#my hair was so damaged it just started clumping together right at about my shoulders

[soaps-mohawk]

(Forgot to turn on anonymous the first time I wrote this, ha-ha.)

Put together some brain cells, figured that reader would have a heck of a time getting tangles out of her hair after being folded and fucked for a week. I know that we can imagine sis with different lengths of hair, but like ‼️‼️ I know I wouldn't want to deal with that 😭 like girly is ur hair ok 😭

-🫎

Kyle's gonna pull out the coconut oil and he and Johnny are gonna go to work 😂 poor reader's hair getting yanked from both sides.

Either that, or John just takes her to a salon and makes up an excuse 😂

[pixla]

hi hon! i adore your writing and i have a request for tommy: so you know that scene in the caves when alice breaks her leg and cindy has to like put the bone back into place? could that be with tommy x gn! reader instead? and both of them have a really really cute moment where the reader confesses how they never felt alive until they met and started dating tommy? they both survive and flashforward with fluffy smut pls?

Special thanks to the j-st-patricks-day and all my friends who helped with the process of writing this fic <3

broken bones and beating hearts

Tommy slater x nb!reader

Warnings: swearing, graphic descriptions of murder, graphic descriptions of injury (eg. Broken bones and stabbings/cuts), Possessed!Cindy, alice dies, Arnie dies, vomiting, fluff, pet-names, knocking out teeth, sex, unprotected sex, this au doesn’t fit with any of the other films (feel free to tell me if there’s any others)

Word count: 3.2k

POVC= point of view change

Tommy gripped your wrists pulling you out through the narrow cavern as it collapsed only seconds later. “Fuck!” You tucked your legs close to your body, trying to shake the feeling of Cindy's grip around your ankles. “What the fuck is happening?” You looked up as Tommy still held you close, you both too scared to move from the previous near death experience.

Everything was normal. You had all just ran out into the woods, you and Alice teasing Cindy about some stupid witchcraft book she had found in nurse lane’s office. But then Cindy decided to slash Alice and Arnie’s guts open with a machete.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck!” You cried, bawling your hands into fists, wandering down what felt like endless hallways. You both soon realised that you had been going in a circle. It didn’t make any sense, it felt like another dimension or a mirror maze, where everything looked the same, maybe even was the same. “Y/N.” You turned your head to face tommy. “What?” He looked at you confused. “I didn’t say anything.”

You were going to shake it off as you just imagining it, but then you heard it again. “Y/N!” This time you knew it wasn’t Tommy, it was a woman. “Hello?!” You yelled out, hoping that someone had finally come to your rescue, but Tommy just continued to look at you like you were crazy.

You strayed from Tommy’s side following as the voice repeated your name. “Where are you going?” Tommy yelled after you as you wandered, not bothering to pay any attention to his questions.

You followed the voice, bending through the same corridors and hallways, not knowing where you’d end up. It was when you twisted round one corner you halted in your steps. It was a huge room, far larger than any of the ones you had previously found. But the greatest way it stood out was the mass in the centre of the room.

It was dark and fleshy, like clumps of meat thrown into a pile. You gasped as you stood closer gaining a better look at the thing. It was alive. It rose up and down almost like it was breathing and it thumped like a beating heart. With each whisper of your name you grew closer, drawn to it. You reached your hand out transfixed, but when your hand melted into its flesh, you froze.

It all flashed through your brain so fast. Cyrus Miller, ruby lane, billy baker…Cindy Berman. It was every single one of those shadyside phycos, even Cindy. It was all of the pain, all of the suffering and all of the evil. You lifted your hand, a thick slime dragging with. You backed up slowly, expecting to hit a wall. You were soon proved wrong when you felt your body fly backwards.

You cried out as you landed with a thud, Tommy finally catching up to you, peering over to find you clutching your leg in pain. “Shit, are you okay?!”

He had jumped down helping to lift you from the pit. You sobbed, tears running down your cheeks like a broken faucet, your hands clutching at His shirt. Tommy held you running his finger gently through your hair, shushing you softly as you buried yourself into his warmth.

Tommy gently slipped from your hold, leaning down to examine the damage. It was bad. So bad, you could practically see the bone protruding from the skin. You felt your gut wrench at the sight causing you to lean over beside you, regurgitating your dinner onto the cold cave floor. “Don’t look, okay? Just look at me.” Tommy leant over wiping your mouth with his jacket. You nodded slowly, trying your best to keep your eyes locked with Tommy’s despite how hard your morbid curiosity urged you to look down. Ripping his plaid jacket into strips he looked up at you. “We’re gonna get out of here. You’re gonna get out of here. No matter what I do, I’m gonna make sure I protect you, just like I always have.”

“I love you so much Tommy. I’ve never and never will love someone the way I do you.” You lean into him pressing your foreheads together. “I can’t lose you, okay?” He nods sympathetically, pressing a light kiss to the slope of your nose.

“Do you remember those dates we’d go on, out to the forest at night, and we’d just lay there, staring up through the cracks in the trees?” You nod. “I want you to think about that, okay? I want you to think about how many more we’ll go on once we get out of here.”

You hold a tight grip on his arm as he wipes away at the area. “I’m gonna have to put it back into place now.”

You pleaded with him, as the tears started again. “Please, no. Please just leave me here. Just go and find help okay? I can’t do it Tommy, I can’t do it”

“Hey, hey, hey. C’mon, look at me.” He places his hand on your cheek, tilting your head to look him in the eye. “You're gonna be fine, okay? You just gotta focus right now.” You nod timidly, the tears starting to slow.

He holds the bottom of your calf with one hand and your heel with the other. “Just count to three and I’m gonna do it, okay baby?” He looks up at you, his soft words lulling your anxiety. You bite your knuckle nervously, unsure as to how you should answer, but the look of trust in his eyes persuades you easily. “Okay.”

You breathe in. “One, two-” You let out a blood curdling scream as a large crack rung out, bouncing against the walls of the cave. Your fist gripped Tommy’s forearm tightly as you cried out a series of various curses. “You fucking asshole.” You whine out in pain, letting out an airy laugh trying to brighten your rather dull circumstances.

“You're okay baby.” You wince as he wraps the piece of fabric he had ripped from his jacket around your leg, tying it tight enough to hold you together for the moment. You grabbed Tommy’s shoulder as he wrapped his arm around your waist lifting you from the ground. You hiss as you feel your leg throb from the sudden movement. “Do you think you’re able to stand?” Tommy watches as you wobble trying to stay grounded. You nod. “Yeah.” You had no choice and you both knew it, if you wanted to live, you’d have to.

You both started your journey, finally entering a new environment as you trudged deeper into the earth of Shadyside. Why did these tunnels even exist? The intricate details of the maze made it easy to come to the conclusion that they were man made, but by who? Not once had you ever heard of these tunnels, and by the looks of it, nobody else had either, despite nurse Lane of course.

“Be careful.” Tommy tightened his grip around you. “You might slip.”

“Okay.” You mumble, too exhausted to form a real answer. You looked around at the walls, floor and ceiling. The further the two of you walked, the denser this moss became. You felt a wave of familiarity but you couldn’t quite place it. Red moss…red moss! It hit you, Cindy! Her red stained shirt, she said it was from the moss in the outhouses. “Tommy! It’s the fucking outhouses! We fucking made it!” You would probably be jumping up and down with joy right now if it wasn’t for your broken leg.

You look up, spotting the out house toilet openings. Wow, real nice, you’re both sitting in Sunnyvale shit and piss right now. “Yeah, but how are we supposed to get out?” Tommy sighs looking up at the roughly 15 foot climb. “You can’t climb that.”

You look at him. “Yeah, but you might.”

“No. I’m sorry but no, I’m not leaving you down here, especially when there’s Cindy running around up there trying to kill us. C’mon let’s go, if we’re at the outhouses, we must be near to camp.” He directs you along but before you can both carry on your interrupted. “Did you hear that?!”

“No I-“

“Shush.” You both stayed quiet listening as to what caught your attention. It’s screaming. Someone is screaming from the outhouses. “Hey! Help! Please, we’re stuck down here!” You yell trying to get the attention of the voices.

The space grows quiet as the screaming halts, the both of you waiting nervously for any indication of life when a head pops out from one of the seat holes. “What the fuck are you guys doing in the toilets?!”

It was ziggy, Cindy's sister. “Ziggy..” you wonder if it’s right to tell her what’s happened to her sister but you decide against it, not wanting to put the girl in such an emotionally vulnerable state whilst she’s already physically. “Gary’s up here too!” She yells down as Gary’s head pops out another toilet hole. “Hey!” He yells, surprisingly light heartedly considering there’s a murderer running around camp butchering little kids with a fucking machete. “Can you get us out of this fucking toilet or not?!”

Gary had managed to make some sort of bucket contraption with some rope. “It’s just like You’re Gothel climbing up Rapunzel's hair, okay?!” He yelled down, lowering it down to you.

You're about to slip onto the contraption when you hear Ziggy's unfortunately very familiar screams, and before you know it Gary’s decapitated body lies beside you on the floor. You and Tommy let out an in sync gasp, him pulling you away into his chest, as to protect you from the image. “We’re gonna have to find another way out.”

You think to yourself. Alice…she had shown you something whilst you were robbing nurse lanes office with Arnie. “I know how.” You pull out the book that started this whole thing.

“Baby, I don’t get how that book is gonna help us, let’s be honest it’s some random witches and wizards bullshit written how many hundreds of years ago?”

“No, tommy.” You turn the book to him parting the pages. “It’s a map.” You rest the book on the floor, the two of you leaning over it. “It's a map of camp, you see over here, these x’s are the graves we found. And over here, that’s where we entered.” You point your finger on the page. “Here, there’s another exit. Mess hall.”

His eyes lighten. “Jesus, fuck! You’re so smart!” He pulls you in for a kiss.

—-

You sat, your back arched over as you watched Tommy laid on his back kicking open the vent that led to the mess hall when another scream rang out. You instantly knew that it was ziggy, far too acquainted with the tone of her screams.

“Tommy!” With one final kick the vent flew open, Tommy hauling himself through in a split second. “Don’t move, stay here! I’m gonna go help Ziggy.”

Tommy always cared so much for the kids at camp, you honestly weren’t surprised that he was willing to risk his life for one of them.

—povc—

Tommy barged through the doors of the mess hall, an all too familiar song ringing through the speakers, the noise made his head thump as it blared.

Tommy followed the screams, grabbing a mallet that lied on a nearby counter. Cindy stood beating at a supply closet door as ziggy screamed from within. Tommy pulled cindy's shoulder for her to face him as he swung the mallet into her jaw. Cindy tumbled to the ground as she spat a mouthful of blood and teeth onto the floor. Tommy hesitated holding the mallet in his hand, ready to strike Cindy. But before he could come to any decision Cindy grabbed her machete from the ground slicing at Tommy’s thigh.

Tommy dropped to the floor, his mallet sliding across the freshly mopped floor tiles, Cindy rising to her feet, towering over Tommy. Overpowered, he crawled backwards digging the heels of his hands into the cold tile floor. He was braced for impact when Cindy stopped turning around.

—povc—

You lunged at her digging the knife you found into her back, pulling it out as she turned to face you, plunging it into her chest over and over until she hit the floor unresponsive. You fell. You had finally reached your limit. Your leg was broken for fucks sake and you just murdered Cindy. Pure-hearted, hard working Cindy Berman. You plunged your knife deep into her chest until you split it down the middle. You dragged your body over to Tommy’s wrapping your arms around him, wetting his shirt as you became inconsolable. He held his hand at the back of your neck placing soft kisses onto the top of your head. “It’s okay baby, it’s okay. She’s dead now, we’re gonna be okay.”

You heard as ziggy opened the closet door, dropping to her knees at the sight of her sister dead on the floor. The red headed girl pulled her sister's body over to face her, wrapping her arms around Cindy crying into her cold lifeless body. You crawled over to the girl pulling her away from her sister's touch into yours. “I’m sorry.” You whispered.

The three of you struggled as you heard the last bell ring signalling that the bus would be leaving. Ziggy yelled out as the bus doors began to close. The wheels began to roll forwards but before it could depart a boy budged the doors open, calling out to her. “Ziggy!” You released your grip from the girl's side as she ran to him, embracing him. You rested your head on Tommy’s shoulder at the sight of the two. “I hope she’ll be okay.”

The two of you had found a place on the bus as Ziggy sat with you fellow councillor Nick goode. Finally being able to breathe, you rest your head on Tommy’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you're okay.” You look up at him smiling at his words. “Maybe you're the one who really needs protecting, without me you’d be dead meat.” You press your lips together, smiling softly into the kiss. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had lost you.”

Your eyes wandered to the window watching as the camp nightwing sign slowly floated away out of sight. Finally it was over.

———

After the accident medics treated and hospitalised many of the camp nightwing campers and counselors such as you and Tommy. Your leg was thankfully saved. They said if not for Tommy it probably would have had to be amputated due to infection.

It was two months since that night, you still had to use crutches but besides that, you made a speedy recovery alongside tommy. Although he was in a much less critical condition than you and was discharged within a few days, he still spent every night in the hospital with you.

You laid beside Tommy his leg slotted between yours as the velvet underground played softly in the background. You run your fingers through his hair slowly as he whines quietly into your chest. It finally felt like the first time since that day that you both could finally relax.

You pulled away from his touch leaning over him, kissing his lips softly. “You look so pretty.” You hum. He smiles into the kiss. “Not as much as you, baby.”

You lifted yourself straddling Tommy’s hips, deepening the kiss as your hands ran down playing with the hem of his shirt, travelling underneath. He pulls away, his hand rubbing your thigh. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I’m okay.” You reassure him, pressing soft kisses along his collarbone. You removed your shirt as Tommy’s hands floated up to your waist.

“God, you're so beautiful.” He mumbles, kissing up your chest slowly as you take off your pyjama shorts, throwing them to the floor.

You lean down unbuttoning Tommy’s jeans, taking him in your hand. Tommy twitches at the contact as you align himself to you. You lower yourself onto him slowly as his hands hold a firm grip on your lower back. Tommy lays his head back, his hips thrusting up into you.

You shiver as you lift yourself up and down, your thighs shaking from the stimulation. His thrusts hardened, your soft whimpers of his name encouraging him. “You look so fucking good right now.” He gripped your waist helping you keep a steady pace.

You steadied yourself, leaning your arms out pressing your hands against his chest as you felt yourself near your climax. “Shit, Tommy I’m gonna come.” You whined under your breath.

“Don’t worry baby, me too.” He runs his hands down your back lovingly.

You threw your head back as you felt Tommy’s hand wander down edging you on further, your breath quivering at the touch. You felt his hips buckle beneath you as he reached his peak, yours following soon after.

You sighed your body collapsing onto his chest. “I love yours so much.” You mumble into his skin as he presses a soft kiss against your forehead.

—-

It was the 16th anniversary since that day at nightwing, the two of you still happily together. Despite the permanent scar that night had left on the both of you mentally and physically, you both managed to stay strong, the event probably making the two of you even closer than you already were before.

Every year instead of hiding from the memories of that night, you both embrace it. Tommy’s favourite way to do this was to ‘reenact your youths’ in his words by driving the two of you out to the forest, where you would’ve spent so many nights together when you were younger.

You would open the sunroof and lay out the seats creating a little bed for the two of you. Probably not the safest thing the two of you could do, but most definitely the sweetest.

The two of you laid there staring up at the trees, resting your head on Tommy’s chest, your arm draped across his abdomen. Looking up at him you pressed a small kiss to the slope of his nose, pressing your heads together. The moonlight glazed over his cheeks, giving him a paler look. “You look so beautiful.”

—-

The car ride home was quiet but the atmosphere felt soft and comforting as Tommy rested his hand on your inner thigh. The velvet underground played softly on the radio as your eyes gazed out at the passing scenery.

[thepartyresponsible]

this soundtrack fill is for kittenlzlz, who i cannot tag because it’s all sabotage all the time over here. also, i'm sorry, i didn’t realize you’d changed your prompt until after i wrote this one, so this is for the first thing you sent in.

anyway, here’s some dystopian sci-fi angst for sam and bucky with a hopeful ending. the song for this one is “achilles come down” by gang of youth.

                                                         —

When he was young, Sam spent thirty-seven weeks in New Mexico, learning how to keep people alive until evac. That others may live was a motto they preferred to operationalize rather than idealize, and, without the EMT training, pararescue tended to turn into high-risk body retrieval. So he spent the better part of a year learning how to keep a body breathing, and he learned, also, how to recognize when any effort was likely to be wasted.

Which is how he knows that what he’s looking at isn’t fully human. Because a human would already be dead.

It’s the blood that tells him, more than anything else. The Chitauri bleed a thick, dark blue substance that goes black if their cybernetics are leaking. And there’s plenty of blue and black puddled on the asphalt, but that red is a hemoglobin gift, and that means it’s all human.

“Shit, man,” Sam says, crouching next to the only human at this massacre. “You could keep a blood bank in business all by yourself.”

The man lifts his head and blinks at him, slow and a little dazed. Not dazed enough, though. He can almost focus on Sam’s face. “Not anymore,” he says, after a beat.

More blood bubbles up at the corners of his mouth. Sam can see it between his teeth.

“Yeah,” Sam says. And he laughs, because he might as well. Because he came out here with a team of ten to clean out the aliens, and it looks like one guy did their work for them. “Guess not.”

He’s a pathetic sight, really. Ragged body armor, hair clumped together, skin sticky with blood and ichor. He’s belly down on the cracked parking lot, and there’s a smear of blood behind him, showing exactly how far he’s managed to drag himself.

Sam’s not excited about what he’s going to see, when he rolls this guy over on his back.

“You gonna fight me if I help you?” he asks.

Most of them, these Enhanced, the surviving Super Soldiers, they can’t help it. Sam’s had to put a few down himself, although not for a while now. It’s been almost a year since he had to kill anything with a human face.

The man sighs. He rests his forehead against the asphalt, closes his eyes. His fingers flex and then go still. “I don’t know,” he says.

That others may live, Sam thinks. But the problem has always been that lives are balanced on both sides of the scales, and, sometimes, saving one means sacrificing another.

This man killed fifteen Chitauri, and he did it alone. There are kids back at the base. Vulnerable people.

The safest choice would be to leave him here. Let him save himself, if he can. But Sam’s never really been the safe choice type.

“Okay,” he says, hands curling around his shoulders, carefully rolling the man over on his back, “let’s see the damage.”

It’s enough to kill a human. But that’s not really what he’s dealing with.

                                                           —    

The Super Soldiers were a desperation play. Sam was supposed to be one of them. The best of Earth’s fighters, dosed with serum, patched up with cybernetics based on Chitauri tech, sent out to face the enemies that had invaded the planet.

Sam’s still not sure exactly how it happened, what level of their defenses failed. He only knows failure by its consequences.

The neural implants were hacked. The soldiers turned against their people. Sam, who’d been four days out from his own procedure, was shifted to a team tasked with hunting them down and eliminating them.

These days, there aren’t many left. There’s not much of anyone left. The Chitauri fundamentally misunderstood their target. Sam could’ve warned them. The species of mutually assured destruction was never going to die quiet.

He thinks about that while the Soldier sleeps, chained to a bed in a locked basement in an abandoned building two miles from the base. Sam keeps watch. He has a radio in case anything goes wrong, but he doesn’t intend to use it for anything other than warning them what’s coming.

“I could’ve been you,” Sam tells him. And then, smiling at nothing, shaking his head, “Hell, you could’ve been me.”

He wonders where he’s from. He wonders what his name is.

He wonders, when he can’t help it, what he did. If he ever killed anyone Sam used to know.

                                                           —    

The Soldier sleeps for forty hours and then sits straight up in bed, rips the chains off his wrists like they’re pipe cleaners, and then turns to face Sam. “What the hell,” he says.

“Oh, well,” Sam says, too startled to be afraid. “Didn’t want anyone stealing you.”

The Soldiers makes a face at him, an incredulous sneer that twists up his mouth and pulls his dark eyebrows together, and he looks so human, so perfectly skeptical, that Sam starts laughing.

“Well,” he says, with a shrug, “you killed fifteen aliens with a tire iron. You’re a treasure.”

“And I want it back.” he says, immediately. “Where’s my tire iron?”

“Confiscated,” Sam says.

He glares, and Sam‘s probably meant to be intimidated, but he knows – they both know – that, if this guy wanted to scare Sam, he could just start breaking bones. Or walls. “I want it back when I leave.”

“Leave,” Sam repeats. He kicks back in his chair, balances on the back legs as he swings his feet up onto the Soldier’s bed. “Why’re you leaving?”

The Soldier stares at Sam’s booted feet near his knees. “Usually it’s the fact that I’m a timebomb that chases me off,” he says, “but it looks like your manners are the real horrorshow around here.”

Sam grins at him. He’s merciless about it, uses the most charming smile in his arsenal. He expects the guy to soften a bit, but he’s not expecting the doubletake he gets, the there-and-away bounce of his stare, like Sam’s suddenly something he wants to look at but doesn’t want to get caught looking at.

Huh, he thinks.

“When’s the last time you hurt someone?” Sam asks.

The Soldier’s face crumples up and then flattens out. “What is this? Some kinda trial? An interrogation?”

“If this were an interrogation, I wouldn’t’ve given you the soft pillows,” Sam tells him.

The Soldier doesn’t look like he buys it. But, after a moment, he tips his head to the side. “Probably wouldn’t want to get blood on these white sheets,” he acknowledges.

“Christ,” Sam says, because that more or less seems to be the only thing he could possibly say to something like that.

The Soldier shrugs. He brushes his hair away from his face, blinks, and gives Sam a skeptical sideways stare. “Did you wash my hair?”

“With a firehose,” Sam confirms. “Damn near shaved the whole thing off. You were a mess, man.”

He shrugs. “It’s messy work.”

And, sure, it is. Sam knows. His base is the first resettlement outpost in this region. They’ve been clearing Chitauri out of the area for months.

But he still takes a damn shower whenever possible.

“Who were you?” Sam asks. “Before the program?”

The Soldier looks away. Looks at nothing. After a long pause, he recites, careful and rote, “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. 107th.”

“Okay,” Sam says. “James. When’s the last time you hurt a human being?”

He worries at his lower lip, teeth pressing into the skin. He’s quiet for a very long time. “Thirteen months, ten days,” he says, finally.

Sam considers the timeline. “You think it’s over?”

“I think the implant’s in my fucking brain,” he says. “It’ll be over at brain death.”

“It’s just a chip,” Sam says. “It’s not sentient. Someone’s gotta send the message, right?”

The Soldier’s jaw works. “Even if the aliens stay out, there’s gonna be plenty of people who want to use someone like me, as soon as they rebuild enough to manage.”

It’s a hell of thing, and it could’ve been Sam.

He nudges the Soldier’s knee with his boot, and the Soldier stares at the point of contact. He doesn’t look angry anymore. If Sam had to use a word to describe the expression on the Soldier’s face, he thinks he’d use something bittersweet and barbed, something like lonely or longing.

“Gonna be a long damn time before anyone’s rebuilt,” he says.

“Aliens could have reinforcements here at any time,” the Soldier says.

“Maybe,” Sam says, although he thinks they might’ve learned some kind of lesson. At the very least, they’ve probably learned that it’s just not worth the effort.

“Look,” Sam says. “I think you should come back to the base.”

“No,” he says. Immediate and definite, louder then he’s been so far.

Sam expected it. Maybe part of him hoped for it. “Okay,” he says. “Then we’ll stay here. And, when you’re better, I want you to take a radio. And I want you to check in with us. All right? Every day.”

The Soldier stares at him. “Why the hell would you want that?”

Sam smiles, studies the hollows of the Soldier’s face, the scars, the freckles he must’ve earned when he was young, used to play too long in the sun. He has, Sam thinks, beautiful eyes. “There’s not a lot of us left,” he says.

“‘Us,’” the Soldier repeats, scoffing audibly.

“Us,” Sam repeats. He nudges the Soldier’s knee again, and the Soldier cuts his eyes away, glares at the wall. But, a moment later, he shifts, leans his knee into Sam.

                                                         —      

His name is Bucky Barnes. He’s fussy as hell, stubborn beyond belief, helpful every chance he can get, and fond of cats and songbirds. He doesn’t cheat at cards, and he doesn’t accuse Sam of it either, even when Sam beats him damn near every hand.

