’s instinct Robbe grabs Sander’s hand and leads him down the rotunda stairs.

“Come on Sander, someone will see us”

They escape through the courtyard and away from the herd.

Hand in hand.

Together.

In alliance.

The palace is pitch black, almost frightening but Robbe navigates the route with such gravitas, purpose, unwavered and committed towards his sin. The men untether themselves from their role play. They throw their masks aside and run into the night together in their purest forms.

Robbe heads towards refuge, towards the high garden walls where they can hide themselves deep in the labyrinthine green. A garden brew of emerald tinted greenery, shamrock leaves and rainbow colored rose bushes.

“Where are we going?” Sander finally protests and as Robbe lets go of Sander’s hand he takes stock of his surroundings.

“Woah”

Sander is in awe of this grassy fortress. The walls are high so much so that they feel like they are collapsing in on themselves and submerging the twosome in a foggy condensation.

Sander shivers.

“Fock, it's cold”

“Come now” Robbe nods his head signaling Sander to follow him deeper into this thorny environment.

“Where are we going?” Sander asks tentatively. A tad suspicious of Robbe but also certain that his fellow journeymen knows the way.

“It’s a surprise”  

“Is this the point of the story where I suddenly go missing?”

“What?” Robbe looks at Sander with a puzzled look.

“Am joking….. But don’t think I don’t know about the legends surrounding the lakes and forest here”

Robbe's face loses all its pink hue at the mention of those stories. Sander quickly recognizes his obvious fumble but it was merely an innocuous mention it was not meant to offend or besmirch his name.

“Umm am sorry, nevermind” Sander quickly throws out and starts moving deeper into the seafoam landscape.

“Ok prince, lead the way”

Robbe brushes off the uncomfortable mention and re-engages.

“Ok Duke, on the count of 3” and before Sander even has time to register the count Robbe takes off running deeper into refuge.

___________

Sander is panting by the time he catches up to Robbe.

They moved so fast between the juniper corridors and foggy condensation he isn’t even sure he knows how to get back out of the labyrinth but for now he pushes that thought out of his mind as he stands at the center of this garden universe surrounded by a rainbow colored flower bed.

He inhales and the scent of chrysanthemum, lillie and roses fill his nasal cavity. He licks his top lip and he swears he can taste the pollen in the air.

“It’s my favourite place in the palace”

“It's beautiful” Sander reassures Robbe.

“I planted these flower beds with my mother. It was the only thing that helped when he d-------”

Robbe cuts off the sentence abruptly.

“It took time but eventually they blossomed” He admits softly.

“These white florets here, they are the ones I picked out for your quarters”, Sander’s face instantly lights up with an innocent smirk when he realizes that Robbe picked out the flowers he's been drawing. Because of course he did, they’re beautiful.

Sander and Robbe stroll past bushes of red roses and Sander stops to clip one off the vine as he gently walks back to Robbe and begins to delicately push his hair behind his right ear and places the red rose atop of it.

Robbe just stares at Sander with big eyes and a dreamy gaze anticipating the next move.

“You know what I’m in the mood for?”

Robbe remains silent shaking his head back and forth.

Sander moves closer to Robbe, surrounding him.

Robbe drops his gaze focusing on the rosewood colored lilies beneath him.

He knows the moment is coming. Robbe can feel the heat of Sander breathe, glazing the side of his face moving towards his mouth when deep in the darkness he hears twigs break.

Robbe looks towards the ominous noise and takes one big step away from Sander and a few steps towards the sound.

Sander notices that Robbe suddenly seems flustered, weary and distracted.

“Ummm we should play a game”

“What? Right now? Why?” Sander retorts in a questionable elevated tone.

“Trust me” Robbe pleads with his signature pyrope orbs that guarantee to make Sander weak at the knees.

“Okay” Sanders states in defeat.

“Close your eyes”

Sander squeezes his eyes shut in anticipation almost childlike.

“When I count to three, open your eyes and come find me”

Sanders stands amongst the roses when he hears Robbe yell out “one” a few feet away from him.

A few seconds later he hears Robbe yell out “two” but his voice is more distant.

Lastly he hears him yell out “three” and when he opens his eyes he stands alone amongst the flower bed.

The red rose Sander placed behind Robbe’s ear lays on the ground in front of him. Sander picks it up and looks around.

Suddenly he is frightened.

The garden walls are high and the night is eerily silent.

“Robbe” Sander yells out into the darkness.

But nothing. Sander doesn’t hear any noise or callback.

Sander pops his head into every corridor but everything is so dark and identical looking that he doesn't dare leave the refuge of the rose garden.

He yells out for Robbe again but still nothing.

He waits another twenty minutes but the night is only growing colder and so he makes the call to head back to the palace and ask his hand, Younes to come back with him to search for Robbe in case he got lost or was hurt.

It took Sander many tries of winding corners and dead ends to find his way out of the garden maze. What easily took him and Robbe ten minutes to navigate; took Sander at least an hour to navigate his way out of.

As he reaches the entryway to the palace garden he sees a figure absconding towards the palace in haste, his locomotives appear unruly and he does not resemble Robbe at all from behind but those hickory manes are recognizable from over yonder.

“ROBBE” Sander yells out ferociously. Annoyed but relieved that Robbe was ok.

“Robbe stop” Sander speeds up towards the figure.

He sees the figure turn towards him and it is Robbe but Robbe takes a brief look at Sander with disinterest and continues on his way.

Sander sprints towards him for some sort of explanation about why he just abandoned him like that.

Sander finally catches up to him and as he tugs on his shoulder. He hears Robbe groan in obvious annoyance.

“What do you want?”

“Robbe what the hell you just left without saying anything…… I was worried”

Robbe's face is blank and unnerved.

“OOookay” Robbe rolls his eyes.

Sander shrugs his shoulders signaling for some deeper meaning or some type of closure.

“Ooookay” Sander repeats back to Robbe mimicking his juvenile ambivalence.

They stand in the darkness, frozen, sizing each other up.

“Is that all you needed to say to me my lord?”

Sander is so confused and angry. He feels like a fool and better yet he doesn't really have room to speak freely at least not in view of the palace guards.

In one last attempt Sander cuts in front of Robbe and speaks in a barely audible whisper.

“Robbe I just thought…...well I thought we both understood that we enjoyed one another’s company. I thought we had an understanding tonight.”

Sander boars his gaze straight into Robbe’s chocolate orbs as he lets the last sentence drip out of his mouth.

Robbe’s steps back and lets out a menacing laugh.

“Oh my lord, for an English man you truly are gullible”

“Tonight was just for show. You and I are just foes through arrangement. Nothing less, nothing more. Let us not pretend that you're anything but a visitor here with his own personal agenda. I was simply entertaining you at my fathers bidding. I thought you of all people would understand.”

Sander stood stoic. Not giving Robbe the satisfaction of showing him an inch of emotion.

Every word spewing out of Robbe’s mouth was meant to sting. Worse of all, Sander could tell Robbe was enjoying ridiculing him.

Once Robbe was done humiliating him and blundering the metaphorical knife deep into his chest cavity he wrapped up their exchange with a simple bid farewell.

As Robbe walked into the palace he turned around one last time to remind Sander.

“Get to bed my lord. Tomorrow we go hunting and god knows…. am in need of a good kill”

And with that Robbe disappears into the palace walls.

Sander can feel tears welling up. He is not upset because some boy played him. He just hates looking foolish and being the butt of someone’s joke.”

Sander gets a hold of his senses and storms through the palace towards his quarters.

As he slams his door shut the moonlight illuminates his sitting room and he sees the bouquet of white florets in the center of the room.

A sudden rage takes a hold of him and he grabs the vase and slams it on the ground. The remnants of the broken ceramic lay shattered at Sander’s feet and the white florets destroyed.

Before Sander can react he sees a silhouette in the corner of the room.

“Well well well someone had a bad night”

It’s the Marchioness Deruwe. Sander would recognize that voice anywhere.

“Britt am not in the mood”

“Oh now we are addressing one another with informalities” Britt mockingly points out.

“Leave, right now”

“Now now Sander I come bearing gifts. The Earl of Warwick has sent a message. He has approved and is willing to arrange a marriage to his daughter Isabel”

“What?!?!?!” This was unexpected Sander knew the Earl despised him.

“How is that possible? Edward would never allow me to side with Warwick. He is already suspicious of his dealings with the Lancastrians.”

“He doesn’t have to know. We would arrange your passage back to England in secret and your union would be solidified without Edward knowing.”

“That’s mad. Edward has sent me here with one objective in mind. We need the Burgundian iron to defeat Henry.”

“You and I both know the Burgundians will never give up the iron without getting something more than a simple marriage to Margaret. This is all for laughs. The Burgundians just want to know if they are backing the right horse.”

Sander knows Britt is right. Everyone involved knows that the Burgundians will never give up the iron without a proper incentive.

“Why are you helping me, Britt? You’re a yorkist flower, what do you gain from pushing me onto the side of the Lancastrians?”

“We all have a part to play Sander. I need to hedge my bets and have as many options as possible. My husband is a complete idiot but our money is not everlasting and we all have something to gain from this war.”

Sander shook his head in agreement. It was rare to see Britt be so sincere but her tone was definitive. She had her own secrets and people to protect.

“When you have a response for the Earl, send a note my way. I will make sure it crosses the channel”.

Britt saunters towards the door when Sander can’t help but show his hand.

“The Prince of Swords. What's his game?”

Britt pauses and looks back at Sander puzzled but curious.

“The Prince, don’t underestimate him; he is a great strategist and has the ability to command an army if need be.”

“Does he want to be king like his father?”

“No he does not but his people want him to. They respect him. They speak of his kindness and fairness above all. He also quells the fears of a French invasion; he has been betrothed to the Princess of France since he was a child. The people call their union the great love story. Betrothed since birth and genuinely a love marriage. Nice for some I guess....”

Sander gives Britt an ambivalent chuckle. A love marriage? What a foreign concept for both of them.

“Is that all?” Sander tacks on to the end of the conversation. Egging on Britt’s conniving ways,

“Does he have any secrets?” Sander finally just asks.

“No, he is clean. If you were to ask me to clean. Everyone is hiding something but it seems like the Prince of Swords is perfect.”

“There is no such thing. Everyone has a secret”

“Exactly” Britt agrees.

“Find out whatever the Prince is hiding and you’ll have the iron and maybe even the chance to be king. All you have to do is to get him to trust you and as soon as he does take the iron away from him.”

Sander nods in agreement.

“Play the Prince at his own game” Sander states with venom in his voice and continues.

“In the end.....” 

“I only have one goal”

“To make the prince regret he ever met me.”

[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.6]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.1k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

Chapter 06: From The Beyond

Ah! It is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the guilty there is no peace.

[Mary B. Shelley, Frankenstein]

    Thinking back on it later, the events during Garland Moon were probably what set the hare running toward its demise. Not that any of you could have known that. Not the students who joyfully spend their days in cherished halls where daylight passes through coloured glass; not Byleth with her gift to correct past mistakes with a flick of her wrist and change the course of time; not you with your foresight to see what dangers await in the future and prepare a different path for those you care for to walk safely.

    Thinking back on it later, everything that followed surely ascribed to and served Fate, and not even Sylvain could charm her with his silver tongue and golden wit, for Fate’s lover is Time and she does not look kindly upon those who enslave him.

    Maybe that is why things turned out the way they did for Byleth and you.

    But that future is still far away and every single one of you still believes the goddess has Fate tightly leashed to her side, her benevolence endless and spreading to every corner in Fódlan.