He’s a good man. Even now.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Sam says. Because it’s been two weeks, and Bucky’s decided he’s well enough to go.

Bucky ducks his head. “Shut up,” he says.

Sam wonders if he was always this head shy about affection.

“C’mere,” he says. “I’ll give you a goodbye kiss.”

“Shut up,” Bucky says, practically scuttling away, head still ducked. When he raises it, he’s grinning one of his ghost grins, the ones that almost show who he used to be, like a faint echo of a louder, happier man.

“Okay,” Sam says. “But if I don’t get a goodbye kiss, I’m definitely not gonna talk dirty to you on that radio. You gotta put in the work, Bucky.”

“I hate you,” Bucky tells him, and his crush couldn’t be more obvious. Sam would be embarrassed for him, if he weren’t busy being charmed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam says. “Check in every day, or I’m gonna track you down.”

“Hm,” Bucky says. He adjusts his pack on his shoulders. He’s got that tire iron, an alarming number of knives, and two guns. He’s setting off to kill more aliens. He’s going alone. “That supposed to be a threat?”

He was a Barnes in the Army and Sam was a Wilson in the Air Force, and so Bucky is a Super Soldier and Sam is not. It’s unpredictable, sometimes, the way mercy falls.

“Be careful out there,” Sam says, and he knocks his elbow against Bucky’s.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. He rolls his eyes and then catches Sam watching, and he blinks, falters. “Yeah,” he says, again. Softer, steadier. A promise, not a joke.

Sam considers him, lets the moment hang. Waits. Sometimes, all Bucky needs is the space and time to make up his own mind.

“I’m gonna miss you, too,” Bucky says.

“There it is,” Sam says, grinning, almost crowing in triumphant. “There--”

“Oh, Jesus,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes again, getting theatrical about it. “I already regret saying it.”

“Can’t take it back,” Sam taunts, grinning wide and smug.

“I’m going,” Bucky says, and he starts off, doesn’t look back.

“Hey, Buck,” Sam calls, when Bucky’s just about to break through the treeline, disappear into the woods. “I hate to see you go, but I love----”

“Fuck off, Sam!” Bucky says, but he’s laughing, and Sam can still hear it – surprised and happy, fully human – even after Bucky disappears.

[jkknight98]

My G/T promt challenge attempt inspiration.

This was my first attempt at ever doing a collective prompt challenge so it’s very safe to say I am a little nervous posting this story, especially since I suck at writing standard stories and fell back into my comfort zone, but I hope that everyone who reads enjoys it. It's from @bittydragon idea ( If I knew how to link the original post I would, but I am not very well versed in Tumblr writing yet).

The prompt was to have the tiny protect the giant, I was faced with two options that I could do, protecting the mental self vs the physical self. I chose protecting from the physical since a giant can easily protect the outside of their bodies, but their insides can be easily hurt without them knowing until much later.

Here’s Tommy protecting a gaint Wilbur from his own poor judgement plus interactions from the rest of the sleepybois inc.

Warnings : Blood warning, slight mention of regurgitating meal, soft vore, cursing.

(I have always viewed soft vore as a sfw interest but I know others may not so I’ll leave it out of the main collective tag just to be safe until I’ve been given the all clear to add it, but otherwise I’ll say its just an inspiration from all the wonderful work already posted through the challenge.)

G/T Prompt Challenge

Wilbur should have known that his habit of eating sand would come back to bite him one day, but who could blame him when he enjoyed the texture of sand crunching in his teeth and the feeling it made tumbling around in his stomach. It was supposed to be a normal day when the sands decided to strike back against him. He was just enjoying a warm summers day with his family at the nearby beach, techno was asleep under a umbrella while Phil was trying to keep his tiny brother Tommy from accidentally drowning himself by jumping from the giant's knee and then pinching them to make the man jump and create massive waves for the little gremlin. He couldn't hide his smile as he took hold of another handful of sand and let it fall in clumps into his mouth, not noticing the hidden treasure chest even when it landed in the middle of his tongue with the copious sand, he didn’t get a chance to chew the sand before his father yelled at him after seeing what he had done, swallowing the mouthful quickly before the giant avian could force him to spit it out,” Alright Alright Phil, I've had my two mouthfuls for the day.”

“ You shouldn’t be eating any, what are you going to do if you swallow something that isn’t just sand, what are we going to do then!”

Wilbur just laughed at his yelling father as he leaned backwards on his hands, smiling as he watched Tommy get his fathers attention again by using his feathers as a climbing frame, he shook his head at the sight. He really did love his mixed-up family.

~~

It wasn't until they were having dinner that night did they all find out the true dangers of his habit. They haven't been eating long, Phil chatting with Techno about who knows what while Tommy darted around the table pulling himself chunks of food from everyone's plate, Phil had learned quickly not to make one for Tommy since the tiny always said that everyone else's looked better, and Willbur was waiting for the next pass of the tiny so he could pull his target out of reach. He had pulled up a giant piece of pork away from the tiny, quickly stuffing it into his mouth and laughing as the gremlin child raged at him, he quickly chewed and swallowed down the meat as he dodged the tiny pea that was thrown at him, ” Come on Tomms, I know you have a better arm than that.” He continued to eat a bit more on his plate, subtly feeling how much he ate already before he stopped, feeling a touch of pain from his stomach.

“That's weird?”

“What's weird Will?”

His father looked at him slightly concerned when he had pushed his chair back a bit to look down at himself, taking a hand to gently place on his stomach, ” I don't know dad, my stomach just started hur-ghh.” The moment he put a slight amount of pressure on his stomach it felt as if something was ripping inside, the pain was bad enough that it nearly brought him to tears. He quickly pulled up his shirt to see if it was something on the outside, but the skin was perfectly clear with no signs of irritation.

“Wilbur walk me through what hurts.”

The avian was already up and at his side while Techno was holding Tommy at his other side, but still out of the way of their father, both looking equally as concerned.

“What's wrong with you big man, finally bite off more than you could chew?” The tiny looked as ridiculous as usual trying to act indifferent like the oldest, but it was easy to see the real concern hidden behind his normal snark.

“Oh shut up before I feed you to a bird Bratt, ” Wilbur stuck his tongue out at him before wincing again when he felt his fathers cool touch, ” hurts right where your pressing.” He watched as Phil's hand began pressing at different parts of his body, telling him about how the pain was worse in that spot, but could feel it throbbing into other areas.

He watched his father frown before he went to stand fully, he looked more concerned than he had before, but didn't voice anything to clue his sons into what he was thinking. The avain walked over to a side room to grab a small bucket and set it into Wilbur’s lap, taking care to not press it against his stomach, before sitting back in his chair to look at his son, ” I'm going to need you to empty your stomach a small amount, I don't want you to empty it fully just in case it's something I hope it's not, but I want to check just in case.

Wilbur felt a little annoyed at the thought, they were just eating dinner and now dad wants him to spit up half of it just because of a little stomach pain? “ Really dad I'm sure I'm fine, it's probably something stupid like I ate to big-.”

The avians wings puffed up in an attempt to show how serious he was to his son,

“Dont argue with me Will, just do it.”

Wilbur looked at the sternness on his father's face and sighed, ” fine, ” he began flexing the muscles he used for whenever Tommy used his stomach as his personal sleeping bag and nearly cried when he felt his stomach explode in pain again. It was as if every moment his stomach made was like it was ripping itself open. He only got a little bit into his throat before he had to stop because the pain was too much, quickly spitting the mouthful into the bucket and thrusting it into Phils arms as he leaned over and and gently wrapped his arms around himself, ” please don't make me do that again, it really fucking hurt.”

He didn't see the concern on Phil’s face as he looked into the bucket and showed it to his other two sons, Techno looking equally as concerned while Tommy looked confused. The tiny leaned further over the slightly tinted pink fingers and wrinkled his nose at the almost coffee ground looking substance that rested in the bottom.

“What is that brown stuff, Wilbur didn't eat any mud before we had dinner.”

The father figure kept up his concerned expression as he set down the bucket to run a hand through his hair,”That's because that isn’t mud, that's what it looks like when someone is suffering from internal bleeding.” Phil looked back at Wilbur's plate and the others quickly as he used his hands to feel for anything that could have been hidden inside,” I don’t know what you could have swallowed Wil, I made sure to not have any bones in anything.”

Wilbur just shook his head as it swam a little bit in pain,” I don’t know either, all I've eaten before it started hurting was dinner and the sand at the beach.” he gave another groan as his stomach gave another contraction and sent another wave of pain,” I'm just going to stall my system until we figure out what to do.” He closed his eyes to concentrate and felt the change gradually, his stomach calming and finally coming to a standstill to prevent the walls from churning at the rate that they were, no longer trying to digest the little bit of dinner he consumed.

Techno was the first to gently move Tommy to one hand as he used his other to gently grip his brother on the shoulder,” You sure you didn’t eat anything between our beach trip to now, nothing at all?” The piglin hybrid was clearly a little on edge, he was fully capable of protecting his family from the outside, but even he was powerless when a threat came from their own insides.

Everyone was a panicking a bit more as they tried to think what could be doing this to the musically inclined son before Tommy spoke up, the tiny brightening as he thought of a good idea in his mind,” Why don’t I go inside to check, I can go and see whats wreaking up your insides, that would work wouldn't it?”

The thought made Will turn a little green, ” I don't know if I could get you down with how bad it hurts,” he managed to make a teasing smirk though,” you sure you want to see that porkchop again.” He laughed at the face the tiny had made, but winced again when a flash of pain punished him for this action. He took a slow breath and tried to raise up as slow as he could, wincing as he got to his full sitting height,” are you really sure you want to do that, it’s going to be more gross than ever.”

The tiny just smiled as he pushed up his sleeves and held up his arms in a clear ‘pick me up’ gesture,” I can’t really protect you guys from the outside, but I am able to help you from the inside, besides a little gunk isn’t going to stop me from keeping my big brother safe.”  

The response brought a small smile to Will's face as he lifted the tiny,” alright you sap, let's get a plan put together before you go saving me from what's hurting me.”

`~`

Tommy stood in Will’s hand and gently shuffled the duffle bag on his shoulder that held a small knife and a small splash healing potion to reduce the damage before a proper healing potion could be taken, he looked up with another smile,” alright, let's get this over with before you get even worse.”

Will smiled lightly before opening his mouth, feeling his smaller brother clamber his way inside and curling up, and slowly closed his mouth and tilted his head back. He felt a mild wave of sickness at the thought of the heavy weight his brother would unintentionally create, but forced it away as he gave a quick swallow,using a hand to gently touch the firm bulge before it slipped behind his collarbone. He looked up to his dad and other brother with a weak smile,” let's hope he finds what's wrong and not cause any more damage.”

Tommy couldn’t help the soft noise of disgust as he slid into the stomach, landing in knee high mix of the stomach's contents, but he also noticed a strange glowing that was coming from what he suspected to be the front of Willbur’s stomach. He was quick to wade his way over to the object, also taking note of a few other things that shouldn’t have been there floating in the muck. “When did he manage to eat chainmail….oh my god.” Sticking out the stomach wall that looked very inflamed under the shiny purple glow was an iron sword, the handle looking a little worse for wear like the armor but the blade looked perfectly fine as it held firmly in the slowly bleeding wall. Tommy was momentarily shocked before he went to inspect the wound, wincing as he yelled up to Wilbur to inform him what he found.

Wilbur heard the tiny voice of Tommy yell out at him, listening for a moment before looking at the two other giants in pure confusion,” He found a sword sticking into me, as well as chain mail armour… when the hell did that get in there.” He jerked and gave a loud yelp as the pain in his middle got more intense before he felt the normal tingling of a healing potion,” You could have warned me before you pulled it out you little shit.”

Phil was the first to slap a hand to his head,” we were on a beach next to the ocean, you probably ate a buried treasure without realizing, this is what you get for eating sand all the time, be thankful tommy was here or else things could have been way worse.” The elder left the room quickly with a yell on how he's going to get a large healing potion to ensure the wound would fully heal once the youngest was released. The second eldest looked at Wilbur with a small smirk as he got up, giving a quiet ‘ I told you so’ before also leaving the room.

The remaining son sighed as he placed a hand over his stomach, softly rubbing where he felt his tiny brother was leaning,”Let's get you out of there Toms.”

`~`

“I really can’t thank you enough Tommy, if what you were saying was true, there would have been no way for us to get that sword out on my own. Also what enchantments did it have on it.”

Tommy smiled up from his cosy position in a towel placed on Wilburs chest, snuggling further into the softness and warmth the two provided together,” It had unbreaking on it, it would have taken you ages to digest the thing, and you would have to go through so many healing potions since you couldn;t heal around it.”

The elder nodded and placed his hand over the towel as he laid his head on his pillow, using his thumb to stroke the tiny in thanks,” what would I do without you, you little gremlin.” He smiled when he felt a small pair of arms wrap around his thumb tightly and pull it to rest on the tiny’s chest where he could feel the gentle breathing.

“ You wouldn’t be able to shit, someone has to protect you giant bastards when you think nothing can hurt you, especially things at my size.”

[januaryisnotanartist]

So day 5 of KanSang week is Wang Clan! Liu Sang.

Which got me thinking about how would Liu Sang fit in with the Wang Clan (and Wang Can) and still be Liu Sang (and not secretly Wang Can), and how could I get KanSang from such a universe?

I derailed directly into Liu Sang & Li Cu are bros.

(warning, this (d)evolved into a kinda fic as I was rambling.)

-

We begin with “Wang Can is the younger half brother of Liu Sang”, top it off with a bit of “evil step mother who was willing to burn her step son alive in an attempt to frame him for attempted murder gone wrong clearly belongs to a crazy death cult and was secretly a Wang operative the whole time, so when she and her husband died the Wang Clan swooped in to pick up the free orphans freshly traumatised kids ripe for brainwashing indoctrination into their cult clan.”

So now we have Liu Wang Can, who was raised by a woman who was already preparing him to join the Wang Clan, and Liu Sang who, because I need him to have a reason to firmly resist the Wang's Anti-Zhang propaganda, is from the Worship False Idols universe. (Which is to say: Liu Sang was rescued from human traffickers by Zhang Qiling before he moved in with his estranged father and wicked stepmother.)

Wang Can dives headfirst into the clan and evil assassin training, while Liu Sang keeps his head down because: where else can he go? His brother is here, he has no one left to turn to, and this clan is out for his ouxiang. Liu Sang chooses to stay so he can learn everything about the man who saved him, and more? importantly: about the clan who plan to hurt the man who'd saved him.

Everyone assumes Wang Can is the more terrifying “twin”. They're wrong.

Liu Sang has to watch as his brother strips away his own humanity despite Liu Sang's best efforts.

And then comes Li Cu.

Liu Sang would laugh if his brother's poor reaction to having a crush wasn't so... horrifying. He's not even sure Wang Can has realised his increased brutality and douchebaggery are attempts to show off for Li Cu.

As a big brother, Liu Sang thinks it might be his responsibility to explain some things before Li Cu kills Wang Can in self-defense, so he tracks down the new comer at one of the out door firing ranges while Li Cu's taking a break.

(Liu Sang hates the firing ranges, they always give him sensory overload, then Wang Can has to go out on extra dangerous missions just to prove they're useful and Wang Liu Sang isn't a burden, because like hell is he ever going to tell them just how much he can hear. They, because they're always considered as a unit, because both of them cling a little too much to one another. There's a reason they can't shake the foul rumours about their relationship, they're both too possessive.)

He remembers to make noise loud enough for a normal person to hear before he gets within striking distance, finds a nice crunchy leaf and crushes it under foot to get Li Cu's attention. Li Cu's first reaction almost makes Liu Sang laugh out loud.

“The hell did you do to your hair?!”

Because Liu Sang's hair has always had more red than Wang Can's, and they wear it differently. He doesn't stop the smirk though, tosses Li Cu a candy bar (technically contraband while off mission) and waits to see how long it takes Li Cu to realise he's not Wang Can.

It takes a few less sentences than Liu Sang hoped for Li Cu to cotton on, but still long enough for it to be funny.

They don't become friends, but they certainly aren't enemies, and they aren't nothing to each other.

Almost something like friends maybe.

Liu Sang reminds Li Cu not to lose himself to the Wang Clan, because they're very good at acting nice, at choosing just the right person to send to get under your skin. Every person you trusted in the Wang Clan was another way they had to get you to do what they wanted.

Liu Sang getting close to Li Cu ends up riling Wang Can, who can't figure out which of them he's more jealous about, so the higher ups send Liu Sang off on a mission.

“Only a week or two.”

Liu Sang says goodbye to Li Cu on his way out.

“Do ever think about leaving the Wangs?” Li Cu wants to know. “Just, go missing in the middle of a mission on not look back?”

“My brother's here,” Liu Sang tells him. Because the Wangs know how to use connections, and if they'd ever sent both brothers out together, Liu Sang would have given in to the temptation to run away years ago. To drag his brother back to some semblance of humanity and not the murder puppet the Wangs had turned him into.

-

Liu Sang returns to a compound devoid of life, the secret regrouping call had gone out, he knows where he's supposed to go but there's a terrible weight sitting in his chest as he walks through the building. The poisonous gas no longer a threat, he can see where the infiltrators' bodies would have been.

They'd taken their own dead and left the Wangs to rot.

He'd have found it funny if his brother hadn't been one of the corpses.

Liu Sang can't hear himself screaming over the ringing in his ears, his world falling apart at the seams. He'd kept himself together through the hell of the Wangs by focusing on trying to take care of his brother.

Who is he if he's not Wang Can's gege?

His brother is dead, and he knows exactly whose fault it is.

There's a grenade pin by his brother's corpse, and explosive damage by on of the vents, and the Wangs had made his brother such a good little soldier.

Liu Sang thinks of the man with the tattoo who'd saved him from one hell only to leave him to another. The man the Wangs hated more than any other.

He has no path forward but one. Liu Sang takes the information he'd gathered painstakingly through the years in secret, always too afraid to use it, and heads to the meeting location.

When his is the only heartbeat left there, he goes to find every safe house and backup location left.

He tracks down every member of the Wangs he can find and ensures no one loyal lives.

And then he's left back where he was. Alone. No idea what to do next.

-

Li Cu thinks he's hallucinating the first time he sees Liu Sang across the street.

To be fair, he hadn't even been sure it was him, Liu Sang had vanished almost as Li Cu was noticing him.

He'd never mentioned Liu Sang to Wu Xie and the others, it hadn't felt right. Liu Sang wasn't a Wang, not really. He'd taken the name, the tattoo, but unlike his brother, Liu Sang had still hung on to his old name, a secret Liu Sang had only shared once when he'd been tired enough to be tipsy.

Now Liu Sang was here, and obviously wanted to talk to Li Cu judging by how often Li Cu caught him watching. Liu Sang had apologised more than once for Wang Can's poor social skills, but Liu Sang's weren't exactly up to par either, unless they were being directly compared to his brother's.

So Li Cu makes himself available, waits in the cold, dark night for Liu Sang to appear from nowhere. And by cold, dark night, Li Cu means he takes to haunting a quiet table at a street food vendor while he tries to study.

Liu Sang sits down across from him with food, and they just share the table for a while, eating, studying, waiting.

From up close Liu Sang looks terrible, and not for the first time since Wu Xie had raided the Wang base, Li Cu wonders what happened to Liu Sang.

“Sorry about your brother,” Li Cu doesn't realise he's going to say it out loud until it's already out of his mouth. It seems like the kind of thing he should be saying though.

Liu Sang freezes, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, a clump of rice drops back onto his plate.

“You don't have to lie about it,” Liu Sang says at last, “I think part of me always knew we weren't both leaving.” He puts his chopsticks down and looks a little lost. “Sometimes, I wonder I there was ever anything in him that I could have saved.”

“Not by the end,” Li Cu says, and there's a look of realisation on Liu Sang's face, and Li Cu gets the feeling Liu Sang knows now that Li Cu had been there when Wang Can had pulled the pin from the grenade.

They sit in silence so long, Li Cu wonders if he should go back to his food or his textbook, but then Liu Sang finally starts talking again.

“I actually, tracked you down to ask...” Liu Sang looks like he'd rather swallow razors, “for a favour. From you. I want to ask you to do me a favour.”

Of all the things Li Cu expects to follow, learning tattoo artistry is not one of them. It takes months before Liu Sang is happy with Li Cu's skills, by which time Li Cu has long stopped asking why Liu Sang doesn't just go to a proper tattoo artist.

He doesn't ask where Liu Sang got the equipment, or how he'd managed to get the studio for an entire day, he doesn't know if he wants an answer or not.

Li Cu knows that Liu Sang already has a tattoo, all the Wang Clan members had had one, a phoenix on the back of their right shoulders that only showed in the heat. Li Cu had been not far off having to get one as well, something that had repulsed him so deeply he'd been shaken by the depth of it.

His back had already been mutilated, like hell he'd let anyone else mark him against his will again.

(He hates that he suddenly understands why Liu Sang had gotten him to learn to tattoo.)

To his surprise, there's also an unfinished tattoo across Liu Sang's chest, and it looks vaguely familiar to Li Cu.

“Qilin?” He thinks he knows why.

Liu Sang nods, and turns his back so Li Cu can press a hot cloth against his shoulder. Once the phoenix is visible, Li Cu places the stencil carefully so it aligns just right then readies the tools while they wait for the phoenix to vanish from sight.

Li Cu has only been practicing for a few months, so he's not very fast, but he makes sure the lines are steady, that the shading is right.

It takes all day, and they won't be able to check the cover up has worked for another few days, but in the end Li Cu is confident no amount of heat will let the phoenix show through the multi-tailed fox he's inked onto Liu Sang's shoulder.

-

Before they part ways again, Li Cu pulls Liu Sang into what is probably the world's most awkward hug, and makes sure he has Li Cu's contact information.

“At least let me know you're alive every once in a while, yeah?” Because Li Cu already knows Liu Sang's leaving.

Liu Sang nods, but Li Cu isn't really expecting much.

Three days later he gets a picture of a town sign from an unfamiliar number, accompanied by the words: Not Dead Yet.

-

Liu Sang keeps in contact, more than Li Cu thought he would, not that he minds. Except that Liu Sang has a strange penchant for meerkat memes and keeps being weirdly funny at the worst possible times.

Like a few years later when Li Cu learned Liu Sang was on a job with Erbai's crew after Liu Sang sent him a text, which caused Li Cu to snort his drink through his nose and all over his freshly complete collage homework.

Help! He's a Himbo! My One True Weakness!

[vhsrights]

Ever since I saw them posts about JJ have short hair??? Like a pixie cut??? Wanna do me a solid and tell me your thoughts on Emily’s first (and maybe subsequent) reaction when JJ walks into the bullpen? Assuming they’re not together already.

OH OH BRILLIANT THOUGHT WHILE IM WRITING THIS: JJ with short hair AND a leather jacket. I feel like PG definitely had a hand in this new change in JJ...

for sure i gotchu! :) this was one that i have been wanting to do for a while. (edit: so i know that you only asked for my thoughts but i got really excited and into it so i turned it into an OS) <3

Dashing

Pairing: Pre Jemily - talked about

WC: 4.8k words

Summary: JJ with short hair, and what it does to Emily :) [bullpen and team night out version; pre jemily] (like a prelude to gnc jj)

It happened on a Thursday afternoon. JJ had been shaking all day, but Penelope had convinced her that it would be okay. The blonde locks that she had been identified with for so long felt even heavier against her shoulders. She made sure to stay hidden away in her office, thanking her lucky stars that they were off case rotation. Her fingers consistently found themselves back into her hair, twisting and twirling them relentlessly. If JJ could have simply willed her long hair away, she would have. She restlessly twirled the pen in her hand for several hours, making little headway on the mountain of files by her. Her eyes kept darting over to the screen of her computer monitor, feverishly checking and rechecking the time.