    That is why you don’t think too much about it when one day, Seteth disturbs your seminar, a deep frown settled in his features as you explain how to turn an ambush to your advantage to the students.

    “Apologies for the disturbance, Herald. Lady Rhea asks to see Ashe.”

    The boy gives a pitiful squeal but is up on his feet nonetheless. “Me? Why?”

    “You will see. Please come.” Seteth holds the classroom’s door open.

    You nod, a little worried about the frightened glance Ashe sends your way like he hopes you can actually say no and decline Rhea’s command. An encouraging smile is everything you can give him on his way before the door shuts behind him. Its sound wakes everyone else from their slumber and it takes a few minutes to reclaim order and their attention. It certainly does help that the Blue Lion House isn’t as chaotic as a certain other, not to name any names.

    Said house proves again to be more difficult to teach. Or tame. You didn’t have the courage to ask why they thought it was a good idea to see whose shoe would leave the darkest stain on Claude’s bedroom’s ceiling. Even days after their mischief students kept talking about how they have never seen Seteth this furious.

    “Herald, please,” Hilda cries, tragically draped over the back of her chair, a maiden in bittersweet agony over her loss of free time. “It was all Claude’s fault.”

    “Liars never prosper,” Claude calls from the far back of the room. He’s hunched over his papers, working vigorously on Seteth’s punishment. He ordered them to write hundred times I shall not throw footwear against any ceiling in the monastery. They’ve been at it for about twenty minutes and Claude’s quill hasn’t stopped its furious scratching against parchment at all.

    “I won’t mess with Seteth,” you tell them and lean dangerously far back on your chair to place your feet on the teacher’s desk. “And you deserve it. Or do they not teach you proper manners in your noble homes?”

    “Well, it’s not like anyone taught us not to do it,” Hilda chirps. You throw a glare her way and she quickly dugs her head and continues writing. Quills scratch on paper for about seven seconds before Hilda stops again.

    “Herald,” she says. “What do you think about Lady Catherine’s Thunderbrand?”

    You look up from your book titled Noticeable War Generals. Smile gone from her face, Hilda looks up at you with sharp curiosity. It’s eerily silent now, and a quick glance towards Claude shows he is listening as well.

    Catherine’s Thunderbrand. Its sight is still burned into the back of your closed eyes: Golden ivory forged into a grotesque sword, a blood red Crest Stone in its middle that seemed to pulsate—as if it breathed. As if it was a living thing with a heart. You had simply stared at it in awe and thought What a mesmerising weapon.

    “It’s … fascinating,” you manage. “A Hero’s Relic. There are more than just Thunderbrand, right?”

    “Ten exist,” Claude calls from the back. “Bestowed by the goddess upon ten heroes, they are passed down to their descendants. House Riegan and House Goneril have one in their possession as well.”

    “Then why don’t you use it?” You certainly wouldn’t miss a chance to own and wield a mighty weapon like that.

    “Wield that?”Hilda shudders in disgust. “No thank you. It looks so weird, pulsating and moving like an insect.”

    “And we’re way too inexperienced to use it in a real battle.” Claude puts his quill between his nose and upper lip and tries to hold it there. “They’re locked away anyway and hidden from those who might misuse their power.”

    Claude has a point. Nonetheless, you’d gladly take a look at them. Maybe even hold one … Did the Herald own one as well? A special weapon only forged for the Herald. A slight shudder runs down your spine at the thought of using it in battle.

    Ten minutes later, Claude jumps to his feet. He hurries towards you, slams his parchments on the table and leaves just as fast. “Bye Herald!”

    “No way!” Hilda pales. “How is he so fast?”

    You wonder as well and take a look at his papers. Instead of writing what Seteth has told them, Claude simply left poor drawings of their crime and promised with one sentence he wouldn’t do it again.

    And we of House Riegan never break our promises, reads the last line.

    You groan. Now it’s your turn to think about a good explanation to Seteth’s questions why you haven’t paid more attention.

    Month three passed within the blink of an eye. Garland Moon brought the sweet smell of white roses to Garreg Mach, a tradition much anticipated by the students. Everywhere you went, garlands and gifts made of white roses were given to each other as a sign of friendship or budding love. Some found their way to your desk, though your admirers preferred to stay anonymous whereas Byleth was busy to stow them somewhere—not a day passed without her receiving something or a group of giggling students following her around.

    “I really don’t know what to do with all those flowers,” she told you one day during a tea session, a deep frown on her face. “They wilt. Then I throw them away. It’s a waste.”

    “Your students love it,” you replied but were glad not to be in her place.

    Another good deed Garland Moon brought with it is longer days and shorter nights. Students lounged outside in their summer uniforms after class, enjoying those last warm days before raining season arrived with fierce gusts and heavy pouring, forcing them back inside where they spent their free time inside the library or the dining hall, playing little games to kill time.

    For a change of pace, Byleth and Jeralt decided they’d hold a grilled fish dinner on every last day of each week and most of the invited either didn’t have the heart or the courage to tell them once every week was once every week too much.

    Everything happened too fast after that. Rhea informed the teacher’s faculty and her Knights of Lord Lonato Gaspard’s planned rebellion against the church. With that, the mystery of why Seteth had demanded to speak with Ashe was solved; it also explained why he spent so much time inside the chapel, praying and wondering himself about his adoptive father’s reasoning.

    “There is no question about it,” Rhea says in her cool, demanding voice once every teacher and Knight of Seiros gathered inside the War Room to discuss the matter. “We will send a troop to meet them halfway in Kingdom Territory. They will pay for mocking our goddess.”

    “Allow me to lead the Knights, Lady Rhea,” Catherine says. Even now, you can’t take your eyes off Thunderbrand strapped on her back. “I know Gaspard and what he’s capable of.”

    “We did not forget what you’ve done back when—” Seteth starts. Catherine silences him with one look, leaving no doubt she doesn’t wish to speak of it.

    “And that is exactly why I have to go.”

    Rhea nodded. “So be it. I know I leave this mission in your capable hands.”

    “But why is he leading this rebellion?” you wonder. “I thought the Kingdom is strongly devoted to Seiros’ teachings.”

    “Every flock has its black sheep,” Rhea says, sounding sad. “We will get our answers once we defeat and capture them.”

    “What about the surrounding villages and those who support Gaspard’s rebellion but don’t fight?” Byleth asked. Until now, you haven’t really thought of those not directly involved in it, but she does make a good point.

    Rhea squared her shoulders. “What about them?”

    “They’re not directly involved but might try to get in our way.” Byleth glanced at the strategic map laid out before her. There is a way through the forest for your units to approach Lonato’s stronghold. Surrounding villages are marked with a red pin. They surround the forest in a loose circle, making an intrusion possible, though sending Knights of Seiros out to watch them and stop them could be quite easy—

    “Everyone who supports this foolish rebellion should receive the rightful punishment,” Rhea says, her voice so cold it freezes your thoughts of how to make the villagers stay out of this. Your head snaps up as you stare at her. Byleth raises an eyebrow but remains silent just like everyone else. Something about that makes you shudder.

    “But they’re civilians, right? If we can avoid having them interfere—”

    “By joining Lonato Gaspard’s rebellion they pledge guilty to his cause.” Rhea looks up at you, scorn flashing briefly in her eyes. “I will not have them simply go if it opens the possibility for revenge one day.”

    If you squinted really hard, there was reason behind her words. Still, your stomach turned at the thought of endangering civilians even though it could be prevented. Without any protests, that was the plan for the operation.

    You sat this one out. There was much to prepare for the upcoming Rite of Rebirth, a ceremony when the Church of Seiros and its believers unite to pray for the return of the goddess. Even though you wouldn’t call yourself a believer—many find it strange that you remember the way of war but not the way of the Church as if you lived somewhere without Seiros’ teachings—your presence was of outmost importance as well. Though after you heard how the mission went, you really wished you had joined the Blue Lions fighting against Gaspard instead of sitting around and deciding which ceremonial robes fit better.

    Loud voices drift through the closed door of a classroom, voices you immediately recognise belonging to Dimitri and Byleth.

    “Are you insane?” You flinch back even though a heavy wooden door separates you from what is undoubtedly Dimitri’s wrath. “Those were civilians.”

    A reply is lost, too quiet for you to hear, but whatever Byleth said, it wasn’t the right thing. A second later, Dimitri storms through the doors. The distress in his features stops you from asking what is wrong, a flash of betrayal lurking in his eyes seals your mouth shut. You look after him until he disappears around the corner, only slowly turning towards Byleth. She is propping herself up on the table, learning on her strong arms and staring at the opposite wall, her mouth a grim line—solid rock that stands against the raging waves summoned by Dimitri, her grip on the edge of the table hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

    “Everything okay?” An unnecessary question answered by a simple shake of her head. You lean your hips against the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

    Byleth is silent. Only slowly, like a tight knot finally coming lose, the tension in her shoulders dissipates and she takes a long, deep breath.

    “Dimitri told me about their mission. How they dealt with Lord Lonato’s revolt.” She finally steps away from the table and kneads the muscles in her shoulders. You imagine they’re hard like a rock. “They faced simple peasants who defended their Lord. Peasants who didn’t even know how to wield a sword without cutting their own thumbs off.”

    “And Rhea made quite clear how to deal with them,” you finish, summoning unwanted imaginations about a gruesome butchery in your mind. Byleth nods.

    “Dimitri asked for my advice,” she continues, her gaze drifting towards the door as if said young man might return like a bad haunting if his name is simply muttered. “If there was anything they could have done different. I told him there wasn’t.” She tears her eyes away from the door and fixes them on you. “I told him that is the way of war.”

    She is right, a part of you insists. Such facts cannot be changed and claiming anything different is foolish, naive. Yet, something stirs, a tiny tiny voice, a feeling, that challenges that thought. A feeling you didn’t expect to be part of you.

    “I don’t know about the details,” you say, shuffling from left to right, “but maybe it was avoidable. Lord Lonato must have known how his subjects felt about it. He didn’t need to involve them.”

    “I think they joined on their own. The students gave them a chance to lay down their weapons.”

    “Still—”

    “Still they decided to follow their foolish Lord,” a voice from the door joins, cold and imperious, chilling you to the bone. Rhea enters the War Room, her expression void of any warmth or kindness. “There is no place for doubt. We must punish any sinner who may inflict harm upon believers, even if those sinners are civilians.”

    “And you think to have the students punish them is right?” Byleth asks, earning a sharp glare from Rhea. She quickly, but somewhat begrudgingly adds, “Your Grace.”

    “I have heard that some students struggled with completing the task,” Rhea acknowledges, doing her best to show how unaffected she is by Byleth’s criticism. “I pray they learnt a valuable lesson about the fate that awaits all who are foolish enough to point their blades towards the heavens.”

    An icy shudder crawls up your spine, cold fingers tighten around your throat to keep you silent—a leash forged of obedience and intimidation, the mistress standing before you. It would be wise to keep your mouth shut, not draw unnecessary attention; keep your head low and nothing can slice it from your shoulders. But the words, burning hot on your tongue, demand freedom.

    “Fearing the Church isn’t the same as respecting it.”

    Something sharp flashes in Rhea’s eyes. “If fear is the only way to control them, then so be it. They are traitors to the holy teachings.”

    “They are people. People with families.”

    “People who would be wise to remember it was the progenitor god who gave them these lands and their life,” Rhea answers, growing impatient. She notices something in the way you look at her, for she takes a moment to collect herself by taking a deep breath. “I do not enjoy seeing those who wronged our holy teachings punished, Herald,” she continues, now much calmer. “But punish them we must before they hurt those who are dear to us.” Upon her last words, her eyes dart to Byleth, looking at her with so much fondness and care, a sting of jealousy in your chest forces you to avert your gaze to the ground. It isn’t the first time you notice Rhea’s palpable interest in Byleth’s wellbeing though no answer comes to mind why it is like that. If Byleth noticed the same, she doesn’t show it.

    After that, the incident is quickly forgotten, making room for the new incident occupying everyone’s mind: an assassination plot on Rhea on the day of the Rite of Rebirth found in Lonato’s possession. You aren’t the only one wondering why he’d carry something like that around where it’s easy to find. Multiple theories go around, one more farfetched than the other. One particular makes sense, its source none other than sharp witted Claude who thinks this plot is a simple distraction for something much bigger.

    “If security is focused on the Rite of Rebirth inside the Goddess’ Tower, pretty much anyone can simply stroll around the monastery and do who knows what,” he told you on the day Byleth and her class set out to discover what important places might become a target. Garreg Mach hides many secrets and treasures. Some of them even you are not allowed to see like relics passed down from archbishop to archbishop, guarded by the elite of the Knights of Seiros, tall and bulky men and women with grim mouths and determined eyes rooting them in place day and night in front of locked doors only Rhea knows what they hide.

    With every passing day, tension hangs in the air like a thick blanket waiting to smother you all. But it isn’t simply the anticipation for whatever the Western Church has planned. It is also the holy ceremony of the Rite of Rebirth, one you’ve practised under the stern eyes of Seteth who doesn’t settle for anything less than perfect. Every word, every step is engraved in your mind.

    On the day of the Rite of Rebirth the sun relentlessly blazes down at the monastery. Your ceremonial robes are heavy and woven from thick jacquard fabric lined with fine golden patterns that depict the Herald’s Crest on the back. You’ve barely finished preparing everything inside the round chamber inside the Goddess’ Tower but perspiration glues your hair to your forehead.

    A whole feast is prepared; food offerings and gifts from the townsfolk and priests served on golden and silver plates on long tables covered with white table clothes. In the middle Seteth prepared a small platform for Rhea to stand and speak in honour of the goddess that she may return to Fódlan and show its people her infinite grace. In short, you’d do anything to join the students who are securing the locations lacking in defence right now instead of standing around and waving at pilgrims. The only joy lies in Flayn’s bright presence and her never ending optimism. She’s a sweet girl and has been looking forward to the ceremony since the beginning of Blue Sea Moon. Looking upon her, it is hard not to catch her excitement and joy when the ceremony finally begins.

    Because of certain circumstances you couldn’t quite follow, the holy relic used for the ceremony, the Chalice of Beginnings, has been missing for a long time. Because of that, a mock chalice was prepared by the cardinals, a handful of high authority men and women who make it no secret they can’t quite decide if they like or dislike you and your position.

    “You must excuse them,” one of the cardinals says after a group of them simply shook their heads at you happily scooping tons of food on a plate. His dark hair falls to his shoulders and unlike the other cardinals, his brown eyes are filled with kindness. “They simply think in old patterns and value their old traditions. You are quite young, Herald. They don’t know how to handle that.”

    “But you do?” you wonder and notice too late how unfriendly that sounds. But he simply laughs.

    “I do frequent with young folk, yes,” he says. “They are my flock and I will do anything to protect them.”

    “That again, Aelfric?” Catherine joins you and slaps his shoulder just when he was about to drink from his cup. You pretend the pastries on your plate are far more interesting than watching him choke on wine. “You’re way too good for them, you know?”

    “Who is ‘them?’” you ask but Catherine just sways her hand as if he wants to get rid of a nasty fly.

    “Unimportant. You did a good job carrying the chalice to the podium.”

    “I did almost trip over these.” You pluck at the heavy robes, already looking forward to getting out of them.

    Catherine laughs but it is short lived. Out of nowhere, a knight hurriedly approaches and leans over to her, muttering, “They are after the tomb of Saint Seiros.”

    Glass shatters as her grip tightens around the fragile stem but without so much as noticing it she storms towards Rhea, fury blazing in her eyes. Something happened. Something far more exciting than playing a believer in front of everyone, so you follow her to listen in more.

    “Those dastards from the Western Church infiltrated the Holy Mausoleum,” she says. Rhea pales. “I will take some knights and go there at once.”

    “Go and be swift, Catherine.” Rhea’s words are barely a puff of breath, those news shaking her but she remains stoic in front of everyone to prevent panic. Her voice drops dangerously low. “Punish those heathens.”

    Catherine’s head dips in a slight bow. “I will, Your Grace.”

    “I want to help too.”

    Both turn around at your voice. Catherine narrows her eyes to sharp slits, but it is Rhea who says, “No. I need you here for the ceremony, Herald.”

    “Please, let me,” you beg. Something inside you demands to follow, demands to see what is inside the Holy Mausoleum that causes so much bloodshed. “I can’t explain, but I need to be there.”

    Rhea presses her lips into a thin line. Before she reopens her mouth to decline your wish, you whirl around and leave the ceremony room, Catherine in hot pursuit. You manage halfway down the hallway before she reaches you and grabs your arm hard.

    “Even though you are the Herald, I won’t allow you to show this disrespect towards Her Grace,” she snarls. “If she tells you to stay, you listen.”

    “I don’t expect you to understand,” you say, trying to free your arm from her bone breaking grip. “But something calls me to this place and I need to follow it.”

    Catherine isn’t pleased but she knows better than do you any real harm. With a crude nod, she allows you to follow. Several knights wait for you and together you make your way through the warm evening air towards the Holy Mausoleum that lies behind the chapel.

    You enter right before chaos erupts. At the end of the hall, its ceiling so high up it’s barely visible in the dark, Byleth stands tall and rises a sword that flashes in a bright red light. A throb goes through your body and brings you to your knees. It feels like an arrow drove into your chest, the stinging pain unlike anything you’ve felt before—no, it’s a pain you haven’t felt since the Crest appeared on your eye for the first time. And then that thrumming energy within you exploded, a sharp crimson that drenched every corner of your right vision, rushing through your veins.

    “Kill them!” an enemy mage commands, fury fuelling him to a last desperate attack. With his remaining companions, they summon a giant fire spell you’ve only read about in books, a combination of spells into a group flame that covers a large area—the pre-stage to a much more fatal blaze that can scorch the land. Blaze or no, the effect watching the giant fire ball curling and sparking until it grows large enough to wipe out anything in its way is the same. Fear paralyses your body. Move, your mind screams, but you can’t. Your muscles have locked up; a high whine of terror fills your head and fizzes in your blood like poison, yet you do not understand where this fear of fire comes from.

    “Take cover!” Catherine roars but it is too late. The blast hits the ground right before you, dispersing your small group of reinforcements like wind scattering leaves in all directions. A loud crack beneath you makes your heart skip a beat, a rumble shakes the hall and before you can fully comprehend what is happening, the ground gives way.

    The last thing you hear is Byleth shouting, not Herald, but your name before you plunge into darkness.

    Wake up.

    You have to wake up.

    This darkness is terrifying, so utterly black and choking, curling around you like a tight fist. Like someone is holding you in their dirty, tainted clutches, smelling of death and horror. Wake up, you tell yourself, more urgent now, your mind struggling to escape from claws digging into your consciousness, their goal unknown but you don’t want to stay here to find out what they are after. What they want to take from you.

    Wake up, this time another voice, the voice, echoing like a sweet bell’s chime, the flicker of light in a darkness so black it hums. You have to wake up.

    Your eyes snap open, the sudden white ceiling hurting like a sudden flash of light. Once you’re used to the brightness, you realise this isn’t a room, this is … this is your consciousness—no walls, no windows. It’s just a space, and yet you can clearly determine borders. Somewhere is an exit you’re free to use, nothing holds you captive. It’s your safe place. Your haven. Which doesn’t explain how you’ve gotten here.

    All you know is it feels safe. It feels like a warm embrace, the feeling of hope, watching a budding flower embraced by soft, fragile hands—asteritrope, your mind provides out of nowhere, the flower always turning its head towards the Blue Star.

    It is like breaking a spell. First, everything is simply white, empty, a second later, you stand in a vast field of asteritropes, an ocean of purple, gently swaying flowers at your feet. Everything smells of sweet innocence, of honey dipped fingers and bittersweet regret. It is a familiar scent, one your body remembers and reacts to with a shudder so strong it rattles deep in your bones; a chill so cold it freezes you on the spot, the slightest movement threatening to shatter you entirely.

    What is this grief, this sadness? Is it your own or have you fallen into a sea of tears wept by someone else? Your chest is heavy with a burden, a pulling towards the unknown that is yet so familiar. It is homesickness towards a place you have never been but long to visit.

    The flowers shaped like little stars stretch beyond what you think are the edges of this place. If this is a dream, you don’t want to wake up anytime soon, relishing in this peace and quiet.

    A peace and quiet that lasts only a moment until you notice it. Not it, him. In the middle of the field, a boy sits, bent over something that demands his complete attention. Dark curls fall against pale skin, his brows pulled tightly together as his fingers work something in his lap. He is wearing a simple white robe, though it is unlike any of the religious wear you've seen on the priests and nuns; it seem ... too old for that. Only after you approach, you see he is folding purple flowers and green steams into a crown.

    “Hello?” you say, only now entertaining the idea you might have died and this is the afterlife, the first point before returning to the goddess’ side. It is a strangely tranquil thought. “Can you hear me?”

    The boy’s head snaps up, his eyes wide as he momentarily forgets his work, and you take a step back, struck by how bright his steel grey eyes are. They roam over you, up and down, back up again, as he slowly raises to his feet.

    “You’re here,” he says, awestruck. “You’re finally here. It is so nice to meet you after all this time.”

    His voice is like a punch to your gut. You recognise it immediately, the voice who pulled you back from the darkness.

    “You—” Nothing makes sense. “Who are you? What are you?”

    “There is nothing to fear,” he says, offering you his hand. The tips of his fingers are purple from handling delicate petals. The crown lies at his bare feet, forgotten. He looks strangely vulnerable.

    You take another step back, worry a steady, hard pulse against your neck. The air catches in your lungs. You feel like the ground is opening beneath your feet. “Are you … the goddess? A god?”

    The boy blinks, then throws his head back and bursts out laughing, the sound like sweet bells chiming in the wind. “You people love to call everything you do not understand god.”

    “Then what are you?” It comes out as a breath, and for a brief second you think it’s fear that seizes your body, but no. You should be afraid and yet instead of frenzy panic there is a calm spreading inside you as if you belong here. You can’t say if it’s the boy’s presence or the familiar scent of wildflowers.

    The boy leans his head to the side, his smile as vibrant as early sunlight casting away leftover shadows from a dark night. “Hmmm … the End, perhaps? Or why not just … a friend?”

    “The end? My end?”

    “No, the end is never simply the end,” he says, shaking his head.

    “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

    “It may be a rebirth,” he continues. “Or the passing into a new era. Into a new dawn.”

    “A new dawn,” you mumble. The realisation makes your knees weak. “Don’t tell me—” You suck in a sharp breath, unable to belief where your thoughts are hurling towards in lightning speed. You kneel onto the soft flowerbed, careful not to crush any flowers. “Why are we here … do you know me by chance?”

    “I … cannot say for sure,” he starts slowly, uncertainty turning his features even younger. “I have been watching you since you awoke four moons ago. On that day, I as well awoke from a deep slumber. But I do not know why it is you that I am bound to.”

    “Bound to?” Your head spins. “What do you mean?”