5:45 pm. That was when the appointment was set for. JJ wished that she would be able to simply forget about it until then. Maybe if she did, she would actually get more work done. She texted Penelope, who was out for coffee on a break, to get her some too. Soon after she got the caffeine, JJ was able to shut out the rest of her thoughts. The boost alone drove her to finish files at triple her previous rate. Maybe that was also the adrenaline. Her phone broke her trance-like consciousness when it began to beep incessantly. She had set an alarm to go off 45 minutes before her appointment, enough time for her to wrap up at the office and calm her nerves before she made the short 10-minute drive to the barbershop.

Feeling her heart pound harder in her chest, JJ sat back in her chair to ground herself. She decided that getting up before she had a grip on her emotions was not a good idea. JJ let her eyes close gently and her mind began to wander. In her head, JJ saw the faces of those that she had met as this version of herself. They had all changed her, for better or for worse, and the memories began to flow in. It started with her mother and father. They had given a life that she couldn’t have been more appreciative of in the early years, forgoing the memories of harsh words and other negative acts. Moving on quickly, the next face flashed before her eyes. Roslyn.

Her sister had been her saving grace before JJ could even comprehend the idea. JJ had always looked up to the girl. Roslyn was phenomenal and JJ could only imagine how far she would have made it if she had still been alive. Roslyn was the one that had taught JJ how to braid her hair, wash it, and even curl it. Roslyn had curled her long blonde hair for the first time when she watched her get ready for the homecoming dance. It had only been one clump of strands but the way that her sister had so gently handled her locks left JJ in awe of Roslyn’s caring nature. After Roslyn left, JJ held onto her hairstyle, scared to let go of it as it sometimes felt like her only tie to her older sister.

Her college best friends, partners in the Academy, Hotch, Reid, Rossi, and so many more came and left in her thoughts. It was like her thoughts were forming their own little presentation of what JJ was getting rid of today. Some had more important roles than others but she had to remind herself that today wasn’t getting rid of anything but her hair. She was still JJ, but this felt more real. She wouldn’t have to avert her eyes in the mirror as much, and it would help to match her appearance more closely to how she felt inside.

Eventually, her mind came to the inevitable. Emily. Emily was something to JJ that she couldn’t describe. JJ loved Emily, but it wasn’t just that. Over time, as she had gotten to know the woman, JJ had come to truly understand her. It was the kind of intimacy that relied on the briefest of eye contact, all thoughts conveyed in body language alone. She couldn’t tell Emily though. It was too risky, and no matter how bold JJ was, Emily was a whole new world. She pushed away the thought that Emily would hate her haircut. If Emily rejected the haircut, it would feel more like she rejected who JJ truly was. But she would never do that. Right?

No, Emily would never do that. She couldn’t, because then JJ didn’t know what she’d do. Trying to distract herself from the increasing anxiety, she tried to remember their Girl’s Nights and separate hangouts where Emily would mindlessly run her fingers through JJ’s hair. It was how she calmed JJ, and the experience itself felt like home to the blonde. Glancing down at her watch, JJ realized that she got a bit too tied up with her imagination and saw that it was 5:25. Grabbing her things in a frenzy, JJ quickly headed out of the bullpen. She caught a glance of Morgan, eyebrows raised in bewilderment. JJ waved the team off, not slowing down on her way to the elevator. Hotch already knew that she was taking the early day so she was set.

JJ shot a text off to Garcia before driving off, telling her to check her office for anything that JJ might have forgotten and that she was going to her apartment after the haircut. Throwing her phone into the passenger seat, JJ drummed her fingers against the steering as she pulled out of the parking lot. She drove to the barbershop and reached in 7 minutes. Emily and her crazy driving skills would have been proud. Exiting the door rather quickly, JJ ran her fingers through her hair one last time.

This was goodbye.

She fidgeted with her fingers the entire time she waited for her appointment. JJ rocked her body gently, forward and backward, grounding herself in the steady rhythm. After some time, a person wearing a short-sleeved, cuffed button-down and a large black apron approached her. Their hair was cropped short, the sides shaved to a small length to let the top flow over their forehead. It was perfectly what JJ wanted. She felt her face grow hot at the realization that this was actually happening. JJ was going to do the big chop.

“Hi, Welcome to the Queer Barbers’ Guild. My name is Tay and I can help you today. JJ, isn’t it?” Tay held out their hand as JJ stood up, initiating their quick handshake.

“Uh, yeah. I had said over the phone that I wanted to cut most of my hair off. Actually, I would like exactly what you have. If that works?” JJ took quick strides to keep up with the barber, hearing the bustle of the shop as they got closer to the chair.

Tay chuckled, nodded, and gestured for JJ to sit in the seat. They pumped up its height, adjusting it to their work position. She sat down eagerly, feeling energized as the moment of the cut drew nearer.

“So are you looking to do a wash first today? I can definitely do my cut on you, so it’s just whatever you want. I would have to say though, I think you’re going to look rather dashing.” JJ blushed and failed to respond.

Dashing. Not pretty.

“I haven’t washed my hair in a few days for this haircut, so that would be nice. Thank you.”

JJ sat back in the chair and let Tay drape the apron cover over her. They combed through her hair slowly, getting tassels out and examining it for the cut. Once it was all brushed out, they measured out lengths and showed them to JJ in the mirror. JJ soon came to an idea of what she wanted.

Tay led her out of the chair and over the washing room. She sat down and made herself comfortable. JJ tried to solidify those last few moments in her head as the last memories she had with her long hard. The warm water began to run over her scalp and she forgot what else was running through her head. Before she knew it, the wash was over and she was back in the hair cut chair.

Now was the time.

They dried her hair and combed through it again. JJ closed her eyes. She was scared of what would happen. What if it wasn’t right? How would she undo the damage? She then felt a chilled glass against her fingers. Slowly peeking one eye open, she spotted some kind of alcohol in Tay’s outstretched hand. Curious, JJ looked up at the barber.

“To calm your nerves. Don’t worry, I’ve done plenty of these chops myself and I had my own. Trust me, things are only going to get better from here. So, here’s to relaxing. You earned it.”

“Thank you. Really, thank you.” JJ couldn’t explain her gratitude as she took the glass.

Maybe everything would be okay.

JJ relaxed and Tay began to gather her hair for the big chop. Tay carefully sectioned her hair, making sure to constantly check the length. Then, the time came. Tay lightly tapped her on the shoulder, indicating that they had the scissors at the ready. All they needed was the go-ahead from JJ. The blonde took in one last deep breath, giving them permission on her exhale.

The first cut was the most jarring. JJ could feel the hair being cut, its strands tugging at the sharp shears. She let out a gasp and everything happened too quickly for her to process after that. The hair fell left and right, leaving her head feeling instantly lighter and freer.

Tay worked incredibly efficiently. They managed to keep checking in with JJ as they deftly cut her hair. Soon, it was gone. The buzz of the razor sent a jolt up JJ’s spine but Tay quickly reassured her. They made light passes and cut down the hair on the sides and back. It was still nearly half an inch long, but that was exactly what JJ wanted.

“There you go. All done, JJ. What do you think?” Their voice cut through the haze of JJ’s thoughts and she turned her head, examining her new look.

The long hair was gone.

JJ had short hair now. It felt like a high, like one she’d never felt before but would never let up again. She ran her fingers through it, marveling at the softness and sleek nature of the look. She looked pretty fucking dashing. JJ turned around and looked at Tay, struggling to keep her tears at bay. She shouldn’t be on the verge of crying. JJ chastised herself internally.

“I- I don’t really have the words to thank you right now. I know that I shouldn’t be so emotional over a haircut, but you made everything perfect.” JJ held her head down, trying to hold back the tears.

“Of course. It’s no problem. For the emotions, believe me, I was a sobbing mess when I got my first big chop. You can always ask for me when you come to the Guild. Thanks for coming, and we can go up to the front for payment now.”

JJ paid and left the establishment. She was still dazed, not sure if everything was real. Her fingers found their way back into her hair several times, simply running through it as she made her way to the car. Her watch showed 7:03 pm as the time and JJ pulled out her phone. Her fingers quivered as she typed out her text to Penelope. She didn’t want to text her friend a picture of herself, deciding to keep the hair a surprise until she arrived at Penelope’s apartment.

Jayje (7:03 PM): Got the haircut. Pen this feels fucking crazy. I almost cried in the shop because of how nice my barber was and how I look. Heading over now.

PG (7:03 PM): AHHHH im so excited for you!! i already know that you look hot as fuck babes.

JJ smiled and set her stuff aside. She was off to Penelope’s apartment. The analyst had told her that she had a surprise for her.

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

JJ pulled up to the analyst’s apartment. The sun was still high in the sky outside, and she could hear the chirp of several little birds off in the distance. Penelope was waiting for her. Taking one last deep breath, JJ walked towards the front door. It was part of a little archway to a quaint apartment but it could have been the door to the White House with how nervous JJ was.

She shivered as she rang the doorbell. Here goes nothing. Reaction number one, how bad can it be? Penelope had already been anticipating JJ’s arrival so the door flew open mere seconds later. She appeared in the doorway, beaming with energy. Then she laid her eyes on JJ.

“OH. MY. GOD. JAYJE. YOU LOOK AMAZING.” Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped at the sight of JJ.

Penelope dragged JJ into the apartment faster than the blonde could respond to her statement. She was bubbling with excitement, super ready to give JJ her present. Penelope began to give a preface before they reached her couch. On it, sat a medium-sized silver bag. Tissue was popping out of the top and JJ was drawn to it. Penelope noticed her eyes on the present.

“Go ahead. Open it. I got it for you because I think it definitely matches your new vibe and that you ARE wearing it to team drinks tomorrow. Emily won’t be able to take her eyes off of you!”

JJ paused.

“What does Emily have to do with this?” She looked back at Penelope, her forehead scrunched in confusion.

“You’re joking, right? You can’t seriously ignore the tension between you two. It’s Miss Darking and Brooding and The Badass Baby Blonde. You two are a power couple! Unless, you aren’t madly in love with her and would be fine with me setting her up with this other friend of mine…”

“Okay, okay. No setting Emily up with your friend. She’s mine, thank you very much.” JJ spoke confidently, knowing that Penelope could see right through her bravado.

“I’m sure she is. That’s why you asked her out. Oh, wait…”

“Fine, so I haven’t asked her out. I’m just terrified. She’s Emily.”

“Yeah, and you’re JJ. Plus, now you have that super butch look so you can ask her out tomorrow. But not until you open the gift!” Penelope pointed at the glossy bag once more.

JJ rolled her eyes and turned back to the bag. She slowly pulled out the tissue and spotted dark fabric underneath it. Reaching inside, it was cool to the touch. JJ pulled out a black, leather jacket. It was sleek with 4 zippers, 2 collar buttons, and seams that traced around the jacket.

JJ thumbed it and fell more and more in love with it as she took in the jacket more. It was perfect. This jacket, combined with the haircut and the way that Tay complimented her earlier, felt like an amalgamation of the person that she was supposed to be. JJ wasn’t the girl that hid behind her femininity and used it as a weapon to get her way. In fact, her femininity did more against her than it did for her. Pushing that thought out of her head, JJ turned to Penelope.

With tears in her eyes, she hugged Penelope. She hugged her with all her might. She couldn’t describe the feeling in her head. Later, she would come to find out that it was gender euphoria. But in that moment, every positive emotion felt weak in comparison to the explosion of happiness in her mind.

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

JJ had opted for her pantsuit for work on Friday. Her normal skirt suits just didn’t fit who she saw herself as in the moment. Whether that would change or not, she didn’t know. It felt powerful, and with her hair coiffed up, JJ was unstoppable.

The elevator doors dinged open and she hesitantly took her first step. The big glass doors of the BAU seemed daunting now, and it made JJ feel small. She felt insignificant and her breath partially caught in her throat. Looking over at her watch, JJ realized that she was almost late. Deciding that the time to wait was over, JJ took confident strides forward. She pushed the doors open and made her way to her office until something stopped her.

Derek’s voice boomed out in front of her. Reid and the rest of the BAU men were sitting at his desk and their eyes lifted up to meet hers. It took all of JJ’s strength not to turn on her heel and bolt. But she loved this haircut, and it made her confident; so she had to act like it. Slowing up her stride, she detoured over to the group. Derek had called out to her, commenting on the haircut.

All of them were genuinely curious, stating their approval multiple times. JJ even got a fistbump from Derek and a wide smile from Spencer. Hotch’s usual morose expression lightened up. They talked about how she had wanted to get it, the differences from long hair, and the overall confidence boost. It was invigorating. More than anything else, JJ felt her heart swell at the sheer support from her teammates. They joked about her being one of the guys; and though right now it was short hair, JJ could feel that it was just the tip of the iceberg.

They eventually got to the topic of where she cut it and JJ casually mentioned the barbershop. At that, Derek’s eyes lit up. He was always one to preach the benefits of a barbershop, offering the argument that it was a place that created a sense of family. He asked if it had been The Queer Barber’s Guild, to which JJ had nodded her head. His interest peaked, Derek asked if it had been Penelope’s recommendation. To that, JJ nodded enthusiastically again.

“Yeah, she’s always loved that place. Babygirl got me hooked on it too, right after I came out. They’ve got some really cool bi stuff in there. Who did you have? Was it Tay? They’re my bro, and a top notch barber.”

“I did have them. They made things so easy. I’m definitely only going there from now on.”

JJ and the group carried on their conversation for a little longer when she heard a squeal behind her. She turned partially to see Penelope clacking over in her yellow heels. She had a huge smile plastered on her face, and was obviously excited for JJ.

“Jayje! You look even better today than you did yesterday! So what’s going on, are we talking about the QBG because, my god, do I love that place!”

Everyone giggled and they continued the conversation. Penelope watched as JJ’s eyes shifted around the bullpen ever so slightly. Of course. JJ was looking for the only missing member, arguably her favorite one. Emily. Penelope held back her laugh yet could help but to smile at the blonde’s little search. She leaned in close to JJ and tapped her on the shoulder.

“She’s in the break room.” JJ tried to fake obliviousness, but she knew that she’d been caught.

“Thanks PG.”

Casually excusing herself from the conversation, JJ left on the behest of “files that she needed to tend to”. She didn’t care if anyone bought the excuse. In her mind, the only place for her to go was the break room. JJ wanted to show Emily the “new her”. Of course, it wasn’t new, but she felt different. Trying not to give things much more thought, JJ arrived at the break room with a quick pace.

She noticed Emily at the coffee counter, stirring her mug. JJ was overcome with something at the sight of Emily. Not even thinking, she leaned against the doorframe and called out to the brunette.

“Got enough for another cup?” Her voice was nonchalant but her heart was pounding in her chest.

Emily perked up at the sound but didn’t turn around. She finished stirring her coffee and began turning around before starting to speak.

“Jen! Oh, shoot, I just used the last of it for my cup.” Emily spoke cheerily as she brought the mug to her lips.

Then her eyes landed on JJ.

Emily completely froze, nearly choking on her coffee. Her eyes widened as they took in her friend’s new look. JJ looked hot. There was a pervading silence between them, but neither could break their trance for long enough to say something. Emily looked over the short hair on JJ’s head, inspecting it almost. She noticed how it’s varied length set off the blonde’s angular features. Emily could almost feel her knees go weak but held it together.

Neither knew nor cared to time how long they stayed like that. It somehow hadn’t reached the point of awkwardness, but both JJ and Emily’s minds were overactive. At some point, JJ managed to point back at the coffee pot. Emily jolted up and moved to the side, breaking her haze. Her gaze instead landed on their best friend in the distance, who was giving her a very enthusiastic thumbs up. Penelope Garcia really was something.

Emily rolled her eyes and turned back to JJ. She was setting things up for a new pot of coffee and the brunette couldn’t help but to watch her intently.

“So, uh, Jen. The haircut. You look amazing. It really suits you.”

“Thanks, Em. I just got it yesterday and I already feel like a whole new person. It’s a bit strange, but honestly, I love it.”

Emily smiled dopily, attempting to hide her grin behind her sips of coffee. They spoke for a little longer before the coffee was nearly done brewing. The small talk was comfortable, though not the kind of conversations they usually had. It was workplace appropriate because that was what JJ and Emily were, colleagues.

“Okay, I’m gonna head back to my desk. I’ll see you at team drinks tonight?” Emily patted JJ’s arm and turned to leave.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” JJ blushed and the two ignored the giddiness they felt.

After leaving the break room, Emily made her way to Penelope’s lair instead. She definitely had some thoughts about JJ’s new look.

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

Hotch, Reid, and Rossi were the first to arrive. They were known for their punctuality. The bar wasn’t crowded just yet, the Friday night crowd was beginning to flow in. They had all changed into more casual wear, except for Rossi. The men made small talk until Derek and Emily drove in nearly 15 minutes later. They had hung out before and just decided to ride in together.

Emily and Derek’s arrival immediately added more pizzazz to the event, spurring them to order the first round of drinks. Things were lively after a crushing week at work and the BAU was ready to let loose. Not long after Emily had placed their drinks order, JJ and Penelope arrived.

JJ was wearing a white Tshirt, ripped black jeans, vans, and most importantly the leather jacket. She drowned out any thoughts of doubt with the idea that this was her family and that soon they would be intoxicated enough to simply not care. She trailed slightly behind Penelope’s eager steps but they eventually reached the table. Hotch spotted her first. He gave her an approving nod, a barely noticeable smile gracing his expression.

Emily spotted her next. Before she could stop herself, Emily’s breath caught in her throat and she gasped. JJ had left her speechless for the second time that day. Her gaze passed over every part of JJ’s outfit. She felt her face get hot and Emily shoved her hands in her pockets. By that point, JJ and Penelope had joined the group at their table but Emily had yet to say a word.

“Wow, Jen, you look amazing. That leather jacket is perfect. It’s a very hot look, but also very you.” Emily couldn’t help her awkwardness but the compliments just kept going. She couldn’t find a way to stop herself.

JJ's thoughts staggered with the compliments but she was able to thank Emily. Penelope simply watched the entire interaction with a smirk plastered on her face. After that, the alcohol took no time in arriving at their tables. They all downed those drinks quickly and went after another round. After a couple rounds, JJ pulled Emily out to the dance floor. They let the music take them over, relinquishing their thoughts to the rhythm on the dance floor.

They spent an unknown amount of time dancing, not caring about anything besides themselves and dancing. But soon, that magic started to fade and the women returned to their table. Derek was standing at the table’s side, having noticed the way that JJ and Emily stood closer as they drank more alcohol. Having a brilliant idea, he spoke up as JJ and Emily took a bite of the chips they had ordered for the table.

“JJ, Emily, I have an idea. Why don’t we play a little game? You two are the strong ladies of the BAU, including my Babygirl but right now I’m focusing on y’all. How about the two of you arm wrestle? I want to know which of you is stronger.”

“Derek, we’re both drunk. That’s not a fair game, even though we know the winner would be me.” JJ’s body swayed lightly, but Emily quickly stabilized her.

“I’m down. At least, I’m no chicken.” Emily spoke in a teasing tone, stealing a glance at JJ.

“Oh, no you don’t. Okay, let’s do it. I’m in.” JJ nodded enthusiastically, invigorated at the idea of a challenge to beat Emily in.

They cleared the space and let JJ and Emily get ready. Both did their own ridiculous warm ups, obviously exaggerating it. They set their arms down and were ready to begin when JJ stopped.

“Wait. What are the stakes?” Emily responded, saying something that she’d wanted to do for a long time.

“If I lose, I’ll take you out on a date. If you lose, you have to take me out on a date. How’s that sound?”

Her proposition shocked the entire table. They’d all been waiting for JJ and Emily to stop tiptoeing around each other. This was just not how they expected things to unfold, albeit it would make a great story for the future. Sober JJ and Penelope would have a field day with this.

“Deal.” JJ was drunk too, but that was an offer that was too good to pass up.

With that, Derek set the two up to begin the match. It was very evenly matched in the beginning. Neither woman budged, focusing very hard on their end prize. The team’s eyes shifted from JJ to Emily, and back again. Their grip was strong but no progress was being made. By the time that they had hit the 20 minute mark, Emily could feel the fog in her brain begin to clear up.

At that point, she took a closer look at her opponent. She watched the way that JJ’s blue eyes locked onto their hands, checking for even the slightest of hesitations. She saw the way that JJ’s clothes hung on her body, giving her an air of confidence that made JJ infinitely hotter. Finally, Emily looked back up to JJ’s hair. It’s long, straight stands dropped over her forehead and framed her face well. Emily lost herself in the thought of running her fingers through the silky cut.

That was when she felt the cool, hard wood of the table. Emily’s eyes widened and she looked down. There it was. Her hand was pressed against the surface, pinned underneath JJ’s.

“I win! Guess you have to take me out on that date, chicken.” JJ teased Emily, getting closer to the brunette’s face.

“I get to take someone as dashing as you out? Well, I might have lost but this seems like the better prize.

JJ’s heart soared at the compliment. The way that the word ‘dashing’ rolled off of Emily’s lips made her feel ecstatic. It wasn’t like when men called her pretty after buying a drink. This hair really was working wonders.

They ended the night with a kiss before Emily climbed out of the rideshare and walked up the apartment. JJ ran her fingers over her lips as the car pulled away. Best decision ever.

tag list: @ssa-jareaus @coramvobis @altsvu @hotchshoney @morcias @jelle-jareau @dragisthegame @ssakayprentish69 @dimitrescus-bitch @jay-writes-jemily @bridget19 @hmm-wanky @emilyprentissfangirl @tokoblade @temily

[mimiplaysgames]

save it for the morning after (3/3)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: E (Explicit) for Smut Word Count: 7,850

Summary: Aqua learns the value of being vulnerable.Terra learns to trust his body to another. Everyone gets a happy ending. ;)

Read on AO3

A/N: AAAAHHHH Happy Terraqua Day!!!! I can’t believe I finally finished this one, it always felt like it would never happen. I’m actually quite nervous - I don’t take the same kind of path of other smut and being so deviant honestly freaks me out so much. I really do pull this story into extreme directions for smut, that I wonder if I can call it smut at all. But let’s see. Hope you like. <3

~*~*~*~*~

“Aqua.”

“Hm?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

“Go ahead.”

“....”

“Are you okay?”

“The... um, your scars...”

“They’re not yours.”

“Aqua—”

“They aren’t.”

“Please.”

“...They’re not yours.”

~*~*~*~*~

Well, damn.

Ven hones in on Terra—a ballsy move considering it’s a super-bad idea to get this close to a large opponent—but Ven skids, spinning on his knees and tripping Terra like a pet running through its owner’s legs. Ven serves an uppercut with his short Keyblade. It almost jabs Terra on the ribs if not for his lurch backward, and he lands squarely on his ass against the desk behind him. 

A pot of ink rattles and tips, spilling all over his pants and spreading up the spine of his shirt. 

Ven snorts. “You look like you shit yourself.”

Terra wipes his backside, picking up excess ink in layers. It’s slick, skating through his fingers with the weight of iron and dripping onto the floor. More of it runs between his legs, finding a way in between cracks and folds of skin, moistening up his boxers. Damn it. He slathers his hand through Ven’s hair with so much force (Hey!) that Ven waddles to stay in balance. 

“And you look like you’ve been picking through trash.”

Ink clumps chunks of blond hair together, drooling down Ven’s ears and staining his collar. It makes him look oily for lack of a better term, like someone who hasn’t taken a shower in weeks. When he touches his scalp out of reflex he flinches, wiping his coated fingers on his own shirt… before realizing what he’s doing. He groans. 

“It suits you,” Terra says. 

“I dunno.” Ven wipes the rest of it on Terra’s shirt. “Looks better on you.” Might as well. The shirt is honestly ruined. 

One corner of the offending desk is covered in globs of shiny black. Terra corrects the ink bottle and surveys the damage. The tile floor will be easy to clean, but the wood is inhaling the color. 

“Aqua’s going to kill us,” Ven mutters. “She spent a lot of time in this room.”

Weeks of time choosing which books to display on the shelves. Days researching the right chalkboard to purchase. Journeys spent gathering minerals for students to practice with: ash from a far away volcano, water from the forest river nearby, unearthed dirt from the garden, and feathers from nests settled at the peak of the tallest mountain. Aqua has a vision of this room playing the dual role of serving lectures and encouraging hands-on experimentation in a safe environment. She wants it to be respectable and impressive before the semester starts. They’re not allowed to traverse the room with shoes on, and Terra and Ven were respectable about that before one of them (Ven) started to get cocky about his fighting abilities. 

Yeah, they fucked up. “Think of it this way. We proved it’s not practical for physical training,” Terra says. 

“You’re the one who’s going to tell her that.” Ven scoffs, splaying a wet towel on the floor.

Terra pulls his suspenders over his head and lets them hang from his waistband. Pinching his stained muscle shirt off and bundling it up, he uses it as a rag to absorb the puddle on the table. What’s sinking into his socks is now warm. He ignores it.

“Do you think I could pull this off?” Ven asks as a by-the-way, twiddling a shy hand at the back of his greasy head.

“Black hair?”

“No, you’re right. It’s creepy.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Pfft, you also ‘didn’t’”—Ven bookends the word with finger quotations—“spar fairly.”

Terra considers throwing his damp shirt at Ven’s face. “I’m not at my prime yet.”

“That’s not it.” Ven flips the towel and swipes the remaining streaks with the cleaner side. “You’re holding back. You promised you wouldn’t do that anymore.”

“I’m not holding back.” He is. Just the image of raising his Keyblade against either of his friends is enough to make him nauseous, but he swallows it to be a good sport. 

Giving it his all is something else entirely, a deeper, invasive illness. 

“I know you can hit harder than that.” Ven dunks the towel in a pail of water, clouding it. 

“I just have a lot in my mind and it’s hard to... relax, I guess.”

There’s a moment of pregnant quiet before Ven says pointedly, “I thought Aqua was helping you out with that.”

A moist squish slaps Ven on the nose.

“Now you’re being sensitive,” Ven says, pulling Terra’s shirt off his shoulder.

“You missed a spot,” says Terra, using his thumb to smear the stain across Ven’s cheek. For shits and giggles he continues upward, rubbing raccoon circles on Ven’s eyelids. “You really pull this off.”

“Do you annoy her this much?”

“She enjoys it.”

“Ugggh.” Ven throws Terra’s hands off of him, his chin tucked in so much that two layers of neck skin fold over. “Gross.”

Terra pauses. Gross wasn’t what he expected out of Ven’s mouth. 

In fact, Terra hasn’t been sure of how Ven took the news the first time. 

Oh, Ven had said when they told him Aqua was moving into Terra’s room. Okay. Cool. He shrugged as if he could have heard more exciting news, and left to take a short walk in the woods with Chirithy. The three of them never spoke about it again. Ven wouldn’t mention a word when he saw them dragging her dresser and vanity table, and seldom joined them if he heard them laughing together with the door closed. 

Things are changing in minute strokes, in seconds that cluster for as long as Terra can recognize them, until they dissipate and become something not quite foreign but never quite familiar anymore, as though where he comes from is far from home and who he thinks he knows are almost-strangers.

“Have we ever made you uncomfortable?” Terra asks. 

“What, no!” Ven waves his hand, feigning shock, staring at his shoes and everywhere else but Terra. “I mean, Aqua’s been Aqua since we got back, and you’re just weird sometimes, but—”

“Then why do you...” Terra sighs, choosing his words. “Avoid us when we’re together?”

“I don’t want to interrupt.”

An almost-lie. “I hope you don’t think we don’t want you around.”

“Noooo. Neither of you make me feel that way.”

“But you do.”

Ven lifts his shoulders higher than his ears and drops them with the same weight as throwing books on the floor. “It’s just… nothing’s the same.”

Nothing is, what with the quiet mornings since the Master is no longer here to prepare breakfast before the sun rises, or huff at anyone when they disturb his meditation. Now they’re preparing the castle for the largest student body of Keyblade wielders it’s seen in years, something Terra thought would be a good distraction for everyone. 

But Ven’s right. Home doesn’t feel like home when the floors are re-tiled, and specific rooms are repainted, and the Master’s favorite lounge chair sits empty in the same spot in the library by the fireplace. Maybe for Ven, home is the turn right to knock on Terra’s door and the turn left to knock on Aqua’s. 

“It’s weird.” Ven grimaces. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m used to talking to you about things you promised to keep from Aqua—”

“I still wouldn’t tell her anything!”

“—and I’m used to it being the three of us.”

Terra pauses. “We’re still the three of us. We’re still best friends.”

“That’s not how it works, and you know it,” Ven says, smiling warmly. “You are one half of two. You share a language I can’t butt into.” 

Terra kneels onto one knee, brushing oily hair out of Ven’s face. Aqua would have liked this look on him: less spiky. “Ven, you’re always going to be a part of our lives.”

“Stop worrying. What you have is not a bad thing. I think it’s kind of awesome. I wish you’d give it your all in a fight. I wanna see what you and her are capable of together, because it’d be huge.”

“I’m only trying to say that we don’t want you to feel like a third wheel. You’re more than welcome to knock on our door anytime—”

“Ah. No. No thanks.” He shoos Terra away. 

“Why?”

“I don’t wanna see anything.” Ven squints.

Terra snorts. “You’re not going to see—”

“I don’t wanna hear about it either.”

“But—”

“Nope.” Ven covers his ears with his palms. “Nothing. No inside jokes. No pet names. Yuck. Keep that to yourself.”

Terra presses his lips together to zip up the snickering. “Okay, I won’t say anything.”

“Good. I don’t want any images in my head.” He wipes his hands like he’s done a good job explaining himself. “I should’ve expected it anyhow.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Ven says slowly. “I mean, the Master kinda knew.”

“He said something to you?” Terra asks with a shaky voice. He’s flipping through memories, when he and Aqua were very careful and very private, when they didn't touch each other in case there were witnesses near. He was so certain he’d suffer punishment if Eraqus ever found out. Lists of long essays about the dangers of being reckless with emotions every time Aqua made him laugh too much. Grueling physical regiments to knock discipline into his body every time he made bad decisions based on a tug between his legs. 

“I didn’t understand it at the time,” Ven says, leaning back on his hands and tapping his heels on the floor. “We were all hanging out, and you and Aqua left, and then he got sad.

“When I asked him what was wrong, he told me you guys created a very bright Light together. A Light bonded is a Light stronger, he said.” Ven mimics the Master’s lilts in speech, using his finger to emphasize points. “But be aware, Ven. Such a blinding Light casts an equally blinding, deep Shadow. What a dangerous force that is.”

It’s a good imitation. The ache in Terra’s chest twists into his guts and warms him at the same time, like a loving hug that squeezes too hard.

“Honestly it made me think you and Aqua were doing something you weren’t supposed to.”

“Maybe we were.” Terra’s throat constricts, his voice gravelly and his shame nostalgic. “We thought the same sometimes.”

“Which isn’t fair. Why can normal people experience that but it’s such a big deal if Keybearers do it?”

Because when you elevate the person you admire to a standard you can’t match, it makes you do stupid things. Aqua had followed him world after world, expecting it would eventually lead to a fight. Too many Keyblades in a friendship does no one good. 

To-may-to, to-mah-to. They did end up fighting, it just wasn’t his own Keyblade that inevitably hurt her. What a dangerous force that is.

“So the Master did not approve?” Terra asks.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Ven rubs his cheek in thought, forgetting all about the ink. “He said your combined Light looked beautiful and warm. And that you’d have many nights where it would be enough when it gets hard... Honestly, he only wished that you keep your head on your shoulders.”

Wishes asked for are wishes granted, the Master used to say, so long as you work for them. The years Terra had wished for this exact approval had only left him with space to forge false hope. Nothing major, nothing long-winded. Just a simple, impossible wish as they placed the flower wreath on his memorial and bid their goodbyes. 

Finally, that wish is fulfilled. As Ven grants it to him, it’s hard to believe or accept, sitting on the floor of what used to be a ballroom, covered in drying ink. 

“Thanks, Ven.” Tears cascade down his cheeks, pretending to be inconspicuous. He wipes them with his clean forearm but he can’t keep up. There’s one for every moment in the last twelve years when he wanted to apologize to the Master, leaving his eyes burning. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop soon.”

“S’okay.” Ven tucks his ankles under, giving Terra time to process. Ven knows when a topic is too sensitive. But he can also tell when enough time has passed for the raw cuts to seal, when everyone’s ready to laugh. It’s his special gift. Only after Terra slows down does Ven lean forward. “Did you know you make this ugly face when you cry? You’re a train wreck.”

Terra yanks Ven’s head under his arm (Oomph, grunts Ven), locking his elbow around the neck.

Ven beats on Terra’s biceps. “Let go of me.”

Terra summons his pauldron, elbow pad, and gauntlet—for good measure. He licks salt from his lips and smirks, clutching Ven more, sinking him into the pecs. 

Ven coughs. “You smell horrible.”

“Nasty-horrible or heroic-horrible?”

“Do you make Aqua sniff your armpit? Let go of me.”

A poor mistake. Ven tumbles back when he’s let go, but he grabs Terra’s shirt before his head hits the floor. He punches it into Terra’s stomach so quickly that Terra isn’t allowed time to react or block, leaving a sprawled, black bruise over his abs. 

“Put a shirt on,” Ven says when Terra can’t rub it off. “Freak.”

~*~*~*~

Their bedroom door is ajar. Terra hears the shuffling of feet. He quiets his arrival, crumpling his messed-up shirt in a fist, and leans on the door frame to watch her. Aqua pulls a book out of a stack deftly with one hand, the other carrying a cheese pastry. She swallows a final bite, licking her fingers (something she’d never do in front of anybody else but him), and meditates on the chew before sitting at her desk. 

He likes her best like this: half-dressed, without her usual corset and sashes, down to nothing else except her shirt and shorts, simple and free. 

Her longest scar creeps out of her backless shirt. A snake, a reminder of the damage Keyblades are capable of: they never heal and barely fade. This is why wielders shouldn’t raise them against people. 

Gluing her attention to an open book, Aqua reaches over for more cheese pastry, but her hand meets a plate of crumbs. When she realizes, she snaps up, alert as if she’s been robbed, glancing over her shoulder for signs of movement. This is also something she would not appreciate anyone else seeing, how she’s afraid of being alone, how she’s paranoid that she’s actually not.

Terra steps in and taps her shoulder before she could ask him what happened to the pastry. “That looked delicious.” 

She blinks, slowly absorbing his words; she doesn’t feel well today, nothing to be ashamed of. Terra says nothing else. This way, he doesn’t bring more attention to the fact. He won’t touch her so she doesn’t feel coddled (despite how much he wants to). He won’t crack a dumb joke when there’s better moments for them. This way, she keeps her dignity. 

When Aqua sees the smears and handprints on him, her eyes finally find reality. “What happened to you?” She stands up and swipes the stain on his chest. It’s dry but not enough, leaving a mark of gray on her fingers. 

“An accident.” Terra clears his throat, trying to seem unbothered. Just another day in the castle. Everyone gets covered in ink, what’s the big deal?

If she hears the hesitation in his voice (and she should, she knows him too well), she doesn’t care, marching to their bathroom. The sink turns on. 

“What kind of an accident?” she calls. The water flow is disturbed. She’s washing her own hands first. 

“Eh, we spilled some ink,” Terra says, praying to the stars she won’t interrogate further. He tosses his ruined shirt into a wastebasket and opens the first dresser drawer for another. Gone are the days when Terra used to stuff his clothes into a heap; Aqua likes to fold every single article, his on one side and hers on the other. 

“What does that mean?”

“It’s fixable, I promise.” At least he hopes there’s some magic spell in some book somewhere that could lift ink out of cracks of wood.

He goes down one drawer for pants and it’s the same story. 

Down to the middle for socks and underwear, each tightly rolled. Tucked into the back of this one are two newly purchased books, their hardcovers wrapped in plain paper so that anyone peeking in couldn’t read the titles. Edited with illustrations of anatomy, they are lectures of techniques on what to try with your partner. Where to place your hands, how to play with your fingers and tongues, how to listen, when to take it slow and when to take it fast...

“Here,” Aqua says from behind him. She has a wet rag. It’s warm as she gently rubs it into his skin, across the spread of his chest. Her other hand is splayed on his hip. 

Just the thought of those books now, of slipping her out of that shirt, the stains on his stomach be damned—

“Am I going to get mad at you?”

Be damned. Terra smirks in a way to invite her to join along with him. “At both of us. But... You never stay too angry for too long so… Why worry about it?”

She pauses. “What are you rambling about?”

“Nothing.” He glances away. “It happened in the new classroom.”

She digs the rag into the groove above the diaphragm as if contemplating his vivisection. A stream of water drips over his belly button, into the hem of his pants, down the dips of his pelvis, between his inner thighs. Let her get mad. Be damned. 

“How bad is it?” Her voice is hard.

He caresses the small of her back, which is right now tense and stretched as she makes herself seem taller, like she’s about to take him on. “You’re smart. You’ll figure something out.” She opens her mouth to say something and he kisses the bottom lip. “I’ll do the dishes for three months. That’s enough atonement, right?”

Aqua clenches her teeth into a false smile, nails now leaving divots on his skin. “And the cooking.”

“Sounds fair.”

“And the gardening.”

“Now you’re pushing it.”

She continues to clean him, this time rubbing harder. It leaves his skin lightly raw. “You’re not in any position to bargain.”

“Do you expect me to beg?” 

“Then beg.”

Terra would be lying if he says he doesn’t find this side of her hot. She’s a splash of freshwater that would bring him back from the brink. The woman standing in front of him chooses to clean him despite the shower being paces away. She’s the same girl who would plant an extra candle on his birthday cakes, for the year to come. To her, maybe it meant little or nothing. Stars, she’s beautiful, and he doesn’t say it enough. 

“You’re doing better,” she says, leveling her voice, nodding to herself as if checking her information. That’s Aqua. Putting aside her annoyance for the sake of making sure he’s taken care of. “You’re not flinching as much.”

Maybe. Her touch is absolutely making the hairs on his neck stand. It is absolutely driving his dick insane. “You know, Ven’s okay with us.”

She stops. “He said something?”

“Kind of. He doesn’t want to know or see or hear anything.”

Her eyes go wide. “Excuse me?”

“He never said he actually heard anything.” He kisses her temple and lets it linger there, taking the opportunity to inhale her smell. Even when she sweats and spars for hours, there’s still a sweetness. Terra laughs into her hair. “He doesn’t want to know nicknames, either.”

Aqua flashes him a look.

“Now we have to,” says Terra. “We don’t have a choice.”

“What should we use?” Aqua moves to his abs, fighting an amused smile that’s twisting its way to her lips. 

“Terr-able.”

“That one is awful. I think Terr-bear fits you better.”

“So you admit I’m big, strong, and scary?”

“I admit you’re adorable sometimes.”

Terra purses his lips. “What about you?”

She shrugs. “Maybe Aquamarine.”

“How about Aquafina?”

“That’s worse.”

“Babe?”

“Absolutely not.”

“We could call him Ven-tilation.”

“Stop.”

He follows his instinct to lower his head so when she laughs with him, their lips meet. They kiss everyday, but the first taste of the hour is always the one to discharge his breath, like he’s been underwater and she’s giving him the chance to surface. 

“You’re going to get me dirty,” she says, giggling into his mouth.

He moves to her neck. “A little mess doesn’t hurt anybody.”

It’s when he brushes his fingers across her back, skating over the scar, coiled like rose thorns, that he hitches. Across from them is her vanity mirror. The scar is still red despite its age of twelve years. He’s so stupid. 

“This again?” she whispers. She’s not upset but disappointed, though in him or in herself, he can’t tell. Moments like these are weird, when he can’t read what she’s thinking. Working on the straps on his left arm, she pulls off his gauntlet, finger by finger. 

“I wish you would tell me,” he whispers back, as if having the conversation at a normal volume would shake them up. 

She turns his bracer to make its removal easier. “I already did.”

“I wish you would be honest with me.” He leans his chin on her head, feeling her fingers slide down his arm. 

“I am.” She flicks a knob and slips off the couter from his elbow. “You want me to tell you it was you who did this to me,” she continues, unbuckling the pauldron on his shoulder. “But it wasn’t.”

“I know better.”

“I know better.”

“It was done with my hands.”

To that she says nothing, rubbing the rag down his exposed left bicep. Ink had run under the armor. Darkness seeps in even with protection. 

She sighs. “Promise me you won’t obsess over it.”

He really shouldn’t but… he nods.

Aqua hesitates anyway. Taking him by the wrist, she presses his right hand on the rib under her left breast. “This one was his.” She warns with her eyes. “Not yours.”

Terra can’t feel anything through her shirt. He slips it under, running the pads of his fingers across the bumps and ridges. This one was his, this one with the gnarly tear right through the middle of the scar tissue, a ravine rupturing open. This one would have been done by that nameless silver Keyblade, with its sharp, ornate frills and that giant hook at the tip of it. It would have caught her skin as it tried to disconnect her body from her heart. And Terra? He’s had so much to lose and nothing to give back.

Terra holds his Aqua close as he continues to read the scar, how deep the hook sunk in, how she must have dodged back and broke that connection. 

“Did it hurt?” he asks. 

She sighs like she finds something amusing. Or trying to. She shudders, closing what little is left of the gaps between their bodies. “The Realm of Darkness numbs everything. I don’t think I felt it much.”

The view from their window looks over blossoming fields under mist, what’s left of snow capping just the mountaintops, everything else green. She’s lucky. So is he, ridiculously enough. 

“I should have done more to stop it,” he says.

“You can’t continue to say things like that.” She swallows and stares at the wall. “What about the person I’ve become? I wouldn’t be here, standing in this room, now. It changed me. The Realm of Darkness did things to me that I’ll never be able to claim back. I will never be able to remedy it. I never wanted it, but I don’t know if I deserved it.”

“You didn’t.”

“I couldn’t make mistakes, in case I got hurt. I couldn’t be vulnerable. I had to be brave.”

“You already are.” 

“And now I’m like stone.”

Terra presses his forehead to hers. “No, you’re not like stone at all.”

Aqua buries her face into his shoulder, anchoring herself to his waist. It’s so unlike her, to be unable to look him directly in the eyes. Whatever she has to say scares her. “You’re here, and I’m here. I give you my scars and you give me yours and… I don’t know if I would trade that for something else. For something that looks better on the outside. Every moment we shared since you woke up, how could I want to erase them? I need you, Terra. I have to chip away somehow. I’m braver now, to hold you like this.”

She says it like she has her chest cavity open, heart beating to open air. 

She’s brave for not crying. 

She’s brave for telling him what she can’t say right now. I’m braver now, to hold you like this. (I love you.)

He lifts her chin to kiss her. (I loved you first.) 

She drops the rag to hold his face. 

Before, their kisses were desperate, thirsty and famished, hoping to be found. Now, they’re deliberate, wandering but not lost. She tastes like sugar and flesh, her tongue inside with his, slow and careful. Their needs have more definition this time: please, and more, and yes, again. 

Terra indulges in the impulse to press her onto him. She should feel how greedy he is, her chest arched against his. She’s soft and he’s in love. 

“Where is Ven?” she says, breathless. 

“Probably showering,” he mumbles.

She waves her hand and the door slams shut. 

“I said probably,” Terra murmurs, but his mind turns off when she kisses him again. Who cares what Ven hears?

Aqua treads slower. She tempts Terra’s tongue to seek her out, puckering her lips around it and giving it a small tug. 

“Touch me, please,” he begs.

The sound of his pants unbuttoning makes his heart hammer, his entire groin anticipating for what’s next. When, when, when. Terra closes his eyes. Her hand glides down, palm first, his breath snagging when she wraps her fingers around his erection. His pants are at his ankles, Aqua is on her knees, and she presses a kiss right under the tip, where it’s most sensitive, before licking the entire length. Terra buckles. He catches the dresser behind him to keep standing. 

“Shhh,” she breathes onto him. It shoots a spark from his stomach to his scalp. 

Terra braces his teeth with his finger to shut himself up. He watches her work. She takes him in bite-size pieces, snail-tracking with her tongue before her lips close in on him. Fuck. She sucks while she pulls. Fuck. To see her like this, Master Aqua with poise, with grace, with affection and care—with him in her mouth. The hand wrapped around him squeezes tighter, and the other comes up to meet him at the testicles. 

He stifles another moan, staring at the ripples of the drywall, listening to the feathered tap of spring rain on the window and the noise she’s making. His erection twitches against the roof of her mouth, and he has to restrain himself from thrusting into her. Maybe he can let go and let be, finally throw himself off the cliff, ride the thrill all the way. Give it his all.

But he can’t. The moment gooseflesh spreads across his inner thighs, the moment he feels full, is the start. The floor will rip out from under him, the lights will go off, he will fall, he will lose all his fingers, he won’t remember anything, he’ll be the monster who makes her cry.

“I can’t,” he hisses, pushing her off. “I can’t.” He lurches over his knees, his insides twisting at the sudden cutoff, aching as it throbs and shrivels. He was so close. They were just laughing a few minutes ago. Stupid body, stupid mind. “Damn it,” he groans, pounding the dresser.

“Hey, you’re okay,” she says softly, holding him by the elbow. “You’re safe at home.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.” He digs his eyes into his palm, his body faraway like it’s a glass vial with his soul dumped inside. “Help me.”

Without letting him go, Aqua braces him with something cold—the rag, now on his lower back. It slaps him back to the bedroom, his beige carpet, the mist outside clearing out to a view of a forest that separates the castle from the mountains. 

She greets him with a smile. “You really did something to yourself,” she says, cleaning him like it’s a lazy weekend day and there’s a list of chores. 

Terra straightens up, shivers riding all the way up to his shoulders. “It’s so frustrating.”

“Don’t worry, Terra,” she says, softer and lower. “There’s no need to rush. I’ll wait.”

“But I’m tired of feeling caged up and stuck. I just want some semblance of control.” 

Aqua kisses him on the shoulder to shoo away the haunting for a few seconds. “I’m here, anytime you need me. Would you like me to run you a bath?”

“No.” The rag is likely caked with ink, but its iciness is unlike the chill of clammy sweat a few seconds old. Every frigid touch is a reminder that he’s alive. “This is nice.”

Aqua runs the rag up his spine. “You know what I think? If we’re going to call each other pet names in front of Ven, we should have guests over.”

Terra snorts. “That’s evil.”

“He won’t be able to bark at us in front of other people.”

“I think I’m a bad influence on you.”

“I think you’re right.”

Terra sighs at her touch, cold at his neck, at his hairline. Like a light at the front porch in the dead of night, like hot tea on a sick day, she is what it feels like to come home.

She tells him, “Lean your head back a little,” and he obliges, letting her reach behind his ears. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen, her hair frizzy, eyes blue and focused as she takes care of him. 

“I can still kiss you, right?” 

“You don’t have to ask.”

Tilting his chin down, he does. He braids his fingers into hers; from the rag they’re like icicles, and he brings them to his heart. 

They’re barely millimeters apart, but he’s still in that cage. If only he could be touched the way he needs. If only the lock trapping him inside the cage is brittle and easy to crumble. What if he tries to test it? What if he finds there is nothing at all? Stupid mind. What if there are several, each of them needing unique keys when he has none, no hope of ever knowing what real freedom is? Stupid body. 

Should he pretend? Should he try over and over, to slam his head against the bars each time? Should he submit, should he accept he will never have what he wants? 

Life has made him uneager to trust. But her lips have a deliciousness unmatched by anything he’s ever tasted, and he’s still a silly, stupid man.

“Let me try again,” he says, breathing deeply. “I want to make you feel good.”

She’s surprised. “Only if you’re comfortable.”

“It will make me feel better.”

“...Okay,” she says so modestly. Terra never figured out how to knock it into her head that he wants to give her everything, that he is so, so guilty.

He invites her into an embrace, growing desperate the more he detaches his mind. Her body, the curve from her waist to her hips. The brush of her body against his reminds him that while he is naked, she is not. He picks her up by the thighs. Lost in the momentum of deep kisses, he carries her to bed, straddling her on his lap.

She hums. “The… the sheets.”

Dry, messy layers of ink still track down his legs. He groans into her mouth. She’s grinding him, and while he really likes that, it makes it incredibly difficult to take her clothes off, one hand rising the hem of her shirt and the other deep under her shorts, cupping her ass. 

“Whatever, we can wash them later,” she says, lifting her arms up. 

Her bare breasts—stars, this is what it feels like to come home. 