    “You must have felt it by now, have you not? I am here because of this,” he says, and lifts his hand to point at your right eye. You flinch back as if he smacked you right across your face.

    “So you are him,” you whisper, a shudder ripping through your body. “You’re the first Herald. You are Seiros’ Champion.”

    The boy smiles.

[dilfbane]

Nervous(Your Blood On Fire) - Dhawan!Master x Reader

Summary: The Master discovers that you’ve never kissed. Things - mainly kissing - ensue. 

Pairing: Dhawan!Master x Reader

Warnings: None 

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: So I saw someone mention in the tags that they wanted to do a short drabble about Dhawan!Master teaching you how to kiss and I immediately had to sit down and write this because same. Hope that you all enjoy! (Also, if the Master seems OOC in this at all, I profusely apologize. I wrote this during finals week so yeah.... we die like men in this house.) 

“You’ve never kissed?” Asks the Master. He is staring at you with a gobsmacked expression, and your eyes are glued to the floor. 

“You don’t have to say it like that,” You mumble. 

The silence in the console room is so loud you could hear a pin drop, and you mentally berate yourself for how effeciently you’ve managed to completely ruin the mood. You’d found yourself caught up in the moment, your hand clasped in his as you’d burst through the TARDIS doors, laughing, with your blood on fire. He had backed you up against the console, manic smile and sharp eyes gleaming, deft touches sending shudders cascading through you as his hands wandered over your sides and his lean, lithe body pressed you into something vaguely metallic and painful. He’d leaned in close, his teeth glinting in the lights, fingers rising to cup your jaw. 

And you, an absolute idiot, had pulled yourself away from him with a hasty, I don’t know how to do this. 

What?, he had asked, You haven’t kissed someone before? 

He had smirked, when he said it, but the hot blush that had crept its way over your cheeks, and the way that you’d instinctively shied away from his gaze, without so much as thinking, had caused him to scoff in something akin to disbelief and take a step back, distancing himself from you. You felt his absence keenly, and knew, now, what he’d been pressing you into, the lever that disentangled the TARDIS from its physical place in the universe. No doubt he had meant to push you down on it with your lips and tongues at war with each other, sending you whirling into the vortex, where you could be alone, to hitch your legs around him as he took what he wanted from you. The prospect thrilled you, and filled you with some inescapable feeling that you couldn’t name - 

Part low ache, part sadness, and part resignation. He would never want you, you thought to yourself. You had no idea what you were doing, and the Master had lived for hundreds of years. You knew deep down exactly what you would be. 

The worst that he’d ever had. 

You’re so lost in the thought that you almost miss the feeling of strong fingers at your chin, pulling your head up, the wamrth of his form in front of you, there, but giving you space. He is watching you calmly, warily, with just a hint of concern, and underneath it all you can see his tempered excitement, threatening to break through as he opens and closes his mouth once or twice, carefully choosing his words. 

“How have you never…” 

“I don’t know,” You tell him, huffing and embarrassed. “I always meant to. I mean - I just. I didn’t really - Have somebody like that.” 

“Would you… like to?” He asks, hesitantly, dark eyes narrowed, scanning you as if he’s afraid, though of what, you don’t rightly know. Rejection, your mind supplies, as you snap back into the present. The gaze seems now to say Let me down gently, and you stifle a laugh as you take your time on the answer. It is important, you realize, to say the right thing to him. 

To say the right thing, at all. 

Your mind is filled with images of long months of decreasingly rare, fleeting touches that stayed with you into the night as you tossed and turned beneath your blankets, sleep deserting you in favor of the thought of his hands on your body, divesting you of your clothes and saying human things to you. 

“Yeah,” You say, hearing yourself as if in a tunnel of wind, “Yeah, I think that I would.” 

You don’t know what you’d been expecting, but it wasn’t for a smile to break loose on his face, for him to pull you away with a sure-fingered grip, eyes lit and fast pace persistant as he led you out of the bedroom. 

“Where are we going?” You asked him, smiling yourself, a queer warmth suffusing you. 

“Patience, love,” He says, smirking and teasing and exuberant in a way that doesn’t half scare you. You stumble over your feet a bit, in anticipation, and fading worry, as he guides you through the winding halls of the TARDIS. You blink, and you are through a door, elegantly carved and embossed in gold, and in a flash his wrist is off yours, and he beckons towards a bed with crisp white sheets and an richly embroidered red-and-gold eiderdown. The room smells like him - like smoke and whiskey and tea and ashes, like steel and anger and wet leaves after a rain. It is cold and caring, meticulously lived-in, inherently affectionate and foreign. 

“Your room?” You ask. 

“I want you impressed,” He says, but his laviscuous grin has softened, and so has the somewhat-dulled spark in his eyes. 

He beckons, once, more, to the bed, and as you sit your thoughts return to you, tangled and confused, the hot edge of want shot through with ice water as you remember how much less than him you are. Your fears are dispelled as he pushes you further back, until you are lying down fully on the left side of the bed, giving you time to still him as he clambers onto it himself, the mattress dipping under his welcoming weight; he lies sideways, propped up on one elbow, close enough to make you sure of his intent, far enough that you could flee, though knowing the Master, you wouldn’t get very far. He would make you talk about it, say gentle things you aren’t capable of handling, before letting you go. He would make sure that you were alright, and you do not want to be that. 

The only thing that you want to be, as you look into his deep, wondering gaze - 

The only thing you want to be is his. 

Your pulse goes painfully fast as he brings his hands up to cradle your face, and you wonder if he’s as nervous as you are. He certainly doesn’t seem nervous. He seems - 

Intent, you think. Focused, and the tiniest bit smug, like he already knows how ruined you’ll be for anyone that isn’t him, after you give yourself up. 

“Shh,” He says, moving to brush your hair behind your ear before cupping your jaw again. “Is this alright?” 

“It’s fine,” You say, breathless, “It’s - good.” 

“Mm,” He says, “Good.” 

“I’ll like it better, once we actually - yeah?” 

He laughs, a warm huff that you can feel on your skin, and a delicious shiver wracks you. 

“You can’t even say it out loud, love,” He says, “Humans. What am I going to do with you?” 

“I don’t know,” You say, letting your raw nerves show; letting him know exactly how anxious you feel. You’ve always been prone to anxiety; if he noticed it before now, he never said a word, but sometimes you thought you would catch him telling you things were alright when a panic attack was swelling up inside of you, and praising you for answering a question that would’ve earned anyone else Finally, even if your answer wasn’t entirely correct. Sometimes, he chastised you without the same degree of heat he directed towards others, with a gaze that tried to set your clumsy ashamed-ness at bay and offer you comfort, despite the weight of your mistake. Your insecurities roar back to life, and you feel yourself going to say - something - before he puts a stop to it, drawing your face closer to his where you lie, until your foreheads are touching and your lips are almost locked together. 

“Now,” He says, utterly composed, “What you want to do - is feel.” 

You pull back, snorting. 

“Feel?” You ask him, “That’s a rubbish instruction, I think.” 

“What did you feel, right then?” He asks you, cocking his head and casting his gaze over your body, eyes darkening slightly, then returning to their normal indifferent amusement, spiked with a languid and intense caring that made you want to run away and fall into him, all at once. 

“Nervous,” You admit. The Master has dropped his hand to where yours is, and in one smooth motion sits, leaning against the firm, cool pillows and taking you with him. He prods at you until he is satisfied that he has you where he wants you, legs touching and half-twisted so that you face him, and you feel his hand move over yours, a warm, sturdy pressure lacing your fingers together. 

“It’s only kissing,” He tells you, but there is no heat in it; he sounds less exasperated than he does reassuring, and it draws a laugh out of you, causing his smile to widen. He hums something concentrated into  the air as he regards you, studying the lines of your face, shaking his head when you laugh and instinctively go to turn away. 

“It’s only kissing,” He tells you, moving ever closer, his pace sure, yet restrained, and your heart swells at how slowly, how clumsily, he is going, giving you all the time in the world to back out. 

“I’m um - I want this,” You say, with a giggle. A giggle; three months ago, if you had giggled, he would have glared, but now he takes it as confirmation that he can do whatever he wants to you - you hope that he does, at least. The Master seems to have gotten the message, because all of a sudden, he’s there, and you feel his mouth descending on yours, face cupped in palms that are surprisingly cool. His lips rest on yours, for the shortest moment, before beginning to move, softly and slowly, but firmly, his teeth both a threat and a dare. You try to match what he’s doing, but you can tell that you’re abysmal at it - 

It doesn’t feel like it should, you think, and shake your head, attempting to escape him. 

“No, love,” He tells you, pulling back just slightly enough that you can hear him, “Let me show you, mm? Just like this,” He says, tugging you back into the kiss, letting you take the lead. You move your lips in a way that sparks, and laugh in a start of hot disbelief. The Master smirks, and you feel it against your mouth, there and perfect. Your lips and tongue want to chase it, and though it scares you at first, an encouraging sigh from the Master makes your mind up for you. 

You deepen things, sliding your tongue past his parted lips, and feel his clutch on you tighten, nails digging into your face. Any harder, you think, and they’ll break skin, though the pain doesn’t hurt you; on the contrary, it is welcome, so fundamentally Master that you wouldn’t feel right, doing this, without it, and you abandon yourself to his whims as he picks up the pace, nipping harsh at your lip, lifting his hands to place them at your shoulders and lifting you into his lap, legs straddling his thighs. He does break skin, then - at your back, and the top of your shoulders, and you whimper into his mouth. The Master runs a soothing hand over the shallow marks and swallows it, drinking it down like wine. 

“Too much?” He asks, halting and pulling away and moving you off him, to give you much needed breathing space. 

“No,” You say, “That was - Good,” You tell him. “Really good.” 

“You like kissing, then?” He asks you. 

“Yeah,” You tell him, “I do, I mean - Only with you,” You say, blushing and averting your gaze. When you finally look back at him, though, there is an intensity on his face that burns just the same as his anger, and his mouth is set in a snarl. 

“Y/N,” He tells you, “Anyone else, and I’ll kill them.” 

You don’t doubt that he means it - he may be a liar, the Master, but he will not lie to you. And you could not dream of kissing anyone else, now that you’ve done it with him. Lost in your reveries, you blink when the Master stands up, as graceful as anything, snarl settling into a smug, contented, and vaguely frustrated grin as he looks at you, yet you see the care in them, just underneath the surface, and your heart overflows in your chest. 

“Twenty minutes,” He says, “There’s something that I want to show you.” 

“Let me guess,” You say, “Bloody, violent revolution?” 

The Master scoffs. 

“Hardly,” He tells you, “I was thinking -“ 

“Wait,” You tell him, “Surprise me.” 

The Master inclines his head ever so slightly, bending to get through the doorframe, ever so slightly too tall, but, for an instant - an indomitable sliver of time - he pauses, hands braced around the wood, and when he speaks next, his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it. 

“You’re quite good at kissing, you know,” He tells you - there is something intrinsically sad about it, but he does not give you time to speak. “Twenty minutes,” The Master says. 

“I’ll be there,” You tell him. 

“I know that you will be,” He says. 

And just like that, you’re alone. 

[rinzis]

writing about my new genshin oc??? okay?????okay!!!!!! i’m on mobile so i can’t add the read more option i’m so sorry

—

details

—

name: kiyoharu misa

birthday: august 3rd

sex/pronouns: female, she/her

region: inazuma

constellation: lunam lilia

vision: electro

weapon: sword

rarity: 5*

title: princess of the kiyoharu household, moonlit swordsmaiden (unofficial)

affiliation: kiyoharu clan, the resistance

—

synopsis

—

the princess of the fallen household kiyoharu. she carries a patterned umbrella which she is seldom seen without, and within which lies her precious katana. a gentle yet influential soul, she is well known for her impressive swordsmanship throughout the resistance in inazuma.