“Kiss me,” she says, and he replies, nibbling down her neck, coming down to her breasts, where his lips and his tongue and his murmurs take in her nipples as they perk. Aqua stays quiet, leaning onto his shoulders. 

There’s something about her amazing body, the silk of skin draped over defined muscle, treasure and tenderness in his hands, that he’s needy for. Every time he tries to define what that means, his mind ceases to function. 

Xehanort tried to take it all away from him. If he lived, Terra would crush every tooth bloody. Damn him.

How dare Xehanort do this to him, lock him in this cage, keep him away from her? Damn him.

Why is he thinking about Xehanort?

“Are you okay?”

Terra is frozen, the nub of a nipple suctioned in his mouth. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He lets her breast go with a pop. “I’m redirecting.” Leading her to the mattress, Terra lowers himself into her arms, but he’s halted by a light kiss and a hold of his face.

“Do you need me to check in on you?” she asks.

“No.” He smiles, kissing her with all the hope that she psychically understands his body is about to burst open, if only from the lack of space for the appreciation he keeps nurturing for her. “Thank you, but I’m okay.”

She nods, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. “You take your time.”

Oh, he will. No more interruptions. Focus on the smell of her skin, on the collarbone at the base of her neck. Right here, it makes her bite her lip. On the hollow between her breasts, the sound of her breath getting heavy. On the slight movement of her legs as she instinctively responds, spreading them, hooking around his. The buoyancy of her breasts in his mouth. The way she arches to push them against his face. 

Under that left breast is the scar, tightly knitted.

The purpose for living is for memories, not reminders. Do not linger. Do not think about the cage. Terra lightly kisses it and continues downward. 

Terra’s fingers glide down, a caress at the hips, a squeeze of her ass, running a mile of goosebumps as he bunches her shorts and panties and pulls them off. Her skin is streaked with fingerprints of gray, at most of the places he’s been. Aqua shivers as his lips brush the sides of her waist, as he traces his tongue and inhales the dips of her pelvis, as he loops his arms under her thighs, as he kisses her between the legs. She gasps. He licks from bottom to top, sucking on the clitoris once, then starts over.

Footsteps walk by outside their bedroom door.

Aqua jerks up. “Terra,” she whispers, warning him.

“Hm?” Stars, what now? “Here.” He grabs the comforter and throws it over her head. She chuckles as she wraps both of them in hiding. “Relax,” he whispers back. “He’s not going to hear anything.” Not that Ven opts to stay; his footsteps are already fading away.

He goes back to work, and hears her sigh—it’s loud enough to make him look up but too hushed to escape the sheets. Bottom to top. Again. Again. She cloaks the sound of her moans with the comforter plastered on her face. 

It’s her taste. It’s the softness and suppleness of the skin between her legs. The way she fastens her knees over his shoulders, how wet she is. Her reaction. When he tongues the inside of her slit, she jerks, chewing her lip hard enough to make it white. Master Aqua, with poise and grace, for her there’s only love and the way his tongue curls up. 

Her fist crumples the sheet—it holds her own breast, caresses her stomach down to rake through his hair and hold him there. 

“Don’t stop,” she breathes.

Stars, that did it. He’s hard again. He drapes his arms over her pelvis, using his fingers to open her up so he has more access to her clit. She bucks, and he holds her down. 

Her entire body trembles: the first sign that she’s running off her own edge. 

Terra strokes her, the outside lips, the tease inside, the puckering motions. She’s a sweet, musky taste he can’t compare to anything else.

Aqua throws herself back on the pillow. Her thighs crush his head, and she clamps her hand on her mouth like a topper. Her mewl shudders and stops, it heaves, it mumbles. The wave rises then crashes, and she finishes with a long sigh, a release, a settlement, a tempered peace.

It feels so good to listen to her. Terra rests his head on her hip and brings a hand to his erection. A little bit of freedom paid with a little bit of control. 

“I’m ready,” he says. “I need you.”

She hums in contentment, fixing the comforter so they’re completely covered and opening her arms to him. “Come here.”

Terra crawls over her, bracketing her body like he’s a fort, tethering her fingers to his and cradling her head in a protective halo with his arms. Aqua has to spread her legs wide to take on his thick waist, and she breaks her kisses with whimpers when he enters—she’s always more sensitive after he goes down on her. 

She’s warm and tight, oh stars. Massaging him as he moves inside her. Their bodies compress into each other, hers curled up to mold against the way he rocks his hips, as though the subtle air between would have split them up too far, as though he can melt into her when he pushes, their hearts only separated by muscle and bone. He plants a messy kiss on her cheek, exhaling and inhaling in rhythms opposite of hers, her breath loud against his ear, tickling his neck.

Here it comes again, the oncoming of the precipice where he has to step off. 

Fuck.

He can’t do it.

At the sprint towards the edge of the cliff, he skids and scrambles to hang by the rockface. Terra grunts, all his muscles seizing up as he holds his breath.

Aqua strokes his hair. “Do you want to stop?”

Of course not. “Give me a minute.”

“Remember, you’re safe.”

Terra nearly chokes. “I’m scared of losing control.”

“You won’t. You’re in control.”

In control. The intent to wring his fingers through the bars, a sleight of hand to balance the padlock like it’s on strings, turning it over and pulling it out of the latch. But Terra is no escape artist. 

Terra licks his lips. He’s not in danger. He should trust she’ll catch him when he falls. In her arms, there’s no safer place to be. He has to remember this. Shut that mind up.

“I want to continue.” 

She rubs his back. It’s soothing. “Tell me what you need.”

Terra smirks. “To get back in the mood.” He takes one deep kiss. “Entice me.”

Her insides squeeze him and he trembles. “How is that?” she asks.

“Do it again.”

She wraps her ankles over his back and squeezes. He hums into her shoulder. 

“Again.”

This time, she takes back her kiss.

“Don’t let me go,” he says, and she hugs him tightly. 

He starts slow. Terra leans on his elbows, bunching the comforter in his fist so it stays in place. She looks at him with half-lidded eyes, a healthy red blush, her mouth gently open, cast in the filtered glow of a secret, sweaty cocoon. This body he’s thrusting into, the lips he’s kissing, may the stars bless her. 

“Aqua.”

“You feel so good.”

She stole the words right out of his mouth, squeezing his hips again. 

“Oh,” he moans. It provokes him to thrust harder, deeper, feel her, feel her breasts bouncing under him, feel her moans coming from her throat, the desperation in the way she squirms with her hands. She massages his slick back, her nails digging in.

There. 

Let him throw himself off. Give it his all.

“Don’t let me go,” he repeats.

“I won’t.”

He throws himself off. It’s not the wind thrashing him all the way down. Instead it’s fire, a combustion of flames in his muscles as his entire body submits to its force, leaving his knees weak. A flash of white that blurs everything he sees, a hurricane that knocks his mind into a stupor, a delicious burn that slicks over his body, trickling embers on top of sweat, hot and cool, good and better, good and fucking good. Terra shoves his face into her shoulder to muffle the sounds of groans escaping him, shuddering as the climax picks up again, a body alight in an ignition that throws him out of any awareness. 

His eyes prick when he finally remembers where he is. Aqua is safeguarding him with a strong hold, keeping him in place with her. He sighs. The cinders that continue to radiate heat leave him with a hearth to wrap himself into, a happiness that he never thought he would ever feel again.

Aqua sniffs. She wipes tears onto his shoulder.

“We really should stop crying at these things,” he says.

She snorts, refusing to let her grip on him slack. “You did amazing. How are you feeling?”

“I’m…” he mumbles. Stars, wow. His arms can’t pick him up anymore but it’s a gratifying cloud to ride. He shifts his legs, alleviating the weight of his body. “A little weak.” 

She runs a hand on the back of his head, coaxing him to rest on her chest. “When did you know?” she asks, brushing hair off his damp forehead. “That you wanted to kiss me? You must have spent some time thinking about it before it happened.”

Terra smiles into her chest. Somehow, they’ve never talked about it. “Long after I knew I was going to marry you.”

He feels her laugh. “Is that so? I’m going to marry you?”

“You will.” He looks up at her grinning face. “I can see the future.”

She scoffs. “You can see my eyes rolling at you.”

“I knew before you did.”

“Prove it.”

“I was seven.”

“You’re older than me, that doesn’t count.”

“You asked me to have a tea party with you, but the one thing that bothered you most”—he brings up his hand, pinky out—“was that I wasn’t drinking my tea right.” He mimics the high pitch of a little girl’s voice. “Pinky out. Pinky out, Terra, don’t be a slob.”

She gapes. “I don’t remember any of that.”

With renewed will, he props himself up, leaning close so their noses touch. “I knew then. That early on.”

“Since when is this a competition?”

“Still the first to know.”

Aqua interrupts what she’s about to say, like she’s about to step into cold water. She’s having an epiphany. Vulnerable again, like she’s allowing him to cut her right down the middle. 

“I love you.”

She says it like the touch of a high note on a piano, a beautiful accident. 

He leans closer, lips to lips, whispering, “I still got there first.” 

She laughs into him. “I suppose, but I was the first to say it.”

“Then I’ll be the second,” Terra says. Like coming home, a shelter to withstand the downpour, that births life to the roots, that thunders, that opens for a clear day, he brushes her hair out of her eyes. “I love you.”

“Too,” she corrects. “You love me, too.” 

A knock on their door jolts them, like a hard punch to the stomach.

“Okay, Terra,” Ven says from the other side. “I thought about it and I’m trying out this knocking thing.”

Wrong timing. Wrong timing.

“I’m going to kill him,” Terra hisses, and against Aqua’s hushed chuckles, he throws the comforter off their bodies and announces, “Ven, we’re naked.”

The silence that comes after is as loud as the crash of a chandelier. Terra can feel Ven recoil, a tea pot at the verge of whistling. “I didn’t need to know that!” Terra is about to reply but Ven groans dramatically. “I AM NEVER GOING TO KNOCK ON YOUR DOOR AGAIN.”

Ven stomps away, and if the door was actually open, he’d slam it. 

Terra sits on his knees, pinching his nose. It’s hot in this room. He feels clogged again, back at the edge of the cliff. He wants to strangle Ven for dragging the moment away from him. “Great, I pissed him off.”

“Poor Ven.” When she sits up, Terra pulls her to him, sitting her on one of his thighs. “I can’t predict if he’ll ever get over that,” she says, balancing herself by hooking her arms around his neck. 

Terra presses his lips to her ear, whispering, “But I did predict that you wouldn’t stay mad at me for long.”

She slaps his bicep. “I haven’t seen what you’ve done yet. Don’t be so proud of yourself.”

“But I am.”

“You’re still a slob.”

Slobby as he is, Aqua hugs him dearly. Hold her, you never know when the dream will end. You never know when the cage takes you back.

“I don’t know if,” Terra says, “it will be difficult for me next time.”

“Then it may be difficult,” Aqua says, kissing his forehead. “But it will be okay.”

Hold her. Not passively. Not half-minded. Hold her tightly. Hold her in the quiet, undisturbed, uninterrupted.

A drop of hot liquid spills from between her legs and drips down his thigh, almost burning. When Terra looks down to see that it’s white, Aqua jumps.

“Oh,” she squeaks.

“Oh. That would be me.”

She squeals, hiding her blush. “I’m going to wash up.” 

“Such a slob.”

Aqua giggles, looking him in the eye when she rubs his chest. “Come with me?”

“Go ahead.” He kisses her. “I’ll catch up.”

If anyone told him twelve years ago that hope feels like a long day full of small conversations, the anticipation of cleaning a messy room, Terra would have considered that cynical. A sarcastic joke, the loss of the will to dream. 

Twelve years later, it’s the sound of the shower running that teaches him to look forward to the next day, when he wakes up next to her, when he prepares dinner with her, when he kisses her in the middle of the night and play all over again. Peace is a long-distance acquaintance, a pen pal that urges you to look at your day like a spectacle.

Terra leans back to twist the latch of the window open, letting the spring haze billow in. Much better, the room is cooler now. The sky is bluer somehow, the mountains as grand as a painting.

[ssajj]

Daisy

You're a stripper and you meet Dr. Spencer Reid on a case. He's interesting in a way men aren't usually.

2.1k

Warnings for language, kidnapping, non-graphic violence.

(this is my first reader insert. hope it's okay ✌)

The colors alone always feel like enough to get you drunk. You can spin in them in hours, throwing your head back and basking under their heat. You don’t know what it is about them. The others like to laugh and tease you about it, even if they seem to understand that they really mean something to you. You don’t know what, though. Those are always your best shifts; making the most money and with your favorite customers. The nights without them are always the worst, but you try to make it up with bright glitters and higher heels. 

It’s still pretty early. Only a handful of people have wandered in so far and three of them are seated firmly at the bar, refusing to even look at you and the girls. It’s hard for you to not roll your eyes at them. If you’re going to come into a strip club, don’t be so stuck up that you can’t look at the strippers. To you, that seems like an obvious thing. And yet. 

At least the lights are on. 

“Hey,” your best friend whispers, pulling at your shoulder so she can whisper in your ear. Neither of you are on the main stage, since the newbies tend to get stuck with the shitty sunset hours. Less cash. “Fresh meat.”

You look over to where she’s gesturing, a low whistle building in your throat. Two people are hovering at the entrance. You can already tell that they don’t belong. Their posture, their facial expressions. “Think they’re cops?” You ask. “Cops fucking suck at tipping.”

Without waiting for an answer, you start striding over there, thankful that you’re dressed, even if it isn’t close to modestly. 

A man and a woman. The woman has shiny black hair, gently curled around her shoulders. You’re briefly jealous of her bone structure before that feeling turns into something more akin to lust- you don’t look like her, no, but she’s hot. The all black ensamble, frankly, is doing wonders for her. She seems dominant and powerful. Maybe not your type, then. You’re a bit of a control freak. The guy, though. You lick your lips, looking him over as you get closer. He’s about as submissive looking as they come. His shoulders are hunched, hands crossed nervously in front of him. His eyes are darting around the room and you’d think he was looking for an exit if he wasn’t currently standing in front of one. He’s got some of the fluffiest hair you’ve ever seen and it shouldn’t look good on him, but it does. Really good. He’s tall too, towering over the woman, and- huh. Now you know it’s possible to be hot in a sweater vest. 

“Hey there,” you purr as you reach them, leaning against the table closest to them. You see their attention snap over to you, eyeing you up in down the same way you did to them. The man blushes and the woman arches an eyebrow. You just smile. “Anything I can help you two with? We do discounts for couples.”

The man sputters. “We aren’t-”

“SSA Emily Prentiss and Dr. Spencer Reid.” The woman interrupts him, flashing her badge. He follows suit. “We’re here from the FBI.”

You put your hands in front of you, pretending that they’re bound together at the wrists. “You here to arrest me?” You ask, pouting. 

Emily rolls her eyes. Spencer shakes his head aggressively. 

“We’re here about the recent string of murdered sex workers,” Emily says.

You flinch, some of your tougher exterior slipping away. When you’re working, you try your best not to think about those girls, the ones that ended up in alleys with their stomachs cut open, their contents beside them. Four, so far. No one from your work, even if there were whispers that your luck’s running out. It’s only a matter of time.

“I didn’t think anyone cared about a couple of murdered whores,” you mutter, letting the bitterness seep into your words. You aren’t stupid enough to trust FBI agents anymore than you trust cops. “And I don’t see why that’s brought you here, anyway. None of them worked on this street.”

Spencer takes a step forward. “We care,” he tells you. You’re too smart to believe him, even if the gentle look in his eyes makes you want to try. You blink a couple times, trying to clear your thoughts. 

“Can we ask you a few questions?” Emily looks less gentle, although not unkind. Life’s made her hard, you think. Any kindness she has, she’s probably had to fight for it. It’s not a concept you’re unfamiliar with and under different circumstances, you think you could’ve been friends. 

You glance back at the stage before agreeing. “We can either keep yelling over the music or go to one of the private rooms,” you tell them, “But there’s a lot of velvet and leather in those.”

You take them into one of the rooms, but you aren't there for long. Most of their questions seem generic. Boring.

“Call us if you think of anything else,” Spencer says, handing you a card with his name and phone number on it.

You take it, tucking it into one of your boots. “And if I want to call you so I can hear your cute voice again?”

Emily has to pound him on the back after that one, his face on fire as he goes into a coughing fit. You can’t help but grin wickedly. Maybe you’d feel bad if his partner wasn’t laughing. 

“Oh, I’m so telling Morgan about this,” she says, electing a groan from Spencer. 

Once he’s mostly settled again, he turns back to you. There’s still a blush raging on his cheeks. You like knowing that you’re the one to put it there. “Stay safe, okay?”

“Sure,” you nod, like the other girls hadn’t begged for the safety, like they weren’t all on high alert already. If someone gets you, it won’t be because you were an easy target. “I could probably stab him with my heel or something.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but Emily nods like you just said something smart, which is a little concerning. 

--

A week later, you reflect that you probably should have used your heel, considering your current situation. You’re in a dark, unfamiliar room, your vocal cords already torn apart from screaming so much. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter, trying to look at your surroundings. It’s hard to see anything and even harder to focus. Your head is pounding. You don’t touch it. You don’t want to feel the blood gathering and clumping in your hair. That’s a problem for later. If you survive this. “Fucking cute skinny FBI agent didn’t do shit for me. We’ll get him,” you mock, raising the pitch of your voice. “Biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard. Should have caught him before he kidnapped me.”

You don’t know how long you’re in the dark before a door opens. A man you don’t recognize enters, making you scramble back to the furthest corner of the room. 

“Scared?” He asks. You can’t make out any facial features, even though there’s a voice inside of you that’s telling you he’s grinning. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, going for false bravado. You told yourself that you wouldn’t go down without a fight, and you were going to keep that promise. 

Then you notice that he has a knife. You have to force the fight back into your body, imagining that you’re back at the club, rainbow lights searing into your skin, making you powerful, making you invincible. You bare your teeth at him, a growl escaping. 

Survival of the fittest. 

--

“Y/N?” A soft voice rouses you from your sleep. It takes a few seconds for it to register in your brain, but Spencer’s the one speaking. 

Your eyes flutter open. “Oh, you’re blurry.”

“An ambulance is on the way,” he tells you. He’s cradling your head and you get a weird urge to cry. His voice is so soft. “It’s okay if you fall asleep, the idea that you can’t fall asleep with a head injury is mostly a myth. I’ll be there when you wake up.”

You believe him enough to drift off back to sleep.

--

The next time you wake up, you’re in a hospital room. The lights are blinding and white, making you miss your colorful ones. “I better get time off,” you groan. 

Someone laughs beside you. You turn to see Spencer again. 

"You're here."

He leans forward. "You sound surprised."

"Keen observation. Don't you have like...official FBI stuff to be doing right now?"

Spencer shrugs. "I wanted to make sure you were okay before I regrouped with the team."

"I don't really remember what happened."

"You killed him."

You frown. "No shit? Seriously?"

"JJ- she's another agent, you haven't met her- and I were the ones to go down to the basement. That's where he was keeping you," he explains, hands starting to wave through the air. "When we got down there, you were both laying on the ground. He was dead. Shot three times. You were shot once in the side. Thankfully, the damage seems to be minimal. You also have a concussion from when he presumably hit your head to capture you."

"I shot him?" You look down on your hands like you're going to see blood on them. They're cracked and dry. You flip them over just in case. Nothing, still. "I don't feel any different. Are you supposed to feel different after you kill someone?"

"There haven't been any studies on people's brain patterns right before and right after they've killed someone," Spencer shrugs, then pauses. "Although you most likely weren't looking for a scientific answer. Sorry."

"No, it's good to know."

Spencer fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt, a small smile playing on his lips. He's got that same blush he did the first time you met him, the light one. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Has the offer to call you expired?" You ask, feeling bold. 

The blush deepens. "No."

You grin. "Nothing like getting kidnapped to set the mood, huh?"

You don't think he gets the joke. That's okay. 

--

A week later, you're on the phone with him, propped up on all the pillows your roommates could find in your little apartment. 

"Hey, cutie pie," you grin. 

"Hi, Y/N. How are you feeling?"

This was the third phone call. The same number as how many times you shot the man that tried to kill you. Each time, the first thing Spencer did was ask how you were doing. You keep lying to him. It makes guilt swirl around in your stomach. You tell yourself that it's okay, that he probably doesn't want to hear how you actually are. The feeling still lingers. You want him to care, you realize. It's nonsensical, you barely know him, but you want him to hold you when you wake up screaming, when you remember flashes of that night, and when you have good moments. And in turn, you want to get to know him. You want to see what his face looks like while you're dancing, you want to know what his degrees are in, you want to know what makes him happy, if you could make him happy. You want to make him happy. 

"I'm doing as well as I can be." It's the most honest answer you've given. "How's being a fancy FBI agent? Still on that case in Wyoming?"

"We're wrapping up, actually. We arrested our unsub this morning. She was going after unfaithful men."

You pause. "Good for her."

He sputters. "It's murder, Y/N!"

"I killed someone," you point out quietly. 

"You know that's different."

You do. 

Don't you?

Your hands itch. 

--

After a month of phone calls, you get to see him again in person. You're still healing, still scarring over, but you get to touch him. 

Neither of you ever bring up the conversation of defining what this is between you. When you see him, you race toward him, halting to a stop once you get close. 

"Is touching okay?" You ask. 

He gives you the biggest smile you've ever seen before pulling you against him. You fit snugly against him, his chin resting on the top of your head. "Yeah," he mumbles. "Touch is good. Thank you for asking."

"I'm a stripper," you laugh, pulling back enough to see his face. "We're big consent fans."

He hesitates. You can see his thoughts racing, can see him making a pros and cons list in his head. "Can I kiss you?"

Your lips split from your grin. "I've been waiting for you to ask, hot stuff."

[nerdypanda3126]

Playing with Fire – Ch. 5

Marinette helps Luka clean up before they go into town to meet her parents

Read on Ao3 

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Marinette scrunched her face against the early morning light that streamed into the opening of the tower. It might’ve been perfect for Luka—giving him more time in his dragon form before she’d arrived, and apparently he enjoyed basking in the sunshine, anyways—but for Marinette waking up this early so many days in a row was not ideal. She hid her face in what she expected to be Luka’s scales, but her cheek hit the cold stone and she jerked awake to find that Luka was no longer next to her.

A soft slink drew her attention and she looked up just in time to see him use a slender dagger to shear off a large chunk of hair by his ear. It fell to the floor in a clump and she realized he’d already cut several other sections.

“What are you doing?” she asked, bewildered.

He paused, the stone at his throat pulsing white as he figured out her tone and shocked expression. “I don’t like it when it’s long,” he explained, sectioning out another chunk of hair that was right next to the one he’d just done and an entire inch shorter. As he pulled the dagger up to it, she scrambled to her feet.

“No, no, not like that!” She stopped his hand and he turned to stare at her, the dagger still poised behind him. She blushed. “Here, let me,” she said, offering her hand.

He hesitated, his eyes flicking from her hand to her earnest expression, before he laid the dagger in her hand warily and turned back around, giving her access to the back of his head.

She took a deep breath and assessed the damage he’d already done. Not terrible—he’d at least started on one side and was working his way around to the back. But what he had done was choppy, flopping in uneven pieces. She could start there.

He flinched when the cold metal of the dagger touched his ear, but the knife was wicked sharp and she was able to drag it through his hair easily, taking smaller, more angled cuts as she went so it started to lay flat.

“Do you want to tell me why you got up so early to do this?” she asked as she worked.

He half-shrugged with the shoulder opposite the ear she was working on. “It was getting long. That’s all.” 

Another section of hair fell and she ran her fingers through what she’d done, fluffing it and trying to envision what it would look like when she was finished. “And the fact that we’re going to see my parents today had nothing to do with it?” 

“Why would it?” His words were meant to be nonchalant, but at the mention of her parents he stiffened visibly. 

“Because…” She focused on choosing her words instead of how soft and thick his hair was. “You might be nervous?” 

“No reason to be,” he said gruffly, “just going into a town full of people who hate me and want me dead, no big deal.” His sarcasm betrayed him. He was terrified. 

“They won’t know it’s you,” she said gently, letting another section of hair fall between her feet. “You don’t exactly look like the dragon they’re expecting, you know.” 