—

character story

—

character details

at first glance, people might not think that kiyoharu misa was anything special. seeing a young woman strolling through the land of inazuma carrying an intricate paper umbrella would not faze anyone. but, under this delicate guise, misa conceals both her dear katana and her vision.

the princess of the kiyoharu household is known to be a gentle soul who yearns for freedom from the raiden shogun and the tenryou commission. since her childhood, she has always been fascinated by the moon and its rays, a particular trait of kiyoharu descendants. misa earned herself the title of ‘moonlit swordsmaiden’ after combining her unparalleled swordsmanship with her illuminated vision.

story 1

the kiyoharu clan was once a widely respected and loved clan across inazuma. the household was known for its tendency to produce talented swordsmen who earn themselves visions through selflessness and helping others, and for this reason they were seen as high nobility. however, members of the kiyoharu household were reluctant in hiring many maids or servants - they believe that if one can be capable of harnessing the power gifted by gods through blade alone, one should also be able to cook a simple meal, or wash their own clothing. through this doctrine the kiyoharu descendants earned themselves unwavering respect from all citizens of inazuma, and even the raiden shogun herself - for a while.

story 2

descendants such as misa are taught from a young age to honour their ancestors, but also those who currently serve inazuma as well. misa excelled in swordsmanship, being able to wield a blade so gracefully to the point where it appeared as though she was dancing, using it as simply an accessory. the leader of the clan gifted to her a delicate paper umbrella, and he spoke to her these words: “do not mistake kindness for weakness. from dainty petals drip deadly poisons.”, and with that, misa understood her duty. she would protect the citizens of inazuma with her life, with her dainty umbrella and deadly blade at her side. she is seldom seen without either.

story 3

the kiyoharu clan were known best for the number of descendants who possess visions. thus, when the vision hunt decree was issued, the tenryou commission sought out every member of the household owning a vision. misa’s family would rather have died than hand over their precious visions. despite their unyielding fighting spirit, the kiyoharu household was overcome by the sheer numbers in the tenryo commission. there were supposedly no survivors, but it just so happened that the young kiyoharu misa was dispatched on a mission on behalf of the household the day it fell. the young swordsmaiden returned to her home in ruins, her whole life taken from her. she knew at that moment that as the sole descendant of the kiyoharu household, she would avenge her clan and return lost visions to those who suffer at the hands of the tenryo commission.

story 4

misa met all sorts of people on her journey through inazuma as a vision-bearing fighter, the most notable of all being the ronin kaedehara kazuha. she used to live a life of solitude in a small house near the edge of the islands of inazuma, but this life of solitude was changed upon seeing the rain-soaked samurai appear at her doorstep one evening. seeing each other’s visions, misa realised that kazuha was not a threat at all. the days they spent together inspired misa to venture out, to find the resistance in inazuma alongside the swordsman and reclaim justice for the fallen. and so, she left yet another life behind to travel with kazuha through inazuma in search of everything and nothing at all. nights of listening to the ronin’s musings and conversing under the moonlight unknowingly planted a blossom in misa’s heart, one which would remain there forever.

story 5

misa and kazuha’s travels took them all across inazuma. despite them both being wanted for their visions, the tenryo commission’s lackeys and treasure hoarders were no match for the pair’s skill in bladework. misa secretly yearned day after day for any sign of affection or mutuality from the young samurai, but as the princess of a famed clan she chose to remain composed and calm about the whole ordeal. however, when the ronin told the princess of his plan to leave inazuma with the crux fleet, he explained that he did not want to take this life from her. he confessed that his musings and haikus about the heart and its desires he so often shared with her were about her, and that his own heart would belong eternally to her. thus, he left her with a simple promise. “the wind will bring us together once again, misa. i will return home to you, and then will i forever devote myself to you. this i promise, my princess.”

the kiyoharu sword dance

those who have witnessed kiyoharu misa in battle often note how she appears more to be dancing than harshly fighting. the kiyoharu household drew its strength and style in battle from the moon and its light, and they channeled this into their blades during battle. misa’s god given agility combined with this graceful power leads ultimately to her captivating swordsmanship. with the electro imbued in her blade, misa is all too capable in taking down foes with ease. in the night hours, a stroll down to a clearing or open beach may lead you to find the princess honing her blade under the silver of the moon, with a sword that never sleeps. she is renowned throughout the resistance as one of the most talented swordswomen in inazuma.

the vision

misa was granted her vision during a particularly dangerous incident during her early training years. one fateful evening, she was out with other kiyoharu swordsmen, practicing her skills with her blade in the open country.

“lady misa, please remain here while we briefly survey the area. we have had reports of active treasure hoarders roaming this area, and we would hate for anything to happen to you at this time. we will be back shortly.”

and so, they left her on the path to scout the surrounding land. clutching the hilt of her sword, the very thought of being ambushed by grown men with malicious intentions worried misa, especially since she hadn’t obtained a vision yet. but alas, how wrong her fellow swordsmen were.

“well, what do we have here? the prestigious kiyoharu misa, is it? count ourselves lucky boys, it’s just the one we were after.”, drawled the advancing treasure hoarders.

her hands trembled on her sword. how could she possible deter these twenty, no, thirty treasure hoarders alone? glancing down at her sheathed blade, misa wondered if she’d see her family again.

no, why was she thinking like this?

steady yourself, misa. focus on your breathing. the dance will go on. your blade does not rest.

she draws her sword.

to the young swordsmaiden’s surprise, a new energy unlike anything she had witnessed before struck her senses. and so she danced, her blade piercing the air and with it bringing down the treasure hoarders in quick succession. but she could only go on for so long.

panting, misa retreated towards the edge of the river. the men relentlessly kept on coming, and she knew she was almost completely spent. her legs and hands quivered, and her mind raced with prayers to the goddess baal. with a small breath, she spoke these words:

“archons, guide me. i beg, lend me your strength.”

a faint crackling filled the air, before a tremendous burst of silver lightning struck the ground before her. the sword in her hands glowed a pale purple, and it was then that she realised the archons had answered her prayers. wielding this newfound power, she swung her blade with a new fervour.

twenty, no, thirty treasure hoarders lay at the princess of the kiyoharu household’s feet. the chime of a small ornament hitting the ground was the only sound after the crackling died down. at long last, kiyoharu misa’s vision had been granted to her by the gods. holding the electro vision in her hands, she whispered these words:

“the dance will go on.”

—

voice lines

—

hello

“i’m kiyoharu misa, nice to meet you! l-lady misa? oh no, please — there’s really no need for the formalities. i’m just as ordinary as you are. say, how about we travel together for a while? i’m sure your stories are bound to keep me entertained on our arduous journeys.”

chat: urgency

“a storm is brewing… let’s keep moving.”

chat: resting

“you’d like to rest? alright, want to share a quick meal?”

chat: sword

“i should really polish my sword soon…”

when it rains

“my my, it seems the heavens really have opened. let’s find shelter quickly, i’d hate to continue travelling in this weather.”

after the rain

“the lingering scent of the rain is one of my most favourite smells… for me, it heralds a fresh start. well, come on then! shall we head off?”

when it snows

“hmm… i really do enjoy the snow. especially when the moonlight casts a glimmering sheen over the world, enveloping inazuma in a soft silver. i hope we can witness it together sometime.”

when the wind is blowing

“i have a friend who adores the wind. he left some time ago, but i know he will return home to me one day. sometimes i wonder if i can hear his voice catching on the breeze, lines of poetry drifting along with it. hey, don’t give me that look! we’re just… uh… friends...”

good morning

“[sigh] i’m really not much of a morning person. i’m certainly not on my best form in the late morning hours… oh, you’re ready to leave already? r-right, i’ll be ready as soon as possible!”

good afternoon

“hmm, i’m feeling a little hungry… would you like to grab a bite to eat? no, it’s alright - there are inns up ahead that know the resistance. we’ll be just fine. and, if not, we have our blades. heh.”

good evening

“the setting sun is particularly pretty this evening. once the storm has fully settled, i hope to see the true beauty of the inazuman skies once again. i will see that vision to the end.”

good night

“you’re heading to sleep? alright, sleep well. me? well… the moon is my friend, i suppose. a little sword dance under its light helps me retain my focus. i won’t be too long, don’t worry.”

about kiyoharu misa

“my umbrella? oh, it was a gift from the leader of the kiyoharu household when i was born. i had it altered to accommodate the length and width of my sword - see? though it appears to be but a dainty paper umbrella, what lies within is a retribution sentence. it is my will given form.”

about us: kiyoharu origin

“my title as princess of the kiyoharu clan is something i will carry with me forever. despite the unjust fall of my household, i will bring back its honour. the raiden shogun’s vision hunt decree stripped my family of their lives, thus i swear i will reclaim justice. for them, and for the future.”

about us: kiyoharu motto

“the motto of the kiyoharu household is: “with grace and with fortitude.”, and i channel this saying into my sword whenever i draw it. it is the foundation for the kiyoharu way of life.”

about us: sword art

“ah, i see you have taken an interest in my fighting style. for me, fighting with a sword should not just be about the battle. it is an art, and i find myself overindulging in the grace and fluidity of swordsmanship all too often.”

about the vision

“my vision? i see it as a way of showing solidarity against the oppressive raiden shogun. i do not wish to hide that which is so dear to me, and that which forges my identity. this vision is my symbol of strength, and the tenryo commission who seeks it will be met with my unyielding blade.”

something to share

“i’m not sure how long you will be in inazuma for, but traveler - one day, i’d like to take you to a festival here. they are truly wonderful, and members of the resistance always find ourselves sneaking in to witness them as well. ever since i was young, i’ve loved them so much, and i’d love to share this memory with you as a reminder of your time in inazuma.”

interesting things

“traveler, is it true that in liyue there are gods that walk amongst the people? huh… adepti you say… so, they just co-exist with mortals peacefully? you’ve met them?! wow… it seems i underestimated your power! just what else have you witnessed since being in teyvat…”

about kazuha: relationships

“kaedehara kazuha? ahem… well… yes, i suppose you could say that we are… lovers, of sorts. on his final night here, he left me with a single promise. i often spend nights staring up at the moon with him in my mind. i will wait for him, for as long as it takes, i know that i will see him again one day. i know that he will return home soon.”

about kazuha: poetry

“kazuha would often recite haikus to me as we’d live together when he was here. i remember him arriving at my doorstep, drenched in rain from head to toe, and i hadn’t the heart to turn him away. he stayed for a while, and after a few days i decided to risk it all for him. the bond we share… is unbreakable. if you see him, let him know that i am waiting for him.”

about kamisato ayaka

“i have a lot of respect for the princess of the kamisato clan. she conducts herself in a light i admire greatly, and she and i are close friends. her swordsmanship is just as impressive, and i would love it if we could spar once more as we used to. perhaps i will visit her soon…”

about yoimiya

“yoimiya? oh, of course - festivals in inazuma aren’t complete without a firework show organised by her. i have also heard her skills with a bow are unique, to say the least. paired with her passion for fireworks, i assume the combination work… interestingly in battle.”

about sayu

“hm? sayu… you mean the ninja who resides in the forests? i can’t say i’ve seen much of her… which is odd, considering she wields that great claymore…”

about gorou

“oh, gorou! i know him very well, actually. he was one of the first people i befriended as part of the resistance. he is a sound fighter, and i believe he can achieve great things. perhaps i can see him again soon.”

about the raiden shogun

“the raiden shogun… her despicable vision hunt decree… the tenryo commission… i detest it all. to see so many people’s dreams stripped, to see the colour fade from so many precious hopes… i will see to it that this is all restored. i cannot sympathise with a god who robs her people of their dreams.”

more about kiyoharu misa i

“you’d like to know more about me? i’m flattered. i know that your journey through inazuma won’t be easy, so please don’t hesitate to drop by every once in a while. my blade never rests, after all.”

more about kiyoharu misa ii

“the carvings on my sword are most intricate. a swordsmaiden’s weapon is her will. i find myself staring at the moon night after night, and the patterns on my sword are a tribute to the power it lends me.”

more about kiyoharu misa iii

“you want to know about my title? well, moonlit swordsmaiden refers to the way i utilise my vision. the light of the moon reflects through the electro element, and i believe that through this combination i can convey the power of the resistance.”

more about kiyoharu misa iv

“i’m an only child, so the fate of the kiyoharu clan rests in my hands. traveler, i believe that through knowing you i have become a better person. i hope that you will visit inazuma once again.”

more about kiyoharu misa v

“here, this is for you. it’s a charm made from pure sea glass. the way the sun and moonlight reflects through its unique colours is a rare sight to behold. i suppose this is a thank you gift, for everything we’ve been through together.”

kiyoharu misa’s hobbies

“my hobbies? well, in the late night and early morning hours, i enjoy heading down to a secluded beach and basking in the moonlight. those hours are the perfect opportunity to practice swordsmanship, and the art of sword dancing too. besides that, i suppose i enjoy embroidery too, although i’m not particularly good at it…”

kiyoharu misa’s troubles

“i often worry about the other members of the resistance. i find myself questioning as to whether they still have their visions, or even their lives. on top of that, i hope that one day i will be reunited with my lover… i pray that he too made it out safely.”

favorite food

“my mother used to make the most takoyaki. my family weren’t so insistent on having maids running around when we could cook everything ourselves, so i would always snack on my mother’s dishes. even today, the taste of takoyaki brings back vivid memories of my mother.”

least favourite food

“honestly, i’m not much of a picky eater, but i’m not too fond of anything containing fish eggs…”

birthday

“happy birthday! it’s a special day for you today. is there anything in particular you’d like? no, don’t be silly, of course i’ll get it for you! seeing as you’ve helped me this far, it’s only right that i give something back to you! on top of that, if there’s anything you ever need at all, i’ll be sure to help you out, friend.”

feelings about ascension: intro

“my blade only grows stronger. let’s continue working hard.”

feelings about ascension: building up

“how to describe this feeling… lightweight, but more powerful. the dance will go on.”

feelings about ascension: climax

“with each passing day, my blade grows keener. the moon seems more radiant than ever before.”

feelings about ascension: conclusion

“i believe i owe you a great thanks. the moonlight that rains down on the world will forever be in your favour, traveler. both you and i will improve leaps and bounds from here on out.”

addition to party

“are we heading off?”

“alright, ready when you are.”

“it’s time, let’s go.”

elemental skill

“will of my sword!”

“shrouded in moonlight!”

(convergence) “cut them blind!”

(convergence) “beams, converge!”

elemental burst

“kiyoharu art: carver of radiance!”

“dance of death.”

“face my blade!”

fallen

“i thought… we’d meet… again…”

“friends… i’m sorry…”

“no… i wasn’t… done…”

—

talents

—

normal attack - kiyoharu sword art

perform up to 5 consecutive attacks with a sword.

charged attack: consume a set amount of stamina to unleash a more powerful attack, dealing physical dmg to enemies.

plunging attack: plunges from mid-air to strike the ground below, damaging opponents in an aoe upon impact.

elemental skill - remnants of moonlight

tap once: kiyoharu misa dashes quickly forwards, dealing electro dmg to enemies in her path. she leaves a thunderblade at her starting and end point of her dash.

tap again: the thunderblades converge with kiyoharu misa as the focal point, creating a triangular zone of convergence. enemies within the zone of convergence are dealt electro dmg and are knocked up. a mark of radiance is applied to enemies within the zone of convergence.

if the skill is not reactivated, the two thunderblades will converge in a line after 4s. marks of radiance last for 12s.

elemental burst - kiyoharu art: carver of radiance

kiyoharu misa leaps into the air, before plunging down and dealing a powerful slash to enemies, dealing massive electro dmg. for 3s after her slash, thunder strikes will crash down on enemies who are marked by mark of radiance, dealing extra electro dmg.

passive 1 - swordsmaiden’s revenge

enemies affected by a mark of radiance will take 15% more damage from kiyoharu misa’s normal and charged attacks.

passive 2 - thundering retribution

kiyoharu misa’s crit dmg is increased by 10% for 5s after a zone of convergence is activated.

natural passive - lightning clarity

all party members’ crit dmg is increased by 10% when kiyoharu misa is in the party.

—

constellations

—

constellation 1: tenacity of lightning

the duration of thunderblades on the field is increased to 6s, and the duration of marks of radiance on enemies is increased to 16s.

constellation 2: shredding thunder

enemies marked by marks of radiance have their elemental res decreased by 20%.

constellation 3: roots of kiyoharu

the level of kiyoharu art: carver of radiance is increased by 3.

constellation 4: fatal reunion

if there are more than 5 enemies within the zone of convergence cast by remnants of moonlight, the cooldown is decreased by 3s.

constellation 5: swordsmaiden’s unwavering will

the level of remnants of moonlight is increased by 3.

constellation 6:

kiyoharu art: carver of radiance deals 50% more dmg to enemies previously affected by electro.

—

appearance

—

kiyoharu misa is a young woman and is of average height, with light brown hair, tied half up in a braided bow and then tied at the very bottom. she has bangs which frame her face. her eyes are deep gray-purple, and she has a small scar across the bridge of her nose. her outfit is coordinated with white and lavender colours, and her paper umbrella is also patterned with lavender coloured lightning and flower patterns.

i’m horrible at art so here’s a fun picrew of misa …… this isn’t what she’d wear but it’s the closest thing to what i was imagining ig …… also the band aid is supposed to be her lil scar LOL

[howggswouldreact]

♡ Serenity | Seulgi

Request: hii, can u write a fluf scenario with seulgi of red velvet where they gf have a bad day on the University and she tries to comfort her with cuddles and a lot of kisses ? thank u sorry for bad English ❤️❤️❤️

Plot: Reader has a terrible day at college and Seulgi is the only person who can help her feel better.

Words: 1,553

Genre: fluff, college!au

Notes: this is one of my favs i’ve wrote... hope you like it! ♡ ♡

You never thought that one day could be as bad as this one. And by just thinking about it, you were afraid it was going to start raining and a lightning bolt would hit the very top of your head, as it usually happens in the movies.

Since you woke up for classes, everything was going wrong. You stumbled when you got out of bed. When you went to take a shower the water that came out was strong and the fast jet was as cold as snow on Christmas morning. You put your blouse on the wrong side and had to come back to fix it. And, for some reason, you had the feeling that you were forgetting something. Luckily, you weren't late.

What was happening? It seemed to you that the day was destined to be a bad one. Was it some kind of curse? You didn’t know. But you were asking the universe not to make it worse.

However, it can be cruel when it wants to.

When you arrived at your first class of the day, you realized what you had forgotten: the last exam of the semester.

How could you miss such an important detail like this? It was the last one! And a subject that you were not so familiar with. Okay, your week was terrible, exam after exam, project after project, you weren't sleeping well or even eating well.

Sitting down and picking up your pen, you took a deep breath and looked at the paper that was deposited by your teacher right in front of you. Closing your eyes slowly, you thought of all the content you had learned, went over every detail in your own mind and hoped you hadn't missed one. You would need calm but, mainly, you would need luck.

A few kilometers and a few hours later, on the same campus, your girlfriend, Seulgi, was concerned. While sitting with two of her friends, Yerim and Joohyun, she texted you asking if you were eating or at least had a glass of water. The answer was almost always negative, so Seulgi's concern increased and made her heart squeeze. But since you didn't respond right away, she sighed heavily and put the phone back in her jacket pocket.

"Honestly, girls, I miss Y/N..."

"This is new!", Yerim said in a boring tone, used to Seulgi always saying how much she missed you, even though she saw you the night before.

“No, I'm serious, I haven't seen her in over a week. And we study at the same university! ”

Yerim's eyebrows went up in surprise. Joohyun, who was concentrating on her milkshake, finally spoke up.

“This last semester is very stressful, Seulgi, maybe she won't be able to manage everything at once. At least she had answered your messages, right?”

“Yes, but she is putting college above her own well-being! That's what worries me. She is not taking care of herself. ”

Seulgi's cell phone rang and when she picked it up she realized it was a call from you. She answered it.

"Hey, babe!", she said, with a huge smile on her face.

"Hey..."

From the tone of your voice, Seulgi knew there was something wrong.

"Did something happen?", she asked, worried about you.

"I’ve had a very bad day..."

"Tell me where you are and I will get you."

While waiting for Seulgi with the backpack on your shoulders, you looked at the sun, which was setting behind the tall gray buildings of the university. You were feeling drained and connecting with nature wouldn't work to recharge your batteries. Then you looked down at the sidewalk and there she was, in a black jacket and her hair hanging loose over her shoulders, a beautiful smile, which was the only thing capable of recharging your batteries.

Seulgi approached you and hugged you.

"Are we going to my apartment?"

You nodded.

You both walked hand in hand all the way. Her apartment was not far from the campus and it was much more comfortable for you two than your dorm. And your roommate would be there so you wouldn’t have privacy and you wouldn’t talk about your feelings to Seulgi.

When you arrived at her apartment, you hugged her again, and the feeling of her arms around you made you feel at home. Seulgi was your home.

"What do you think about..." she started to speak, fingers sliding through your hair as she slid her nose to yours. "... taking a shower to relax while I order your favorite food and put a really bad movie for us to watch?"

You smiled and felt her lips on top of yours. Seulgi sucked your lower lip and gave it a light peck, her hands cupping your face, her thumbs giving a gentle touch on your cheeks.

"I think it's a good idea.", you said when the kiss ended.

You went to shower in Seulgi's suite and she took out her cell phone to order your favorite food at a restaurant near her apartment. She asked for the order to come neatly arranged and even tipped the restaurant as an incentive.

In the bath, you tried to relax. There, the water was at a pleasant temperature. There, you were feeling well. It was as if everything needed Seulgi's presence to finally come into balance. You stayed like that for a while, so immersed in your own thoughts that you didn't hear the bell ring or even when Seulgi came in and out of the room quickly.

You came out of the bathroom and saw on the bed clothes that Seulgi had separated for you to wear. Smiling to yourself as you got dressed, you thought of how lucky you were to have her in your life and how she made difficult days easily light, as if she had done some kind of magic.

"Do you prefer to eat here on the sofa to watch TV or in the bedroom?", asked Seulgi.

She wasn’t wearing her jacket anymore and hadn’t turned to you yet. She was taking the food out of the bags she had received from the delivery man minutes earlier.

"It's so warm!", she said, pointing to the food on the table and turning to you. "Oh, Gosh! We haven't seen each other in so long that I forgot how beautiful you look in my clothes!”

“Hey, it was only for a week! I couldn't stay away from my teddy bear for a long time... ”, you laughed.

"Any time without you is a long time, you know that.", she pulled you by the hand and kissed your forehead.

"Silly!", you said, approaching and inhaling the delicious scent of the food. "My goodness, just smell that... Definitely, let's eat here in the living room!"