He hummed, but since she was running her hands through his hair again, she wasn’t sure if he was thinking or answering or just enjoying her touch. 

“How short do you want it?” She ruffled her hands through the back section that she’d finished, watching stray hairs fall as she did. He turned to look at her, and she found that he almost looked childish in his doubt. 

“I’ve never really thought about that before,” he admitted. “What do you think?” 

She toyed with the longer strands on the side she hadn’t worked on yet. “I don’t know, I guess I’m used to it a little longer on you. It suits you. Kinda… unkempt and untamed.” She started when she realized her voice had been drifting into a fond admiration. “But—I mean—if you like it short, that’s—I mean, it’s your hair, and I’m just, it’s what you want, there’s no reason for me to like—or! Not like, or, anything because why would I care what you look like because we’re friends and we’re… yeah. Friends.” 

She knew she had to be blushing and she looked away from him while she tried to get her fluttering heart under control. It was no use. He had to have seen her stone going haywire, stuttering from red to white to yellow to blue in quick succession. When she managed to turn back to him, he was watching her with those intense serpentine eyes, his stone glowing bright red.  

“So, short?” she asked, too brightly. He blinked at her, and for a moment she forgot that he wasn’t in his dragon form. Finally, he nodded and turned back around. They were both quiet as she worked. He only flinched again once, when she scraped the blade against the back of his neck to get the small hairs there. 

“Tell me about the tailor’s boy,” he said suddenly. 

The dagger clanged to the floor and she stammered out excuses as she bent to retrieve it, her stone bright white and crackling. He had a little smirk when she’d gotten herself under control. 

“A-Adrien? He’s… I mean, he’s my… friend. We’re friends. I grew up with him, and I tried to apprentice under his father, but I got emotional… once, it was once. And there was a fire and…” She rubbed his hair in between her fingers before she pulled the dagger through it again. 

“You were sweet on him, then?” 

She almost fumbled the dagger again and he hid a snicker behind his hand that made her blush flame to life. “What? No! I—Why would you think that? It’s—I mean, at one point, maybe, but it was a long time ago and besides—” She clamped her lips shut. 

“Besides?” he pressed. 

“Besides… um… well, the curse—I mean, the bond. It kept me from…" She sighed. "I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” 

He paused, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “It kept you from being close to anyone.” 

“No, that’s not—” Tears sprung to the corners of her eyes before she could stop them and she brushed them away hurriedly. “Luka, listen, I don’t want you to keep blaming yourself for this. It happened. We’re together now and that’s the important thing and we’re managing it.” 

Her hands had come to rest on his shoulders as she talked, and he reached up to wrap his fingers around hers. “We’re together now,” he repeated. His thumb rubbed against hers before he brought his eyes up from the floor. “I guess I keep forgetting you already agreed to stay with me. But if you ever wanted… I mean, I’m sure the tailor’s boy—Adrien, you said?—I’m sure he’s nice.”

She blushed all the way to the roots of her hair and his small smile turned into a smirk. She pulled her hand out from underneath his and returned to her task, finishing up the last few sections she had left. When she’d finished, she blushed all over again. She did like his hair long, and she’d left it a little longer on top, but now that she could see all of his face and the curve of his jaw and his high cheekbones… 

All she could do was stare as he ran a hand through it at the side, the dark strands slipping over his fingers easily; as he gave her a bewildered grin, like he’d never imagined his hair could feel like that; and as a small crease formed between his eyebrows when he noticed that she was blatantly checking him out. Hopefully he didn’t realize that’s what was happening, although the flaming red stone at her throat probably didn’t help her hide it. 

She closed her mouth, but couldn't help her smile. “It looks good,” she managed to squeak. 

He chuckled and looked away from her, and she thought she noticed a pink tinge starting to bloom over the tops of his cheeks. “Thanks for doing it,” he said, more to the wall than to her. “I haven’t ever cared, you know?” 

“No, I hadn’t noticed,” she teased, gesturing to the barren space around her. The only decoration—the collection of armor along the wall—seemed to be more of a grisly reminder of his past misdeeds than anything else. His library and the lyre seemed more useful for passing time than for pleasure, and the pillows that had been destroyed had been his only luxury. He glanced around with her, his eyes seeming to fall on everything for the first time. 

Something inside her softened as he ran his hand through his hair again. "Maybe we could move these?" She pointed to the pile of armor. "I doubt they're pleasant memories." 

"I didn't really know what else to do with them," he admitted sheepishly. 

She tapped her fingers against her chin as she thought. “I’ll think of something,” she promised. 

She stepped forward and brushed some of the stray hair off his shoulders, straightening his tunic as she did before she caught a glimpse of his stone. Bright red. Like it had been the entire time she’d been cutting his hair. Ever since last night, when he’d thrown a hand out to her. 

Her hands stilled on his shoulders. He was close, so close. And standing there in front of her and looking at her like that. Her breath caught before she could help it. His long fingers reached up to touch her stone. Glowing like a hot red ember, matching his. Her fingers curled into the fabric at his shoulders and she bit her lip nervously. 

Hesitantly, he reached up and pulled her lip out from between her teeth, pausing after he did to swipe his thumb across it gently. His tongue darted out between his lips and he sucked in a breath before he leaned down.

She didn’t know what she expected, but her fluttering heart sank to her stomach when he hesitated and changed trajectory, his lips landing on her forehead instead of… 

He pulled away, smiling sadly, and paused again to look at her. “Come on,” he said softly, “we’d better head out while we have the light.” 

And with that, he took a step back and turned to lead the way down the stairs, leaving her feeling oddly bereft. 

***

He was quiet during their walk through the forest, and he kept glancing back, as if he expected someone to be following them, or as if he was going in the opposite direction of where he wanted to be. She slipped her hand into his at some point and he gripped her tight, pulling strength from her. 

When they arrived at the break in the trees that announced the edge of the village, he balked like a nervous horse, hiding in the shadows of the trees, holding her hand as if he was afraid to let go. 

“Please,” he said hoarsely, tugging her back with him, “please, just wait.” 

“Luka, nothing bad is going to happen,” she said, realizing as she did that although she believed that with all her heart, it was a promise she shouldn’t make. Still, she set her jaw and gave him a determined smile. “They’re going to love you.” 

He swallowed visibly, then shut his eyes and nodded. She took a step and felt him move with her, trusting her blindly. The thought gave her a small thrill of joy and of sympathy. They are going to love him, Marinette thought fiercely, pushing away the small ‘ because I do’ that was tacked on to the end of that. 

One or two people did double takes and gaped on their way in, and more than a few startled at the sight of her more than him, but she supposed that someone assumed to be dead appearing in broad daylight had that effect on people. She gripped Luka’s hand tighter and ignored them, making a beeline for her parents’ bakery before word could travel. 

When she got to the door, though, she hesitated. What was she going to say? How should she explain this situation to them? 

But when Luka squeezed her hand and she looked back at him, his eyes still slammed shut, it stiffened her resolve and she knocked firmly. 

“Dear, have we sold out yet? There’s someone at the door.” Her mother’s voice carried through the door and made Marinette choke up. She knocked again, and felt Luka take a step forward to stand next to her instead of behind her. 

When Sabine opened the door, Marinette watched as her face shifted from pleasant customer service mode to confusion to horror to happy tearful surprise within the span of a few seconds. She rushed forward and gathered Marinette into a tight hug, which Marinette returned as much as she could while still holding Luka’s hand. 

Sabine pulled away and wiped away her happy tears. “But, the dragon…?” she asked, more of a bewildered, “how are you alive?” than an actual question. Her eyes flicked to Luka with another question, but she seemed more interested in Marinette’s explanation. 

Marinette took a deep breath. “Can we come in? It’s kind of a long story.” 

“Of course, of course, yes, come in and sit down and tell us all about it.” She stepped aside with another curious look at Luka. Marinette hoped that the scales on his forearms and the serpentine slits of his eyes would escape her sharp notice for a minute or two more.

“Where’s Papa?” 

“In the back. I’ll fetch him.” Sabine hurried away and Marinette pulled Luka over to the small table in the corner of the shop. 

“So far, so good,” she reassured him. He nodded back stiffly. 

There was a shout and something in the back banged to the floor then her father was thundering towards her, picking her up out of her seat and spinning her around, kissing her cheek fondly. She clung to his neck like she had when she was three and he spun her like this all the time. 

“And this young man must be responsible for saving you, is that it?” Tom asked as he set Marinette back on her feet and charged at Luka, his arms open for another exuberant hug. When Luka’s eyes went wide, Marinette ducked in front of Tom and held him off. 

“Sort of. Actually, I never ended up fighting the dragon, Papa.” She glanced back at Luka. “But Luka did save me. A long time ago.” 

She dragged Tom over to sit next to her as she sat next to Luka, and Sabine slid in beside him. 

“I was a baby,” she started, the same way Tom always told her. “A tiny little thing, still all wrapped up in diapers.” She watched as the familiar words washed over Tom, his mood souring, and his glances at Luka darkening. She took another deep breath and continued. “I fell into the water, and no one else was around. And a very kind dragon…” At that she took Luka’s hand again, “he rescued me. He sacrificed so much to keep me warm until you came and found me.” She smiled fondly at Luka, and he managed a tight smile back, his thumb rubbing over hers. 

“But it came at a cost,” she continued, touching the stone at her throat. Sabine followed her movement and glanced over at Luka, to the matching one he wore, both currently a dull red. She saw the pieces connect on Sabine’s face, but she waited, her expression serene, for Marinette to explain. 

“Um, Luka and I…” She gripped Luka’s hand tighter. “Luka and I…” 

“We’re bonded,” Luka spoke up softly beside her. 

“Right, we’re bonded—married, kind of—and he’s the dragon and it’s okay because he doesn’t want to hurt me, or anyone, and he was only waiting at the tower for me to find him and he stayed away this whole time because he thought I was going to hurt him or you were going to but I don’t want to hurt him, and I don’t want anyone else to hurt him, I want to stay with him and I’ve already decided, and that’s that and…” She blinked as her torrent of words ran out.

Her parents weren’t moving, but Tom was glancing between her and Luka, and she didn’t know what to expect from him, how he would take the revelation that not only was the “thing” from his story sitting across from him, but that he was now a part of the family. Luka had gone completely still beside her and she knew he was probably expecting the worst. 

“Is that all?” Sabine finally ventured, reaching over to take Tom’s hand. 

“Um… well…” She touched her stone again and found strength from it. “I’m going back to the tower with him after we leave here. We just wanted…” Why was she crying all of a sudden? It didn’t make any sense, but then this felt like more of a goodbye than her decision to leave the first time had been. She brushed the tears off her cheeks. “We wanted to let you know. That I’m okay and everything’s okay. Better than okay. Maman, Luka is…” Her breath caught in her throat and she tried again. “Luka is the kindest, most sincere, the sweetest soul I think I’ve ever met. I’m so lucky he found me and…” 

Luka reached up and brushed her tears away this time, carefully sweeping them away from her eyes and cupping her cheek briefly before he pulled away. Sabine watched all of this with a fond softness in her eyes that Marinette recognized from when she looked at Tom. 

“We understand, Marinette, and if this is what you want, we’re behind you all the way.” 

Marinette gave Sabine a grateful smile, then shifted to look at Tom, who still hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, since she’d uttered the words “he’s the dragon.” 

“My daughter…” Tom started, then he turned and she was surprised to see tears in his eyes and a huge smile on his face. “My daughter is alive and in love and married and this is the best day of my life!” He lunged forward and wrapped both Marinette and Luka up in a tight hug. 

“Tom!” Sabine admonished him, rapping on his shoulder. “Let them breathe!” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, pulling back. “Gosh, I couldn’t imagine, I mean, can you imagine, dear? Little dragonlings running all over, with their little feet and wings and tails, and this young man could take over the bakery! Think about it! We’ll be the talk of the town! The only bakery with a resident dragon keeping the fires lit!” 

Sabine pursed her lips and Marinette hid her face in the hand that wasn’t still holding Luka’s, blushing fiercely.  

“Tom!” Sabine said again, “Slow down, you’re scaring the poor boy.” 

Marinette snuck a glance over at Luka and it was true the color had drained from his face, but he had a wide smile and his stone was a bright, happy blue. Something told her he didn’t mind the idea of a future family. Was that even possible? She blushed again as she thought it and turned to hide her embarrassed, pleased smile in Luka’s shoulder. His arm wrapped around her almost automatically and her stone was matching his again. A bright, happy blue. 

“Papa…” She groaned. “Stop it.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said again, but he didn’t sound very sorry at all. 

“Besides, Luka might have plans of his own, did you think of that? He might not want to run the bakery,” Sabine said then. “Luka, you’ve been very quiet, sweetie, is everything all right?” 

Marinette’s face was still hidden in his chest, but he rubbed at her back and she felt him nod. “Everything’s perfect,” he said quietly. “Thank you. And I���ll… take care of her. Always. I promise.” 

“Well, of course you will.” The fondness in Sabine’s voice hid a sly knowledge that Marinette wasn’t sure how to take. “I can tell you two are very close already.”

In front of her eyes, his stone cooled to that same glowing red it had been when they walked in. She pulled away to look at him and his eyes were shining. He didn’t say anything else, but she could almost hear his response echoing through her.    

“Are you two staying for dinner?” Tom asked then, bringing Marinette out of her happy bubble. 

“Um, I don’t think—” she started, glancing nervously at Luka, but he squeezed her arm and nodded, smiling gently. She couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Dinner would be just fine,” he answered, but his eyes hadn’t left hers and her heart was doing that weird flutter thing like it had before they left his tower. 

“Wonderful! Come with me, my boy, I’ll show you the ropes!” Tom reached over to clap Luka on the shoulder, and after one more squeeze of her hand, Luka slid out from behind the table and followed him into the kitchen. 

“Well, that went well,” Sabine remarked, then turned to Marinette with a sly smile. “And I have a feeling there’s more you want to talk about?” 

Marinette’s eyes were glued on Luka, standing next to her father in the kitchen, his stone back to bright blue, and she nodded. 

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Shadows and Pills - 2

Summary: Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all. Alexa comes away with a shadow.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Warnings: RAPE, Torture, Abuse, Self Harm, Negative Images of Psychological Services/Mental Health Professionals, Hallucinations, Stalking, Supernatural Horror, Prescription Drug Use and Eventual Abuse, Mental Illness, PTSD, Flashbacks of Violence, Flashbacks of Tragedy, Starving Oneself, Isolation, Physical and Mental Exhaustion, Denial, Self Neglect, Gaslighting, Mental Spiraling, Mental and Emotional Abuse

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This is not a happy story in any sense, at any point. I could only write this at my lowest places, emotionally and mentally speaking, and I had a hard time coming back from it. This is dark, and it does not at any point get lighter. I relied heavily on my own experiences with mental struggles and took a few pieces here and there from my own experiences with mental health professionals. MY EXPERIENCES ARE MY OWN AND ARE NOT TYPICAL, NOT EVEN FOR ME. If you need mental help of any kind, please DO NOT HESITATE TO REACH OUT TO GET IT. This story was an exercise in mental exorcism, in a sense.

For all the Loki lovers out there, I do not shine him anything like a good or redeeming light here. He is evil incarnate, more or less. I love Loki, I love good Loki and redeemed Loki and misunderstood Loki and just about every incarnation thereof. I needed a villain, and he fit the story.

Above all, please be kind. This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written, and it took me years to work up the courage to post it.

A massive thank you to all my friends for support, especially to @glassjacket and @thoughtslikeaminefield . I say it a lot, but you need to know I love you.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Word Count: 1 - 3785; 2 - 3513; 3 - 1068

In Case You Missed It: Part 1 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

Shadows and Pills

2

Morning Routine: Already woken up. Shut off alarm with a shriek of terror by heaving it across the room with enough force that it shatters against the wall. Breathing exercises for thirty minutes to lower accelerated heart rate. Shower until the hot water is long gone and hypothermia is close to setting in, but she still can’t get clean. The thick, mucus-like sensation won’t leave her skin, glue and ashes spread thick over her flesh in a foul assault to her tactile senses that leaves her dizzy and faint if she considers it for too long. Throw out every scrap of food in the apartment; just the sight of it makes her gag and retch. Choke down the meds (the only thing she can stomach, at this point). Throw on clothes she’s mostly sure are on the correct end of her body. Grab her keys, and…

Where…

She always puts her keys in the same spot. Dish on the tiny table by the door. That’s her key dish. She knows she put them there. They are always there. She can remember putting them there; it’s one of the precious few things she knows she can do right these days.

So…

Why aren’t they there?

Thirty minutes turning the entire apartment upside down looking for the keys, ignoring the shadow that follows her from room to room, skittering to a far wall whenever the shadow runs too near, pretending that she is still alone, searching, searching, where the hell are they, I always put them in the dish, I know I dropped them in there, I can hear the clink from when I put them away yesterday where could they possibly have got to it’s not like THEY’D WANDER OFF BY THEMSELVES WHERE ARE MY GODDAMNED KEYS-

A searing, ripping pain tears her from her spiraling thoughts and back to the present where her hands are clenched in her hair, her nails dug into her scalp, and something slick and hot slides between her fingers. She releases her clenched fists, but her fingers come away smeared with blood and clumps of hair, and her shoulders begin to tremble, her mouth quivering and eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“I just...need my keys. I need to breathe. I need my keys. I need-”

<clink>

Her head whips toward the sound, and there they are. In their dish. In the same dish she knows she left them in last night. Where they absolutely were not sitting seconds ago.

“But. I didn’t. They-“

No.

She snatches her keys and flees, followed closely by her personal nightmare.

...

The silence stretches out longer than even Alexa is comfortable with. The constant scratching of the doctor’s pen has quieted, and still Alexa sits, unnerved but unwilling to speak without direction. Answering questions is fine, but if she speaks on her own, she’ll start babbling. And there are a few things she needs to not say.

Like how she’s averaging about an hour of sleep a night, according to her clock. The nightmares start every time she falls asleep. She remembers less and less about any of them, to the point where the only way she knows she was even asleep is the inevitable rip back to consciousness.

And she’s not just missing parts of her dreams. Her days are beginning to blur, individual moments bleeding into others until she’s lost whole chunks of time, hours that are a smear in her memory with no real details. The loss, both of her days and nights, shakes her more than the lack of sleep. What else is she losing, along with her memory?

She can’t tell him why she’s wearing a hat or how she has to set reminders on her phone to stop tearing at her hair, how she has to clean her scalp and hold pressure at least once a day to stop the bleeding and try to repair the damage done by digging nails and ripped follicles.

She can’t tell him about how she can’t look in mirrors anymore. Two days ago, she was brushing her hair out into a ponytail with the intention of wrapping it into a skull-aching bun that might help hold everything inside her head and maybe possibly help her keep her fingers out of her hair, and then suddenly the eyes looking back out at her weren’t her own. Brown bled into ice blue then green in a flash; a wicked, cruel smile curved her lips, and she could feel herself smile, but she wasn’t smiling, and-

So, no, she shouldn’t lead the conversation today. Today Alexa needs a little guidance.

She feels the doctor’s gaze, but there’s less scrutiny than usual. His eyes feel a little more sympathetic than she’s used to, but she still won’t look up. He’s good at getting her to talk, and she needs every ounce of self-control just to keep herself held together and not exploding across his polished, pristine desk.

“Alexa, you don’t look like you’re...How have y-”

She must look pretty wretched if even the doctor is at a loss for words. She wouldn’t know. She has actively avoided all reflective surfaces for two days and has no idea of the state of her appearance. She can’ remember the last time she ate. What’s left of her hair is tucked under a knit cap; she’s cold all the time now, anyway, so the cap is a constant accessory. And it helps keep her hands out of her hair. If her looks are anything as bad as the state of her thoughts-

“I’m sorry it’s so bad for you right now.”

The statement is quiet, sincere, and wholly unexpected. Alexa almost drops her guards, almost meets his eyes. Her hands quake with the effort of maintaining her silence, clutching the edges of her chair with aching, creaking fingers. Her control is as brittle as her nerves; she wants to share, wants to not be alone with the shadow that’s her only company these days, but if the doctor knew…

“Are you sleeping anymore at all?”

She nods once, a sharp, staccato gesture that leaves out more than it says. It’s not a lie. One hour, however broken up in however many fragments, is still one hour, and sleep is still sleep.

“Are you following your medication schedule?”

Another single dip of her chin. She gives herself a little credit for not leaving anything out of this answer. She’s even remembering to follow the dosage increases. Maybe even a couple of increases of her own. Anything to numb, to shut out, to keep...it...away.

“Alexa, are you still with me?”

God, she wishes...everything feels muffled and thick, like her existence is coated in petroleum jelly. She's just so tired, and everything is so heavy and...and difficult…

“I can’t help you if you won’t communicate with me. Help me help you. Anything. Just the basic facts.”

Where to even start? Maybe getting locked up would be worth it if he really can help, can really make this...stop…

“I can ease your pain and get you on your feet again.”

She’s pretty sure nothing can help at this point, so really there’s no need to keep anything back. Being hospitalized can’t be any worse than living like this…

“Relax. Can you show Me where it hurts?”

No.

...no...not here, not…

“Your lips are moving, but I can’t hear what you’re saying. Is there something you wish to confess? The good doctor can’t reach you now, but I am ready to receive your prayers. Speak, Alexa. Tell Me everything.”

Get out, get OUT, I have to go, I can’t, you can’t this isn’t - GET OUT!

“ALEXA! Wake up! You’re safe! Come back!”

Fingers, firm in their grip, but warm and clean and so very present, clench around her hand, pulling her out of her mind and back to the office. The rushing noise in her ears fades until she realizes it is the heaving of her own panicked breaths. She clenches her fingers, catching the doctor’s hand before he can pull away.

She hasn’t touched another person since she left the hospital.

“Please...I just need...a minute.”

He sits in the chair closest to her, holding her hand resolutely, despite any personal protocols to the contrary that he has demonstrated in previous sessions.

“As long as you need.” There is no eagerness, no exasperation, only concern and calm, and it soothes her raw nerves in a way nothing else has. She focuses on the warmth, the sheer thereness of his grip, and breathes, squinting her eyes against the afternoon sun filtering through the blinds.

Too bright, too warm, too…

The fingers in her palm chill suddenly, their embrace tightening painfully. Her hand feels slick, not with sweat, and her teeth begin to chatter. Her eyes squeeze shut as her stomach shatters, and a pitiful mewling escapes her lungs.

“Take all the time you need. I possess the patience of millenia.”

Breathe. Breathe slowly, you’re asleep. You’re exhausted, you just fell asleep. Wake yourself up. You can do this. Just...just breathe and wake up.

And then her hand is free of all contact, and the air in her lungs comes easily. The warmth of the filtered sun returns to her frozen limbs, not overly bright in the least.

“I think our session was particularly productive today.”

The therapist's voice comes from farther away, and she opens her eyes to find him back at his desk, pen in hand, legal pad full of fresh notes. She blinks, swallows, and sits up a little straighter.

“You seem to be making excellent progress with your strategies. Go ahead and up your dosage to the next step. Remember, I’ll be out of town on Thursday and Monday, so I’ll see you again in ten days. You have the emergency number if anything goes wrong?”

She nods numbly, unable to process anything beyond the basic requirements of behavior needed at the moment. He eyes her, his forehead wrinkling in sudden concern.

“Don’t hesitate to call that number at any hour,” he finally says, his fingers steepled to show just how serious, how sincere, he is. “Anything at all, whatever you need to talk about, call that number. The nurse will transfer you immediately if it’s an emergency. Will you call if you need to?”

She nods, a little more vaguely than she intends but her throat is paralyzed, her tongue nerveless and useless. He accepts the gesture at face value, though, and dismisses her with wishes for “continued progress and a good weekend.”

…

Afternoon routine: Stay out as late as possible, put off the inevitable. Stay out all goddamned night if she has to. There’s no point in voluntarily returning home; she knows this with a sense of dread as acute and sharp as the pain in her scalp. So she shuffles on, unseeing and unseen in the city that never sleeps, one of a numberless mass who denies reality for the sanity that fantasy provides, pretending that she isn’t being stalked, that she isn’t haunted by a continuous loop of ghosts and flashbacks of the dead from that day reminding her over and over that she survived while they didn’t, that she must remember them, that she isn't losing her mind, that the shadow isn’t constantly whispering to her, commanding her over and over and over to simply let go.