So, as Seulgi had said, you started eating while watching a cliché movie from the 00s' on Netflix, a very boring romantic comedy. This early evening made you feel that everything was completely different from your morning. Like the two sides of the same coin: one side, in the morning, was completely dirty and dusty; on the other side, it was shiny, shiny like your girlfriend's smile.

You finished eating and Seulgi stroked your hair, sitting next to you on the floor. She was facing you, the movie was of no importance to her, and you knew those dark eyes were reading you.

"Do you want to tell me how you're feeling?", she asked you, her quiet, low voice taking a path so deeply from your ears to your heart that you just started to cry.

All the feeling of tiredness, physical and mental exhaustion, leaving in an intense flow of tears. That simple sentence by Seulgi broke a wall, releasing trapped feelings.

Her arms went around your body, warming you up and giving you the security you needed at that moment, that terrible month. She kissed your cheek several times, kissed your temple, said everything you needed to hear:

"Everything will be fine, my love."

But, unlike when other people say the same thing, hearing those words coming out of Seulgi's mouth brought an immeasurable truth, a certainty that left no room for doubt. Everything would really be fine.

Then the tears gradually stopped, your breathing normalized and Seulgi wiped your face with the tips of the sleeves of her blouse. She placed a kiss on the tip of your nose, making a smile appear on your lips.

"This is how you should look, always with that smile that I love on your lips.", she pulled you closer, caressed your face, smiling at you.

Her lips traveled every corner of your face until they finally found your lips, applying soft pecks mixed with smiles. Seulgi had your heart and knew how to take care of it better than anyone.

"Thank you.”, you said, leaning your forehead against hers.

"For what?", she asked, confused.

"For being the best girlfriend in the world."

"I only accept thanks if it is in the form of kisses."

You smiled, your eyes alternating between her mouth and her perfect eyes.

"I think it is a price that I am willing to pay.”, you replied.

And you leaned down to join your lips to hers, finding that taste of serenity that only Seulgi’s lips had.

[erismerald]

𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 (Ryo Asuka x Plus zise reader) 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 3

And here is the third chapter, so you like it? if you have any ideas or if you want me to dedicate the chapter to you, just write here in the comments! Thank you for all the love you've given me both here and in the wattpad, I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am! I love you and stay tuned for the next chapter!<3<3<3

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𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: Mention to blood, horror a bit, and fluff

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You faced the ceiling, you felt your heart beating faster, why did Ryo do that yesterday? you covered your face remembering the sensation of his lips touching your skin, you felt your face feverish with shame, you got up from bed still thinking and walked to the suitcase in the corner of the room, while you were buried looking for something to wear, you didn't realize that someone else was in the room.

"GOOD MORNING" You felt your body being lifted from the ground, you screamed softly but soon you started laughing when you turned your face to face Akira.

"Weren't you coming only in the late afternoon Fudo? Where were you last night? Why did you ask Ryo to pick me up?" You asked him trying to let you go from his arms...

"Wow since when did you become a detective? 1. I managed to come sooner" he put his hands on his chest and made a hurt expression "Aren't you happy to see me? that's how you treat me after so many years of friendship?" he said throwing himself to bed

"AHH don't be dramatic, and of course I'm glad to see you, it's almost strange not to see your stupid face every day before bed" you laughed lying next to him

"Ohhh how nice, you're learning from Ryo to have an ice heart?" he said laughing if "And 2. yesterday I was doing something you're not old enough to do. "

"You know I'm only two years younger, don't you? And EWWWW I don't need to know about your intimate life Fudo" you said laughing

You got out of bed and picked up your clothes going to the bathroom to change while Akira lay there watching TV You went into the bathroom and started undressing and doing your hygiene, in a few minutes you left and found Ryo and Akira talking looking at the computer screen.

"Y/n, can you come here?" Ryo called you, his voice made you nervous, when he saw the figure right in front of you he made you nervous, with each step you gave in his direction your body seemed to melt, you smiled at him but he just turned his face to the screen and ignored you completely.

Akira looked confused at Ryo's reaction but preferred not to talk he knew how Ryo was he had never been emotional, but until yesterday everything was fine.You squatted next to him ignoring his reaction, you looked at the screen that contained images and small written accounts of creatures, and one of them was an "invitation" to the Sabbath? 'This is not the same party Ryo took Akira to months ago?' you thought to yourself waiting for Ryo to finally speak.

 "Today we are going to this building, I heard that there is a party like the Sabbath, this place has been abandoned for years, we need to get in there" You looked confused at both of them, what would you do to a party like that? Attract demons again? And what about someone really getting hurt? Wouldn't it be dangerous? Several questions tormented your mind, until your gaze was stolen by Akira who put her hand on your shoulder. 

"Don't be scared, Ryo and I will be there to protect you, you don't need to be scared" Akira said calmly trying to calm your mind like he always did. 

"Akira is right, he will be there to protect you, even if I don't want you to go" Ryo said in a very cold tone, he looked at you the expression on his face was frighteningly serious.

"Wait what? Why?" Ryo stood up, his gaze was indifferent, you were confused about what was happening, what had you done to make him react like that?

"It's too dangerous for a girl as fragile as you, but you're too innocent to understand what really happens there, but Akira will be babysitting you” The tone of his voice he was mocking you, he thought you were weak? That you were too innocent? The anger was taking over you. You grabbed his shirt making him look at you.

"YOU THINK I'M WEAK OR INNOCENT, BUT THAT DIDN'T STOP YOU YESTERDAY, DID IT? IF YOU REALLY WANT ME TO TAKE THE TEST BY THE LESS TRY TO BE A MAN TO MAKE IT RYO" your blood was boiling, your will was to beat him, he was really insensitive, but you were going to show him that you were capable of whatever it was, and that you were not weak.He just stood up grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards him:

"What I did was a mistake, I would never get involved with a brat like you, and if you really are as strong as you say, try to prove me the opposite Y/N L/n" he whispered in your ear, and you simply raised your hand and slapped him. Your eyes filled with tears, you felt your body shaking, you took your cell phone and coat and ran, Akira followed you by grabbing your wrist.

“LET ME GO"You said, and you pushed him back and kept running.

𝓡𝔂𝓸 𝓟𝓸𝓿

Akira entered the room angry, and pushed me against the wall using his arm to hold me.

"Ryo I never saw her like this, what was she talking about?  What happened yesterday?" I looked away, I felt his anger pass to me.

" A mistake Akira... a mistake..." I said letting go, and walking to the balcony, it was still raining a lot.

"What are you talking about?" Akira kept feeling confused about everything that was going on.

"I touched her... not in a way that one friend touches another, I... felt an extreme force controlling my body, I felt the need to touch her, to hold her in my arms," I said putting my hands on my face and taking a deep breath to calm down, I lowered my hand to my cheek where she had hit me, I had never seen her so angry, but I needed to be like this, I couldn't let her get into my head and control me, I can't let a simple feeling make me weak.

"Ryo... do you like her?" Akira asked me with a serious look.

"No..." I looked away from his

"Ryo I've known you a long time... if you like her you know that -" I interrupted him by turning around, and walking towards the door

"I have no feelings for her, I have my goal and I will not let her stop me, this conversation is over" I said leaving the room

"Where are you going?" Akira asked while running to reach me

"I'm going to find her, we can't lose sight of her, the way she is at the moment, I'm afraid of what she might do".

𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓟𝓸𝓿

Hours passed and when you noticed it was already night, after running close to them, you hid in a small cave thinking and because it was still raining a lot.

Maybe you fell asleep while thinking about what Ryo had said earlier, but you still didn't believe he just thought you were a brat, maybe you should give up? But even if you tried your heart had already chosen him, there was no turning back.

You got up and walked along the beach, it was still raining but you didn't care about the rain anymore, you didn't care, you felt your body warm... maybe you should have caught a cold, well you really had a reason to stay at the hotel.

"You spoke softly, seeing the hotel in the distance, in a few minutes you had arrived at the hotel entrance, you didn't see Ryo's car, but Akira's bike was still there, they must have gone.

You entered the hotel, and there was no one at the reception, you didn't care and just went towards the room, you thought it was a little strange that there was no one there? it was all dark, you couldn't see anyone, you had a feeling that something was about to happen, you smelled rotten and blood, something strange was happening there.

You walked towards your room... the hallway was dark, and cold even in the middle of the darkness you managed to persist that you weren't alone there, you looked around desperately, until you saw a woman at the end of the hallway, she looked like a zombie, her eyes were white and her hands were bloody, you felt the air getting cold, they both stared at each other, until she started running towards you screaming.

Your only idea was to run towards the room and you locked yourself in it, you looked for something that could protect you, suddenly you remembered the suitcase Ryo had brought, you tried to look for it a little nervous.

"I found it!" You said there was nothing there but a knife, but you didn't have time to look anymore, the door had been broken in, the old woman had come in, grabbing your hair and pulling you to a wall, putting her hand on your neck to stop you from breathing, you looked at the door and saw more people coming in, the old woman was trying to kill you with all her strength.

You felt a huge pain in your belly, you looked down seeing someone's hand cutting your flesh, you kicked, pushing your body backwards.

"AHH FUCK YOU" you said by cutting off the old woman's hand and running towards the corridor again, which had been a very bad idea.

"They're not alive, they're just dead bodies controlled by a demon, now it's time to know who" you ran towards the stairs, and closed the door, running to the underside of the hotel, you looked through the glass door and saw too many bodies there trying to get in, you looked around and saw a door that led to the basement, you didn't think twice, you just ran and tried to hide.

You felt your breath accelerated... you were covered in blood, you were shaking, you were too scared to try to look for a way out.

You heard the door open, grunts and screams were the only thing you heard, you closed your eyes to stay calm, but suddenly you felt something touching you, someone was covering your mouth, you opened your eyes desperately and you saw Ryo crouching at your side, with a finger in his mouth making a sign of silence.

He was covered in blood, his camera was recording everything that was happening, you obeyed what he had asked you, but you were too scared, you heard the door opening, they had come in, your breathing was too fast, tears were falling from your eyes, Ryo seeing you in that situation, just pulled you towards him and hugged you in order to keep you quiet.

Akira had entered the scene, was already turned into a devilman, in a few seconds he had destroyed all the bodies that were there, and came to meet you.

"WHERE WERE YOU?" Akira said holding you, but with his touch you groaned in pain, looked at your belly and saw a deep cut on your left side, in seconds the adrenaline had disappeared and you had fainted.

Your eyes opened slowly, you felt an enormous pain on the left side of your belly, your gaze stared at the ceiling, you looked around the room and didn't see anyone just several blood stains, on the bed and on the ground... what happened?

𝓡𝔂𝓸 𝓟𝓸𝓿

I examined her body, carefully asked Akira to put her slowly on the mattress, I removed her clothes, she had a fever.... and the injuries on her body did not help at all, she was still fainted, I had to help ...

"Akira Go to my car I have a box with first aid, please bring it to me and hurry up" Akira only knew how to cry, he didn't want anything to happen to her... and neither did I.

I touched the wound slightly and she moaned in pain, the blood kept coming out, in a few minutes Akira was there ready to help.

"Try to lift her body, I need to sew her wound" I said and Akira obeyed without question, he carefully lifted her body so that I could disinfect and treat.

She groaned in pain every time I touched her, but in a short time I had already treated her. Akira put her to bed and looked at me, with a crying face, he was worried about her, I too, she was really too important for us.

"Akira" I called her giving her a sauce of notes "go to the nearest convenience store and buy something to eat, and medicine to bring down her fever".

"But the demon is still at large-" Akira was going to speak but I stopped him

"I'll protect her, plus we can wait a few hours until she wakes up," I said, and he obeyed, took his coat and left the room, I just sat down at the office to watch the video, and try to research more about the kind of demon we were dealing with.

𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓟𝓸𝓿

you felt cold, your eyes examined your body you had a huge gauze around your belly...WAIT HOW IS IT FOR YOUR BODY? And WHY WERE YOU WERE HALF-Naked? in seconds you smelled Ryo's vape pen, you looked at the window, and there he was leaning close to the parapet, the smoke coming out of his lips, speeding up your breathing, his gaze directed itself towards you slowly.

"You're awake at last" he said, entering the room sitting next to you on the bed, he examined your body, you hadn't noticed that you weren't covered or that he was looking at your half-naked body, your face blushed violently and Ryo laughed with your reaction pulling the blanket up. "Y/n you know you don't need to cover yourself, I took care of you" he said smirking, you sat on the bed covering your body with the blanket.

"What happened?" you asked by looking away from his.

"You faint, you have a huge wound on your belly, you have a fever, you ran away WITHOUT telling us where you were going" he said seriously

"To start the conversation Ryo it was your fault that I was alone, you shouldn't have said you told me" you spoke looking at your fingers playing between them.

"I know... I'm sorry... but that doesn't mean you're a brat, and it doesn't invalidate the wound you made, if Akira and I hadn't arrived in time, you could have died, you're really irresponsible" he said with a sarcastic look "besides the fact that you worried me to death". Those words... had a different effect... you felt your body melt

"I'm sorry Ryo... for worrying you" you said, when you looked at him, he seemed hypnotized, his hand traveled over your covered body, he slowly approached your ear

"Don't give me that look... or I won't really be able to control myself anymore," he said, kissing your ear, making you tremble, he walked away, opening the door to Akira who had just arrived.

"I brought what you asked for ryo...Y/n put something on, you'll get even worse" Akira said by putting her coat on you, you were just still blushing because of Ryo.

Ryo opened the bag and took the medicine and a glass of water, and sat down next to you again.

"Take this to bring down the fever, we need you to get better quickly," he said, handing you the glass and the pill, taking off your coat and taking off your shirt, your eyes almost came out of your skull box, seeing Ryo without his shirt. "I was covered in blood... again, good I think I'll take a shower, Akira takes care of the Y/n for now when I come back to eat and then it's better to sleep in shifts in case we get attacked again" Ryo said walking in front of you without a shirt, when he realized that he had glued his eyes on him, he just smirk, and continued on his way, he closed the door and you just threw yourself backwards covering your cheeks.

"You really are in love with him" Akira said laughing

"yes, I am" you said regretting what you had said " WAIT YOU KNOW?" he just laughed and changed his shirt, lying down next to you

"Of course I know... since you were little you loved him, just say his name and you'll shiver and blush" he laughed in your face, you just looked at him and threw your tongue out.

After a while Ryo came out of the bathroom, Akira had already fallen asleep but you were still awake, you looked at Ryo's body, yes he wasn't as muscular as Akira, but he had a good body too, there were some scars maybe from old fights? His wet hair was running down his face, you didn't realize that you were literally attached to his body.

"Shouldn't you be asleep? Have you eaten anything?" He asked, wearing a white sweater, and putting the towel around his neck.

"Y-yes I've already eaten," the two of them remained silent as he lit a cigarette and opened the window to the porch "R-ryo..." You called him lightly, getting up from bed, and falling down a little when you felt your wound hurt.

"Yes?" he said walking to help you

"What did you mean by "I can't control myself"?" Ryo blushed violently, looking ahead

"Later you'll find out, I think you better go to sleep now" he said avoiding the subject...

"Yes..." you said when you lay down "thank you for helping me today... and I'm sorry again" you said when you lay down next to Akira.

Ryo looked ahead and just whispered: "I can't control myself anymore close to you..."

[babbushka]

Thank you for taking requests! I love your work! How would flip deal with someone cat calling you, ogling you, being creepy toward you, etc?

Anonymous said: Thought/prompt for you: Flip seeing you dealing with some form of jackassery and feeling so proud and turned on at how much of a bad ass his wife is!!! Thank you for being so generous with your writing! I love it all!!!

(combining these two! 1.6k, warnings for verbal harrassment to reader, minor violence/aggression but nothing bad i promise)

If you asked anyone when the last time they heard Flip yell was, they’d be pretty damn hard pressed to come up with an answer. He’s a reserved kind of guy, content to sit back and observe with a judgmental eye and a smoke, maybe a quick remark here or there. He was dry and sarcastic and deadpan, but yelling? That wasn’t something that popped up all that often.

You always forget, how loud he can yell. You forget the way his face will pinch up in rage, forget the way the veins in his neck will pulse with red hot blood, forget the way that he tenses and snaps to strike -- until you both catch an earful of jeers and kisses being blown at you from across the street.

You and Flip were taking advantage of the good weather when it happened. Sunny days, clear skies, not a cloud for miles on end. It had been the perfect opportunity for a stroll around the block, a smelling the roses sort of day. So, to breathe in the fresh Spring air and stretch your legs, you and Flip ventured downtown to where all the parks and ice cream shops lived, where the streets were lined with flower-beds and people were walking dogs that they let you pet if you asked.

As a matter of fact, you had just said goodbye to a woman and her happy-go-lucky golden retriever and were walking hand in hand with your husband when you heard it. A sharp whistle alerted your attention, and you and Flip stop dead in your tracks.

“Hey baby!” A man’s voice carries across the street, as cars leisurely cross the intersection.

“Why don’t you bend over again, that was a damn good view honey.” Another voice joins in, before a raucous round of laughter and a, “Great ass doll!”

Time seems to stand still for a minute, and then your husband is whirling around, giving the nastiest glare he could possibly muster. You’re still holding hands, but his brows are furrowed into an offended frown.

“Hey!” He shouts, harsh and sharp, like a whip cracking across the street.

The noise stuns the men, and even from where they’re leaning up against the shady brick wall of a pharmacy, they can see the way Flip’s teeth are bared, the way his nose is scrunched up, some animalistic feral thing.

“Let me handle this, stay here.” You say immediately, as your own blood simmers, as your own quick-fire temper at being treated like that starts to bubble up to the surface.

Flip does as he’s told with great restraint, standing there and lighting up another cigarette, smoking two at a time so he doesn’t just beat their faces into oblivion. You wait for the light to turn red and the little crossing sign to flash, and then your prim and proper heels are carrying you down the crosswalk.

Their smiles are all but gone now, especially when you fold your hands across your chest and step too close to them, taking up all their space, their confidence and ego rapidly beginning to shrink.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” You spit, venom flying in their face like acid rain.

“H-huh?” One of them, you don’t know their names they’re all ugly and they all look alike, stutters, flattening himself to the wall to try and get away from you and your rage.

“’Huh?’ You heard me, you think it’s okay to talk to people like that? What, you scumbags don’t have anything better to do?” You wonder if they’ve ever been called out on their behavior before, wonder if they’ve ever been confronted for it.

“Aw sweetheart we were just – ” Another of the guys dares to put his hand on your shoulder, a patronizing gesture that has your eye twitching.

“You don’t get to fucking call me sweetheart.” You twist his arm until you hear a crack, until he yelps out in pain, and shove his back against the wall hard and shake your head, “Oh you’ve done it now.”

Behind you the sound of cars honking their horn blare, as Flip cuts across the street even though the light is green and the convertibles are moving through the intersection. He doesn’t have the right of way, but when they see where Flip’s headed, they understand.

It all happens so quickly then, Flip coming to your side, standing in front of you and these men.

There’s a group of four of them, but none of them are even half as strong as Flip, and he grabs the one who touched you by the throat, pins him up against the wall of the pharmacy. Around you on the sidewalk, people are stopped and staring in shock.

“You ever – ever put your hands on her again and I’ll cut them the fuck off, you hear me?�� Flip shouts, face red with rage, almost the same shade as the guy he’s nearly choking out.

“We were just playing around – ” One of the other guys attempts to get Flip off of his friend, to no avail. They push on Flip’s arms, but Flip’s too strong, he doesn’t budge.

“You want to play around you go to the fucking park and get yourself a goddamned frisbee, I oughta break your wrists for the fucking stunt you’re pulling here.” Flip lets the guy go, drops him down to the floor where he gasps for breath.

“No! No don’t please – please we didn’t mean it I swear – !” The third guy immediately resorts to begging, now that he can see just what Flip’s capable of.

“What did you mean? You think it’s decent to go around saying shit like that to someone? To a stranger?” You pipe up finally, never understanding the logic. Not that you really cared, but you wanted to make them feel bad for it.

“I – well – I -- !” The original guy, the one who had whistled at you, scrambles.

“Apologize. Now.” Flip yanks him by the scruff of his neck and forces him to face you. His voice was deadly low and even, as he grabs the other guys, makes them stand in a line and bow their head.

“We’re sorry, we – ” They all start, but Flip shakes his head.

“Like you fucking mean it!” He yells.

“Sorry! We’re very sorry we swear ma’am, we won’t do it again, we swear.” They all speak over one another, these four jackasses tripping over their tongues to be picture perfect polite.

“You better not do it again. What would your mothers say if they knew you were out here doing this?” You shook your head, holding a hand out for Flip to take.

He’s drawn to you like a magnet, and he takes the hand quickly, grips it a little too tight. His hands are so big, you’re happy to feel it against your palm, even if he is a little sweaty from all the anger.

“The only reason I haven’t beat the shit out of you is because she wouldn’t want that.” Flip says, angry angry angry, and they get it, they know.

“Yes sir! Yes, we’re sorry – ” They try, and finally, Flip steps away from them.

“Good. Now get the fuck out of here.” He takes a menacing drag of his cigarette, and the men bolt, running as fast as they can. Flip sucks down some nicotine before tossing his voice in their direction, “If I ever see or hear you punks on this corner again I’ll have you arrested for loitering and harassment you fucking understand me?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but they shout out something terrified and indistinguishable anyway. Flip’s chest heaves when they’re out of sight, having run off around the corner to who knew where, and he turns to you. Around him, the people on the sidewalk break out into an impressed applause, and the pink in Flip’s cheeks is for an altogether different reason.

“Thank you.” You cup his cheeks, feeling how hot his face is, despite the gentle breeze that fluffs his hair.

“You okay?” Flip searches your face, and you smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Kiss?” You ask, puckering up for him. He’s quick to swoop down for a smacking kiss to your lips, and he winds an arm around your shoulders. You sling yours around his waist and cross the street, asking, “What do you say we get ourselves a vanilla cone?”

“Alright, but only if they have the rainbow sprinkles.” Flip grumbles, in a pretty bad mood now, but still willing to save what’s left of the day.

“This is probably not the best time but…honey that was pretty hot.” You can’t help but bite the inside of your cheek, let out a breathy laugh.

He arches a brow at you, and you only return the look. He doesn’t smile, but you can tell he’s starting to get into a better place because he hums out a little moment of contemplation, smokes his cigarette and tucks you close as you walk.

“How about you and I go get that ice cream, and we find a nice quiet spot in the park to enjoy it, hm?” He asks, and you know he’s just as affected as you.

With ice cream and hot make-out sessions under a tree, you can’t help but smile against his lips. Because just like that, the memory of the afternoon seemed almost like a dream. You both knew there’d be some explaining to do down at the station, but you weren’t too concerned.

It wasn’t often that he snapped like that. But damn, could your man yell.