She pretends that she isn’t blacking out and waking to find herself in bed, night after night, in the midst of torment and debasement that her ragged mind can neither handle nor shut out. The shadow rips at her in a thousand ways, and she feels all of them, every shred of her consciousness pulled apart and examined and manipulated until she can’t remember who she was before this fundamental desecration.

Release yourself. I can break you completely, help you forget the pain and the misery. Let Me shatter you, remake you in My Glory. Only then can you truly be free from pain.

She fights. It’s all she has left, this battle of wills, and she clings to the tattered bits of her remaining self with a tenacity that impresses even the shadow.

How you shine, even in My darkness. Let me turn your burn to an icy one, let Me freeze your pain, let go and drift in My adoration. I shall raise you up; only grant Me entrance, give Me leave, and I will bless you, bring meaning and solace to your piteous existence.

God help her, she’s starting to slip. She just wants everything to end. No one will miss her, no one is depending on her. The only noise her phone has made in weeks are the reminders that she has set. She hasn’t sent in an assignment for nearly a month, and no one has so much as emailed. What is she holding on for, anyway?

You have fought so long and so hard. I can reward your valor, provide you a balm for your suffering. I will keep you safe from pain, from truth, from choice, from other poison devils. I can take the very memories from you, just as I did before, save you from yourself.

What?

And then her mind is flooded with a scene, a memory of the attack, but she sees it from outside herself, as if watching a film with herself as protagonist. She flees as debris falls all around, narrowly missing pipes, concrete, and office furniture as it rains down mindlessly, destroying life after life. By the time she reaches the ground floor of the stairwell, everyone is packed tight and covered with blood, dust, unspeakable filth, and the wretched crowd bursts into the lobby in a blind panic. They reach the street in the same state and turn as one to flee in the direction of least resistance.

Alone in the crowd, Alexa is jerked to a halt, nearly losing her feet as bodies plow around and nearly through her, but she is frozen as if glued to the pavement. There is no safety anywhere. A battle rages around them, monsters everywhere, incomprehensible and terrible, and then the glass lobby doors behind them explode, and Alexa knows the brief but exhilarating sensation of flight.

And then she crashes, and she knows the timeless and terrible sensation of fire. And pain. And crushing weight.

Watching the scene passively, she remembers everything, she feels everything even as her other self does, but now she is also an outside witness to the anguish. She knows the lines of suffering etched on her face and knows that she wears them even now. She feels the words echoing through her mind from that day, a thought, a plea, a silent prayer to someone, anyone who can help, can end her suffering.

How long...minutes...hours...years...just help, please…please, I don't care how anymore, just...end it.

And then a figure drops from the heavens, it seems, falling from one of the monsters’ flying vehicles, and it crosses the street and sidewalk as if drawn straight to her by the waning strength of her silent screams.

An impossibly cold hand grasps hers, pulling her up from the rubble, sliding her from underneath the bits of building as if they aren't present and pressing the life from her, bringing her face to face with darkness. The sun dissolves, shadows descend, and she decides that, as deaths go, hers could be worse.

She is lifted as if she weighs nothing, the fingers pressing into her face. A bitter, gelid frost flows through her veins, and the pain is mercifully dulled, lessened to a mere phantom, and then the god (for surely her savior can be no less to have such power at hand) pulls her into an icy, terrible embrace.

I find Myself in need of a conduit. Grant Me some small space of sanctuary, and in return I shall heal your broken body. Allow Me entrance, now, woman, before you depart this plane entirely. I am your God, your only chance of salvation. Do you accept Me?

His voice is black velvet, midnight shadows slipping across the moon, and she can’t find the will to say no. Giving in is so much easier, hurts so much less, and she feels as if she’s been hurting forever, spent her whole life being crushed to death.

“Yes.”

His lips press to her, but there is nothing tender in the kiss. Ice, death, absence rushes into her, infecting a small fraction of every cell, sinking deep into her psyche before erasing all remembrance of its presence.

Alexa thrashes under the weight of the memories, the weight of the phantom debris crushing her down, only to find the man, the god himself lies atop her, pinning her emaciated form to her ruined sheets. His pale skin glows in the night, his ebony hair falling around their faces in an blasphemous mimicry of a halo. His painful beauty rips one last thing loose within her, and she remembers.

I would that you should allow Me leave to heal you once more, to form you into a proper vessel. I shall alleviate your anguish, and you may sink into My worship with euphoric, blissful abandon.

She is tempted, more so than any other time in her existence. She thought her imprisonment under the shattered building was horrible, but now she knows true torment. And yet, she resists.

Why do you continue to battle? You cannot prevail, and submission will bring you such pleasure as you have never known. Am I not your own personal God to worship? Do you not wish to drown in My blessing, to submerge yourself in My oblivion?

But he is the author of her suffering, as well, this would-be god who attacked her city, killed thousands of people for his ambitions and family squabbles. Who is she to tarnish the world’s grief for her own personal relief?

But he knows what is in her heart and her thoughts; it was there he planted the seed that has grown to strangle her sanity and reality, and he sends pressure through the roots of this vine to dig into her very soul. She shivers beneath him with wordless agony.

His face presses against hers, tongue snaking out to trace a tear track up her cheek, back to its source. Frozen lips ghost over her clenched eyelids, and she swallows the miserable moan that rolls up from her stomach.

I saved you once when I could so easily have allowed you to continue your half-life under the rubble until your flame sputtered and died, as it was meant to. And I shall show Myself once more a merciful, benevolent God. For you, My pet, a gift.

And suddenly there is a space in Alexa’s mind, a blank where something, someone, important once lived, someone vital stripped away. She gets a last glimpse of a smiling woman, proudly showing off a photo of a swaddled infant, of a filing cabinet collapsing, of a curling hand, before Brenda is ripped from her mind like so many strands of hair from her scalp. The pain of Brenda’s death, the horror of her last moments, yes, but also every bit of the love between them.

And then the name is gone, too.

Have I pleased you? Do you see now what relief can be had with submission?

“That...wasn’t...she wasn't yours to take-” But even the memory of the violation is fading, leaving only breathless, panicked horror and dull, aching want in its wake.

The shadowed god frowns, displeasure pressed into every line of his face, and his fingers tighten until the bones in Alexa’s wrists shriek in protest.

Must I nail Myself to a cross or rip out My eye to be worthy of your reverence? I grant you one more gift, then, of choice. One day to consider. Embrace My oblivion freely, willingly, joyously, as you know you should, and feel My pleasure. Or suffer in your belief that this pale, pointless realm offers you anything like what I can give. This shall be My last offering. Submission is sweetest when freely given, but so, too, can I revel in seizing what you so stubbornly withhold.

His lips seal over hers, stealing air and screams alike, and she feels him everywhere at once, emphasizing his threat, his promise. Her traitorous flesh, craving any tourniquet to stem the endless flow of pain, cleaves to his frozen form, curving against his body in a mockery of love making that leaves her stomach heaving.

And then he is gone. His presence, his pressure, his shadow, even his laugh lingers, but his form vanishes with her next thought. She falls from the bed, a perspiring, retching, wailing mess. There is nothing left within her to eject, but her digestive tract makes a resounding effort.

It’s hours until the sun comes up, and she counts every second from where she shivers, wedged tight between the bed and the nightstand. ...

3 (end)

[ds-ts-smut-fics]

Far From Home [Chapter One]

Read on Ao3

Synopsis: When Logan, a human monk, comes across an unconscious tiefling in the forest, he nurses him back to health and they decide to travel together. Logan quickly realizes there's a reason Remus is on the road, and not one easily fixed. 

Trigger warnings: NSFW, dnd typical violence, demonic possession, lmk if i missed anything! 

Words: 5,379

A/N: There's some sex scenes in this fic, fair warning. Feel free to give suggestions on what to do, events, loot, etc! This is a completely homebrew world so no limits. They're currently at level 5. Claire is playing Logan, I'm playing Remus. Remus is a bard rogue. 

Logan had never travelled so far between towns. 

He’d been going for several days. There was nothing but fields of dying grass and thick clumps of trees. If memory served well, he was close to the Jubilex Thicket, thus  not too far from a river he could wash up at. The sun was setting fast, though. If he didn’t find a place to camp soon, he’d be travelling in the dark. 

In between the clopping of Juniper’s hooves, something slithered to the right of him. A rustle of leaves, a grunt of pain, and a thud. 

The forest was too dark to see inside, but something rustled. Pulling up on the reins, he tries to see what's moving, hand sliding to his sword as he debates calling out to the dim area off to the side of the path. It could be an ambush, and that would not end well for me. On the other hand, it could be someone in need of aid. 

"Hello? Is someone there?" 

Something slithered away with a slorp sound, and the forest went still. Shivering, he pats Juniper's neck. 

"That's not creepy or foreboding AT ALL…. I think we should continue on our way, maybe there's a clearing ahead."

Juniper shakes her head, moving towards where the sound was, making a soft sound. Frowning, Logan slides off, trying to see what she does. 

"What is it, girl? You see something, hmm?"  

Logan stared hard at the ground, where Juniper sniffed at, but he couldn’t for the life of him find anything. That was, until moonlight glinted off something on the ground— a sickle. Logan trailed his eyes to the hand wrapped loosely around the handle, up to what he quickly realized was a tiefling laying in the dirt. Deep black skin, shoulder-length hair that faded from green to black. He was covered in black clothes, a trenchcoat, hood, and a mask. With Logan’s human vision, it was no wonder he couldn’t see him. 

"Oh dear heavens!" Dropping to his knees, he does a quick check for wounds, using some of his ki to heal him with a touch after moving the weapon as he doesn't want to get stabbed. 

The man’s eyes snapped open— stark white and pupil-less. He sat up with a rush, then dropped one of his sickles to grip his head with a groan. 

Shifting back a little to give space, he can't help but smile. "I promise, I mean no harm. My name is Logan, may I offer some water and rations? Once I make camp for the night I can attempt more healing. It is getting dark for me though, I nearly missed seeing you!" 

He blinked and looked around, his eyes nearly glowing. His voice came out gravelly, painful to even listen to. “Uh… That- That’s okay. I have some. Thanks for the help.” 

"You're welcome, I really must insist though, it wouldn't be right to leave you here. At least spend the night? I can build a fire for warmth, lend you a blanket?" Offering a hand, he hums softly, calloused fingers tan and marked with the practice of using the sword at his hip. "What do you say?"

The man hesitated. He grabbed Logan’s hand and hoisted himself up, then reached down to snatch his sickle. “I’m Remus. If you make a fire, I can set up a place to sleep.” 

Remus didn’t have much on him. He clearly lived out of his backpack, a bedroll stuffed messily on top. His hooves were rough and scratched. 

"Sounds like a deal, Remus! Oh, this here is Juniper, she led me to you." Helping him over, he looks Remus over. "Been out here for long?" 

Remus smiled at Juniper awkwardly, then set his bag on the ground to pull out his bedroll. “So-so. Do you have a bedroll or anything?” 

Tapping a bundle on Juniper, he nods, smiling a little as he turns to get a fire going for them. "I do. Want me to pass it over? I'll get her settled after I get a fire going." 

“Yeah. Here.” Remus dug around in his bag for a minute, before taking out a paper-wrapped box. He tossed it to Logan. “Some meat you can cook. Do you eat meat?” 

Catching it easily, he nods, the fire starting to crackle and glow merrily. "I'm not terribly picky so long as it's cooked. Did you hunt this?" 

He tossed out his bedroll then grabbed Logan’s. “Yeah, this morning. Just glad it’s not going to waste.” 

"Do you not eat meat then?" Tipping his head, he sets his pack down next to the box, turning to tend to Juniper.

“No, I just meant…” Remus laughed weakly and pulled off his trench coat, revealing a ripped up button-down in loose fabric. It hung off his shoulders and showed more of his chest than it covered. He pulled his mask down. He had delicate, round features, face covered in scars. “I almost died. It would’ve just rotted in my bag, you know?” 

"Oh!" Blushing softly, he lets his eyes wander a bit, 'assessing the damage' on Remus. "You were quite injured, but I don't think you would have passed on. Shall I do another healing?" I knew I was more attracted to delicate males, but I am in trouble. He's so lovely! 

He shook his head. “No, don’t waste it. I’ll feel better after getting some rest. Are you a cleric or something? How’d you… You know?” 

"How'd I heal you? I'm a monk, I follow the traditions of the way of mercy. I used some of my energy to give you a little boost in health, and I can do so several more times before I rest if you have need?" Brushing out Juniper a little, he slides off her harness so she can graze. 

“No, really, I’ll be fine. Thank you, though, that’s… Interesting.” He helped Logan skewer the meat over the fire, roasting it almost like he roasted marshmallows when he was younger. “Are you headed anywhere in particular?” 

"Thank you." Turning the meat occasionally, he smiles. "I'm not really headed anywhere specific, are you?" 

Remus hesitated, then nodded. “West. There’s a village on the coast I need to get to.” 

"Would you object to some company? I was simply instructed to leave the monastery and assist others." Looking over at Remus, he smiles a little. 

Remus pulled a sliver of meat from the fire and stuffed it into his mouth, showing off a row of sharp, fang-like teeth. Feral tiefling? Logan pondered. 

Stick your hand in the fire!

“No,” Remus mumbled. 

"Ah, excellent, then I shall accompany you to that village." Nodding, he hums. Feral or not, I did offer my assistance. He's dangerous but oddly cute.

Remus looked up in surprise, then bit back a curse. “I really don’t need any help,” he promised. “You don’t have to.” 

"I don't, that's true. However, I did offer, and I truly don't have anything else to do. It would be a pleasure to accompany you if you'd like a road companion."

What, scared you’ll have to find a quick way to get rid of him? I know a fun way!

“Shut up,” Remus mumbled, then said louder, “Okay. Sure. I’ll take first watch, you get some sleep.” 

He stood, then with a quick echo of fire? in his head, Remus swept his hand through the top of the flames and stepped away to find a good vantage place to take watch. 

"Remus, wait! You're still recovering… If you won't let me heal you, at least let me take the first watch so you can rest and heal?" Logan frowns lightly, worried by the sporadic behavior of his new companion. Is he really okay?

Remus turned to him, pressing his now slightly-burnt hand to his skirt made of rags. “If I go to bed now, I won’t wake up on time for my shift, and I won’t be able to protect us as well. Let me ride the rest of my energy, then I’ll get some sleep. Promise.” 

"Promise to wake me when your energy wanes?" Holding out his hand, he hums. "Let me heal you at least a little more as well, please?"

Remus hesitated, then sighed and took his hand. “It’s really a waste, but sure. And yes, I will wake you up.”

Taking his hand, he smiles softly, kissing the dark skin. "Mmm, thank you. It eases my mind to know you're more healed up to protect us." 

Remus’ face turned bright red. “Uh… Th-thank you. Go to sleep, alright?” 

Nodding, he winks, standing straight again and heading for where his bedroll is set up. "I will. I have some stretching to do first, but I'll be settling in. Thank you for watching the area, Remus." 

Remus climbed up to a low-hanging branch and settled against the trunk, watching their little area. 

You could always wait for him to sleep and take his stuff. His horse has taken a liking to you! She’d be easy to steal! 

“I’m not doing that,” he mumbled. 

Humming lowly as he works though some gentle stretches, Logan turns and clicks softly to Juniper, offering her a cube of sugar as he bids her goodnight. Remus went through his watch, enduring Adelaide’s taunts until he got tired, and finally let Remus settle into quiet. 

He waited until he was about to fall off the branch from nodding off before he got down and shook Logan awake. 

Waking easily, he smiles a little as it clicks who this is over him and he hums. "Remus… You waited a little longer than I thought. Did you want my warm bedroll? You look about ready to drop."

Remus blushed. “Uh… Sure. Let me just roll mine up.” 

He reached for his cold one, only to land hard on his hands. He laughed it off and settled back on his knees, starting to roll it up. 

Taking over the motion, Logan gently helps Remus onto his bedroll, settling his blanket around his shoulders. "Definite cue for you to rest. It'll help me wake up to get this all packed up." 

Remus hesitated, but he really couldn’t help it. Logan’s blanket was warm against the freezing night air and it smelled like him. “Yeah… Okay.” He crawled around Logan to flop down onto the bedroll, kicking off his skirt and burying his face in the pillow. 

Wrapping his cloak around himself more, Logan slides his hood up as he works, adding more wood to the fire. "You deserve a nice warm spot, Remus. Sleep well." 

He mumbled something into the pillow, voice tight with embarrassment, and went to sleep.  

Giving him a soft pat on the hair, Logan turns to making the camp set up organized, watching the edge of the light as the night passes. Hopefully he rests and heals up. I suppose I could try to sneak in another healing touch, but… He hasn't consented.

In the morning, the sun streamed through the trees and directly into Remus’ eyes, waking him up far earlier than he wanted. He pulled Logan’s blanket tighter around him and buried his face in the pillow. 

Reaching over, Logan hums softly, trying to ease him back to sleep. "Shhh…."  

Remus hummed at the hand in his hair and on his horns. “When d’you wanna get going?” He murmured. 

"Not for a bit. It's just barely starting to lighten up." Stroking more, he smiles softly. "Not light enough for human eyes just yet."

He nodded, and started to respond, only to trail off sleepily. “M’kay,” he managed. 

Rubbing over his horns, he smiles softly, getting out a little oil to rub into the chipped surface. "Sleep. I'm watching over you." 

“What is that?” He mumbled. 

"Oil made from pressed sunflower seeds. It helps skin and nails heal when they're dried out. I use it for when my hands are cracked from overwork. I. thought it might do your horns and hooves some good. May I?" 

He blushed and peeked at Logan. “Sure. Not sure how much good it’ll do, but… Sure.” He poked his hooves out from under the blanket and presented his horns, which towered above his head. “Have you been this close all night?”

"I made a small circuit to walk every so often. As it's gotten lighter I can see further though, and you seemed to appreciate it when I was close." Stoking gently, he starts working in the oil with a soft cloth. 

Remus hummed happily and stretched out his legs. “Was I talking in my sleep again?”

"A little… It wasn't a language that I know however. You did seem to settle more when I sat nearby. How are you feeling?" 

“I’m good,” he mumbled. He sat up and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “We should start packing up camp. We’ve got a long way to go.” 

Hand glowing a soft green, he hums. "Very well. So long as you're feeling okay." Finishing up the oiling, he nods. "As soon as we get a little food, sure."

“There should be a town about an hour from here, if you want to get something at a tavern.” He folded up the blanket and bedroll. “Otherwise I can hunt something.” 

"Ah, I haven't really been out this way. That tavern sounds lovely." Helping out, he starts putting the fire out. 

Remus pulled on his trench coat and mask, then shrugged on his backpack. “I can walk beside you and Juniper.” 

"You sure? She can carry us both." Getting the bedrolls attached to her saddle, he hums, sliding on her tack once more.

“I don’t want to impose,” he mumbled. 

Reaching over, Logan taps Remus on the nose softly. "It's not an imposition. I offered, if you're okay with either sitting behind me or in my arms in front, we can make faster time? She's faster than either of us."

“Faster sounds good,” he mumbled. “I can be in front if you can drive that way… I’ll keep a lookout for any threats.” 

"Sounds good to me, that way you can be warmer too. You could do with some more intact clothes." Offering his arms, he winks. "May I lift you up?" 

He blushed and hooked up his pack, then grabbed Logan’s arms. 

Settling his own supplies in place, he grins and lifts Remus with a little bounce as he overestimates his weight. "Oh my, you're so light!" 

He blushed. “Not- Not that light, no…” 

Flexing a little, he grins. "Mmm, toned, definitely. But to my strength, you're light, my dear." Settling Remus in place, he finds a tree and uses it to swing up into the saddle behind Remus safely.

Remus held onto Juniper’s neck, face bright red at Logan’s closeness and warmth. 

Grinning, he reaches over to take the reins. "You okay, Remus? You're clinging like… oh, what was that sea creature with all the arms?" 

“An octopus? I’m fine.”

"That's it!" Shifting Remus up a little, he hums, easing him to lean back on his chest as he guides Juniper in a slow walk back towards the path. "Just relax?" 

“Yeah… Not too much, though. I gotta keep a lookout.” 

Logan’s chest was burning warm against Remus’ back, his arms closing him in. When was the last time he was so close to someone? He didn’t think ever. 

"That's fair, but at least a little so you don't have to worry about tipping off like a wood plank?" Smiling a little, he chuckles. "Don't want to worry about you falling, hmm?" 

“I won’t fall,” he blushed. 

"Good…" Scanning the woods, he hums, clicking his tongue to guide Juniper into going a little faster. "Don't want to see you hurt again." 

Remus laughed weakly. “Right.”

Letting his fingers stroke over Remus a little in the guise of keeping him steady, he hums. "You're cuter without your blood staining your skin… at least to me."

Remus felt weak. He babbled out something unintelligible, before managing, “Do you save a lot of boys from the brink of death?”

"Not recently… and none quite as cute certainly!" Grinning, he hums, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "It was nice to feel your pulse return under my fingers~!"

Remus leaned back against him, his heart racing. He was in the middle of trying to figure out how to respond when something caught his eye up ahead. 

He sat straight up. “Is that a barricade?”

"Hmm? Is it? I could redirect… Or try and jump it. I don't think she'd like that though." 

“Don’t. We need to turn around.”

“Stop the horse!” A man demanded from behind them. 

"I think that's out…" Kicking Juniper into a gallop, he swerves them to the left, not seeing anyone there even as two crossbow bolts strike the dirt behind them. "Got any ranged weapons, hun?" 

Remus snatched his short bow off his bag and knocked an arrow, watching carefully for any sign of movement. 

“STOP THE HORSE OR WE’LL SHOOT ITS LEGS!” 

"Shit!!" Trying to see where they are and if they're a threat, he leans back a little to give Remus room to shoot as he lets Juniper guide herself, eyes searching for any more bolts. "Where are they?!" 

Two more arrows shot off, one narrowly missing Juniper’s ankle and the other flying wide overhead. 

Remus’ eyes narrowed as he caught their hiding place. A breeze of fabric swept behind a boulder, a head poking above a dip of land. Two crossbows rested over the cliff. 

Remus snatched one of his sickles and dove off Juniper, rolling a bit sloppy but getting to his feet unscathed. Just as he landed, the arrows shot from the cliff. One landed in Logan’s upper arm, the other in Juniper’s side. 

Pulling up short with a curse, Logan slides off his horse, turning to place himself between the attackers and his horse. "We're stopped! Stop shooting!”

The bandits, four of them, jumped out of their hiding spots and came closer with their bows. They stood about twenty feet away. 

“Drop your bags and you can go,” one commanded. 

"What proof have I of that?" Logan frowns, straightening up and using himself as a distraction for Remus, one hand sliding towards his sword. 

They all glanced between each other. One of them jerked their bow. “Just drop it! Let’s get this over with!” 

“No.” Remus shot his bow and hit a bandit straight in the chest. 

He stumbled back with a groan. 

"Gary!" One of the bandits steps out 5 feet and shoots at Remus with a shout. Another sighs and decides to take a shot at Logan. "We gave you a chance…" 

Logan sidesteps the bolt, stepping in to draw his sword and swing. 

The blade sunk into the bandit’s neck, blood gushing forward. The bandit dropped dead. 

Remus kicked the second bandit down and brought his sickle through the bandit’s shoulder.  

"Very nice!" Whipping his sword to clear the blood, Logan grins. 

Seeing how the battle is going the last uninjured bandit turns to flee. 

Remus raised his bow and shot, one hoof planted on the bandit’s chest— it sunk into his back, and he fell. 

He pressed his sickle to the fallen bandit’s neck. “Are there more of you? Where’s your base?”

Stuttering and stammering, the bandit shakes his head, unable to get a clear sentence out. 

Remus pushed the sickle closer. “Answer me or I’ll kill you now and track down your base myself.” 

Setting a hand on Remus' shoulder, Logan hums. "Best answer, he means it!" 

Gulping, the bandit squeaks. "There's just two more! Up the…" He points up to where there's a clear view of the road coming towards the barricade.

Remus swung, digging the sickle halfway through the bandit’s neck. He turned and stormed forward, leaping over the barricade. There were some shouts, some slices, then Remus reappeared with blood marking his arms and chest. He stared at the ground carefully, walking slowly. 

Logan hums, looking up from where he's tending to Juniper, having healed her but only wrapped his own arm. He comes over to Remus, offering a hand. "All set? How are you doing?" 

“I’m fine. I’m going after their camp, though. I can meet you at the town.” 

Humming softly, he frowns. "I'm coming with, just in case you need backup, or you can meet me at the river. I think we both could use a scrub up."

“I’m not stopping for a bath,” he laughed, stopping to glance at Logan. “They could rob or kill someone else in the next five minutes. Tracks going this way, if you’re coming you’re coming.” 

Chuckling softly, he nods, leading Juniper along. "I'm coming, and I meant after the clean up we clean up, before we get to town, dear."

Remus took his other sickle from his bag and ran his hand through Juniper’s mane. “Alright,” he whispered as he followed the tracks. “Uh… Thanks. Sorry for the…” He gestured to himself. 

Reaching over, he taps Remus' nose, whispering back. "I'm just glad none of it's yours!"

He laughed quietly. “Really? You’d rather it be…?”

"Mercy where possible, but it should be acknowledged that it is not always possible. There's a reason that I carry a sword. I gave them an option, and they chose violence. I'd rather these few perish as opposed to however many they would harm or kill." 

He nodded slowly. “How long have you been out here?”

"I left the monastery, hmm… I believe it was 8 days ago?" Pointing to a fork in the path, he hums, gesturing up. 

Remus’ eyes widened. “Jesus. You… Do you have any adventuring experience?” Remus stopped and put a hand on Logan’s chest. “Are you sure you should be doing this?”

"I've been out on expeditions with my fellow monks. We are trained to be wanderers… and I have been on the road with my parents before I joined the order." Smiling, he takes Remus' hand, kissing it. "I am quite capable, my dear, but thank you."

Remus’ face turned bright red. He stumbled over his words for a moment, before taking his hand back and continuing along the tracks. 

Grinning, he follows, watching for clues to where the camp is. While Logan didn’t find any tracks, the path they were on was not intentional, made from years of kicking away and flattening foliage. They trudged deep into the woods, silent and crouching the entire way. 

Remus saw it before Logan did— Stilts of wood going between trees, a clear barrier. Remus narrowed his eyes and gestured for Logan to wait. Arching an eyebrow, Logan pauses, waiting to see how Remus procedes forward. 

Remus misses seeing a wire settled near the ground as he moves forward, only feeling it when it presses against his ankle before it shifts quickly, slicing a little as it pulls a rope around his ankles and a net scoops him up into the trees. 

“Fuck!” Remus hissed, scrambling around for his dagger. 

There's some rustling in the area where the stilts lead up to, the trap having set off a silent alarm there as well. 

Logan curses softly, heading to the area to see if there's a rope he can cut to help lower the net to the ground. "Calm yourself, don't thrash too much, you'll tangle yourself more!" 

Remus slashed a hole in the net and it dropped him towards the ground, Logan darting forward to catch him, with a small smile. 

"Got you, darling!" 

He sets him down carefully, letting Remus get settled with the knife now properly stowed and brandishing his sickles as footsteps raced towards them. 

Logan steps in front to shield him from the oncomers, sword out and ready to swing even as he's calling out to the people coming. "Prepare yourselves!" 

Remus fought back the blush to focus. A bandit jumped out of the foliage and slashed at Remus with a scimitar, digging into his shoulder and wetting his coat. 

Logan curses softly, touching Remus to heal him some with a ki. Stepping in prepares to attack the bandits at the next opportunity. One bandit with green hair kicked Remus away and took another slash, just barely missing. A half-orc stepped out of the foliage to Logan, bow held up. He shot, the arrow nicking Logan’s ear. 

A half elf slices out at Logan with his scimitar, slicing into his side and making Logan shout out in pain. Remus growled and snatched his dagger only to throw it, sinking it straight into the half-elf’s eye and taking him down. 

The last bandit pales a little, deciding to attack the taller human that they'd gotten a hit on rather than the scary looking black-horned demon, swinging wildly at Logan and missing terribly.

Logan turns, taking two swings at that cowardly bandit, hitting both times and making him choke on blood as he falls to the ground. 

The half-orc in the trees shoots another bolt off, and it stuck into the tree above Logan’s head. Remus snarled and whipped around, throwing his hand out. 

“You fucking coward!” He snapped, casting vicious mockery. 

The bandit flinched and dropped his bow to hold his head, groaning. 

"Want to do the honors of finishing the coward off, dear, or let him come down to face us?" 

The half-orc reached for his scimitar, stumbling forward with a red face and narrowed eyes. Remus stormed forward and decapitated him with his sickle. 

He sheathed them and groaned, holding his shoulder. “Fuck, that hurts.” 

Logan frowns softly, reaching over to examine him, using a ki to heal him when he sees the damage. 

“Goddamn,” Remus sighed, pressing his forehead to Logan’s shoulder. “How much of that do you got?” 

Smiling a little, he gives Remus a gentle hug. "I can do that twice more today." 

“I’ll try not to make you need it. I have a greater healing potion for emergencies, so don’t-” 

“HEY!” 

Remus froze. 

“You pieces of shit done yet?!” 

“Hide,” Remus snapped, crouching and diving into the foliage. 

Freezing a moment longer than Remus, Logan makes for some bushes on the other side of the oath, having to take a moment to find one big enough to hide his bulky frame. Big footsteps fell along the ground. 

A goliath bandit captain stepped around their camp, bushy eyebrows knitted into a deep frown. “Hello?” He grunted. 

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily, then snapped them open and sprinted out of hiding. 

The goliath whipped around but Remus was faster, slashing the sickle along the goliath’s waist. The goliath hissed in pain, turning to Remus in surprise. 

Stepping out, Logan attacks the goliath's back, slicing in deeply with a chuckle. The goliath stumbled away from them, face bright red. 

“You killed my men?” He roared. “YOU KILLED MY MEN?” 

He grabbed his great axe and charged Remus, his rage steering him wrong and missing wide. Remus jumped out of the way and brought the sickles down on his ankle, both missing. 

“Fuck me!” Remus snapped. 

"Maybe later, dear?" Logan can't help but quip as darts in to try a hit of his own, missing as well. 

The goliath let out an unearthly cackle. “You murder my men and you can’t even get a hit in? Pathetic.” 

He brought the greataxe down over Logan’s head. Logan ducked away but the axe still managed to slice through his robes and crack open his leg.

“Logan!” Remus narrowed his eyes, rage bubbling in his chest. He whispered menacing threats under his breath, Adelaide coming in with his own excitable suggestions. 

The goliath looked around in panic, his eyes watering. He almost dropped his great axe, then shook himself out of it. 

Grinning a little, Logan steadies himself, attacking once he's steady on his feet again with a wide grin, slicing into the goliath's arm. The goliath dripped blood, a steady trail along the ground. He was looking pretty beat up, but was still steady on his feet, grinning. 

“You really think you two will walk out of here alive? A human, and a little devil? Defeating me?” 

Remus braced his sickles. “I’ve killed more than you before.” 

"Together we are stronger than alone!" Logan grins as he watches Remus move.

He glanced around the camp, taking in the mountains of supplies, the barrels and crates that clearly held corpses. He yelled angrily as Adelaide helped him hit, slicing his sickles into the goliath’s midsection. The goliath groaned and gagged as his stomach dropped blood and skin, dropping down to one knee. 

Taking a step in, Logan swings twice, eyes hard. "You shall receive your just reward for the life you have lived here." 

He looked back at Logan, eyes hard. With the realization that the two unlikely martyrs weren’t going to leave without killing him, a second wind rushed through him. He pushed himself to his feet. He slashed at Logan, opening a large cut in his chest and ripping away some of his robes. 

Remus’ eyes landed on Logan, heaving for breath, limping. He rushed over and touched his face, black energy pooling around Remus’ hand and dispersing along Logan’s body. 

Leaning into the touch a little, Logan smiles slightly as he steadies, dripping less blood as some of his injuries heal up. "Thank you, dear." 

Turning back to the goliath, he frowns, stabbing him harshly. "I liked these robes. Blue is my favorite color." 

The goliath howled in pain. He kicked Logan’s weapon away and turned to Remus. The greataxe lodged into Remus’ side. He doubled over as fire erupted along his side, sucking in a breath of pain. 

“Fuck,” Remus choked out. 

Adelaide’s laughter echoed in Remus’ head. Remus’ eyes glowed red, and purple flames surrounded the goliath. 

When they melted away, the goliath laid on the ground, charred to a crisp. 

"Wow…" Letting himself sit heavily, Logan laughs softly, a bit dizzy and mesmerized by the colors now that the danger has gone away. 

Remus’ red, pupil-less eyes flicked to Logan. He grinned, blood staining his teeth. “You didn’t think I’d let him break my favourite toy, did you?” 

Logan's eyes widened and he frowned. That was not Remus. From everything he’d learned from the monks… A demon was speaking to him. "Remus is not a toy. Release him please." Please don't make me fight him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He knows, Logan knows. Don’t make things worse. Please don’t make things worse. 

“Don’t whine, darling, it’s unattractive.” Adelaide sighed and straightened up. That same black energy that healed Logan danced along Adelaide’s fingers, pressing it to his own forehead. Some of his wounds closed, but he still looked pretty beat up. 

"Frankly, I don't care about being attractive to you. Remus' reaction is my concern. Who are you and why are you here…" Slowly pushing up, he retrieves his sword, using a ki to heal himself in case he has to fight this creature possessing Remus. 

The demon laughed. He turned and headed back into the forest. 

Where are you taking us? 

“You were heading towards that village, weren’t you? We can have some fun. Don’t you miss it?” 

Reaching for Remus' hand, Logan hums, gently commanding. "No."

Adelaide turned to him in surprise. “Sorry, was I talking to you? Or would you like to join?” 

"I'm not sure what you're planning, but I have intuition that Remus doesn't agree with the plans. I'm standing up for his wishes. You can't just bully him like this." Keeping a firm grip on the dark arm, he straightens up to his full 6' 2" height and hardens his eyes. 

A smirk curled over Adelaide’s lips. “And what will you do to stop me?” His voice echoed. “Remus likes it here.”

Stepping in, he hums, other hand sliding over the dark cheek, smearing a little blood. "Well… I'm willing to give Remus a kiss if he comes back. We had planned to wash up after clearing the bandits. I'm sure they have some clothes he could better outfit in." 

Adelaide rested a hand on the side of Logan’s face. He pressed their foreheads together. “It’s cute how you think Remus has a choice in this,” he whispered. 

His eyes rolled back and he fell.

[appleziel]

Tender Ache

Tw: forced feminization, noncon, implied torture

For @p-totel, @qouii and @salty-squid-queen, who are all awful enablers 

Theon couldn’t draw in enough oxygen, but that didn’t stop his lungs from trying. Shallow, straining breaths in and out. Tears gummed up his eyelashes. They clumped together when he blinked.

Kneeling over him, Ramsay smoothed his large hands up the streamlined shape of Theon’s waist, cinched and pinched as it was in the crushing grip of the corset.

“This is a good look for you, love,” he said, settling his hands into the dips of Theon’s hipbones. He stroked over the divots once with his thumbs. “It does wonders for your silhouette.” Mirth danced in his eyes and there was a cruel pinch to his smile. “Aren’t you happy I brought it home for you to wear with your dress, darling?”

Four months ago, Theon would have spat in his face for the condescending talk. Now, he fixed his eyes on the cabin’s support beams, counting their number. Maybe if he was boring, Ramsay would leave him alone. Sometimes that worked.

Usually, it didn’t. 

Judging by the jingle of the handcuffs that kept his wrists pinned above him to the headboard, he wasn’t optimistic about his chances.

Ramsay’s grip around his waist tightened. The added pressure was unbearable. Theon writhed abortively and gasped, “Yes,” just to make him stop.

“Yes…?”

Theon’s eyes burned. “Yes, love.” A pregnant silence. Fear churned in Theon’s gut. What else did Ramsay want him to say? He wracked his brain, stumbling through the slow fog that had crept in over the past few weeks. “I—I like it.”

Ramsay was still watching expectantly, ice-chip eyes glittering.

Theon moistened his lips. “It makes—it makes me feel small.” Inwardly, he cringed at himself. 

A smile broke out across Ramsay’s face. He lowered himself with a whumph to the mattress so that his wide chest shouldered open Theon’s legs. His breath gusted over Theon’s flat groin, concealed as it was under the gossamer-thin layers of the godawful pink dress he’d been forced into.

“My pretty darling,” Ramsay said, turning to brush his lips over the inside of Theon’s thigh. He closed his eyes for a moment, which was good, because it meant he missed Theon’s shudder. “Beautiful sweet girl. You’ve been so good for me. You deserve a reward.”

And so saying, he leaned forward to press his lips against—against that shameful spot, the area Theon tried to never think about and barely even looked at, even when washing himself. The light pressure, though muffled through the dress, was unbearable.

“No!” the sob wrenched out of him. Theon yanked at the handcuffs. “Ramsay—please, please, please don’t—”

“You know how I feel about ‘please,’” Ramsay reminded him absently as he moved his lips over the area. One eye cracked open; Theon felt like a butterfly fixed to a corkboard. His teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. As jumbled and disorganized as his thoughts were these days, he could not figure out how to word his pleas in a way that would make Ramsay listen.

Don’t bother touching me there, husband, let me use my mouth, maybe, except Ramsay had already used his mouth earlier today after Theon finished washing up the breakfast dishes.

Let me give you a handjob instead, except Theon’s remaining fingers were stiff and clumsy with pain.

I’d rather you beat me, except Theon was still recovering from the last one.

“No need to be shy, needy girl,” Ramsay murmured, and slipped both hands under the dress’s hem. They were ice-cold against his bare skin and crept up his thighs like fat white spiders. His hands were large enough, or maybe Theon’s thighs were wasted enough, that only a few inches of space remained between the ring made by his fingers. They pulled the hem of the dress up with them until Theon felt the kiss of cold air on that area and knew the fabric had been bunched at his waist.

Theon bit his lip so hard he bled. Of course he had seen the mutilation, in those awful months after its infliction. Usually when he was changing or figuring out how to relieve himself, even if it made his head hurt to see the injury. Ramsay had left his balls. Above them was a swollen bump of gnarled scar tissue—the remainder of the root of his cock. 

When a warm, wet tongue touched the shiny scar there, Theon shrieked.

“Sensitive,” Ramsay remarked, and bent back to his task. His tongue traced a slow, back-and-forth path, applying even pressure. Most of the nerve endings were too damaged to work properly anymore, but some still did, and in comparison to the dead zones, they felt like livewire sparks whenever Ramsay’s tongue glided over them. 

Theon tossed his head into the pillows fitfully. He wanted to bite into something, anything, to muffle his noises, but he couldn’t reach his arm. His brain couldn’t seem to make sense of the sensation. Cold, then hot, agony like a raw wound and then glitters of aching pleasure. Propped over Ramsay’s shoulder, his foot kicked helplessly.

“Is this how you pleasured those other girls?” Ramsay whispered into his freshly-wetted skin. “What was your technique, I wonder?” 

Somehow, the reminder of Theon’s past sexual encounters hurt even worse than the touch. Tears blurred his vision and streaked down his temples into his wild sweat-damp hair, spread out on the pillow. He wanted to sob, but his lungs couldn’t draw in enough air to do so.

Another touch entered the mix. Ramsay had wormed his hand up between his thighs, and now was pressing with his fingers in tight little circles over one of the live zones while his tongue darted in between them. Theon’s hips tilted up, stiff so that Ramsay’s touch would stay right there, right there—

Theon didn’t recognize the sound that dragged out of him. It belonged to an injured animal. 

Ramsay had to pause for a moment so he could hide his snicker in Theon’s thigh. “Do you like it when I touch your clitty?” When he looked back at Theon’s flushed face, he’d composed himself. “Communication is important, love. You can’t use your hands right now, so I need you to tell me what you want.” He paused, did another tight circle with his fingers. Theon’s hips jumped. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

It had been months since Theon felt any pleasure at all, and longer still since his body had had its chance to reach completion. The confusing mix of pleasure and pain crowded out all shame and dignity. He couldn’t stop himself even if he tried. In that moment, he wanted more than anything to shove his fingers in front of Ramsay’s and do it for himself, form a fist that he could rock against maybe—

“High—higher,” he choked, breathless, loathing himself. Ramsay obeyed his instructions and Theon moaned, a thin, helpless noise, thighs spreading wider in the tight confines of the bunched up dress. Spots of black swam at the edge of his vision. “Ah, to the right—lighter—y-your tongue, gods—” 

As he spoke, a sudden memory flashed in front of his eyes: him, holding a girl’s soft thighs apart so he could give it to her wet folds with long licks of his tongue while she squealed and pulled at his hair. He’d been so good at oral, every one of his partners had told him so. To be on the receiving end, in that disgusting spot of his body…his muscles clenched up in horror. For a moment, he wondered if he might be sick. Would that even stop Ramsay? 

Between his legs, Ramsay was going at it enthusiastically with long drags of the flat of his tongue. Sometimes he’d alternate, shaping it into a harder point and laving the tip in the gaps between his massaging fingers. Everything was so slippery now. Theon had a brief, delirious impression that somehow, he really did have a cunt down there—that Ramsay had reached in and sliced him open and rearranged his flesh until it was just the way he liked. In that disorienting second, he hated Ramsay more intensely than he ever had before, so much so that the feeling transcended itself and circled right back into a confusing, cringing adoration.

“Oh, gods,” he heard himself say, tortured. Another hard circle of Ramsay’s fingers. He tried to buck up, but couldn’t, stopped by the handcuffs. “Gods!” 

Something was building in his groin. It had been so long since he’d felt any real pleasure that for a few heartbeats, he thought it was the insistent demands of his bladder. But no, it was the heavy tide of warmth he remembered, starting at his groin and melting throughout the rest of his body. He curled up as much as he was able to between the handcuffs and the corset. Now that he recognized the sensation, it seemed to rise even faster, rushing through his toes and ears and even the ends of his hair—

Ramsay pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the scar and sucked, one long, perfect pulse.

Theon came.

It wasn’t exactly the way he remembered it, but gods, it was good, so good. The thin muscles in his hamstrings trembled uncontrollably and his toes curled. Through the sea of white-hot pleasure, he was vaguely horrified by the sensation of warm liquid seeping down his thighs.

“You’re leaking!” Ramsay said, delighted. “You really do come like a girl now!” He laughed cruelly, rubbing Theon’s release between his fingers.

Theon barely heard him. The orgasm still had him in its wave. There was no room for thought of anything else. The grey tinge to his vision seemed to expand like soft down, covering his eyes and muffling his ears. He could not breathe.

Far away, he felt Ramsay wipe his fingers clean on the dress, and then the numb softness swept over his skin and severed that feeling too. Theon gratefully tipped backwards into unconsciousness and knew no more.

[breanime]

Hand In Hand

I can cross the “Roadtrip” box off of my Bandit Bingo card now! I tried to write this a little differently, with MUCH less dialogue and more just... text... so let me know what you think.

*gif not mine*

You stood off to the side, arms wrapped around yourself, holding your coat closed as you watched Caspian supervise the loading of the carts and carriages. The whole court was going on a trip to the islands, where Caspian would be honored by some of his father’s old advisors, but first you had to get to the boats. The journey, you had been told, would be relatively quick: a two-day ride to the docks, and then another three days on the ships.

But that had been before the snowstorm.

All of Narnia had been covered in a brilliant white blanket of soft, fluffy snow overnight. You’d woken up to the sight, excitedly running out of your chambers to tell your dear friend, King Caspian, that it had snowed…

…not realizing that you were still in your slightly suggestive sleeping gown.

You had met him in the hall—you knew his habits so well; he always woke up before you and had an early breakfast in the library, which is where he was coming from when you found him. Excited, you stopped him in the hall, hands on his muscular arms, babbling about the change in weather and how beautiful it all looked, oblivious to the way his dark eyes had widened at the sight of you, and how his breath caught in his throat as he tried (and failed) not to stare. When he didn’t respond when you asked him if he’d seen the snow, you realized what you were wearing, screamed in shock and embarrassment, and ran off.

That had been hours ago, and you’d been avoiding Caspian ever since. You could barely even look at him these days without feeling like your heart was going to beat out of your chest, and now… You were mortified. You had already irritated yourself with your growing feelings for your friend, and now you’d embarrassed yourself in front of him—your King!—and looked like a complete fool, going on and on about the snow.

The snow, coincidentally, had completely lost its charm to you as you stood in the open air. You shivered, not looking forward to being confined to a small, cold box for this trip.

Caspian turned to you, his dark eyes glimmering in the bright light, and smiled. “I’ll be riding with Lady Y/N,” he said, answering one of his advisor’s questions, “The ride will be a bit longer than we expected with the snow,” he went on, “but I’ll do my best to keep her safe and comfortable.”

You felt your face heat up at both his words and smile and tried to smile back. So you’d be riding with Caspian…great.

As the King, Caspian was expected to ride out first, and as his companion, so were you. Smiling, he took your hand in his and helped you into the carriage before sliding in next to you. Caspian didn’t like being overly showy with his station, so his carriage was only a bit bigger than the average cart, and you could feel the heat coming off of him as he sat next to you.

Day one on the road was fine; you and Caspian chatted about the weather (fully dressed now), and how it would affect the trip and the waters and the route. You were always so impressed by and interested in Caspian’s knowledge as a traveler; whether he was detailing his experiences on the Dawn Treader or his travels as King, you hung on to his every word. Caspian always entertained you, answering all of your questions, never getting annoyed or bored with your curious inquiries. If anything, he seemed to enjoy being able to talk with you—about any topic. By day four, the two of you were passing the time telling each other stories, making up your own mythology and quizzing each other on the details. You laughed a lot in those days, and when you stopped at a nearby castle for the court to rest, and you and Caspian went to your separate rooms, you missed his company. But he was always there in the morning, knocking on your door with a tray of tea, muffins, and fruit that he’d procured from somewhere, smilingly apologizing for waking you up. You’d sneak him into your room, both of you trying to stifle your giggles, and spend breakfast whispering with Caspian until he had to go get ready for the day.

It didn’t occur to you until a week of such activity had passed that Caspian had seen you in your sleeping clothes—and vice versa—for eight days in a row (including the day you’d started the journey).

The snow hadn’t let up—if anything, it’d gotten worse, stalling your journey and extending it with each snowfall. Some of the others had been frustrated by the delay, and Caspian had given them his blessing to return to the castle, but you were actually glad for the delay. It gave you more time with Caspian. When the court was traveling, his duties as King were less intensive, and he got to spend a lot more time with you. You knew this was a temporary thing, so you decided to enjoy it while you could. And enjoy it you did…

…Until the temperature dropped more than ever, a raging blizzard hit you while you were traveling, and a wheel had popped off of the carriage, causing it to veer off course, stagger down a snowy hill, and crash against a snowbank.

Caspian had held you the entire time, shielding you from any harm as the carriage tumbled, and his first move once you crashed had been to make sure you were alright. It was already dark out, and when you got out to see where the rest of the party was, all you could see were lights in the distance.

“We can’t travel like this,” Caspian said, referring both to the limited light and the three-wheel carriage, “We’ll have to spend the night here and meet up with the others in the morning.”

He made sure you were unharmed again before going about securing the area, making sure there were no threats around. You wanted to go with him, but Caspian asked you to stay in the carriage where it was safe. You were beyond relieved when he came back shortly after, reporting that the area was safe enough to stay the night in. Ever the survivalist, Caspian started a fire, keeping your spirits up as he told you stories of Aslan. You helped him warm the food—leftovers from your unfinished lunch from earlier—and the two of you shared a private dinner by firelight. It was oddly intimate, as you sat, thigh pressed against his thigh, next to your damaged carriage. When you started to shiver, Caspian took your hands in his, warming them up. You couldn’t tell if the blush in his cheeks was from the wind or… something else.

When it was time for bed, Caspian offered to sleep outside while you took the carriage, but you refused. It was still storming—snow falling in large clumps as the wind screeched—and you wouldn’t hear of letting your King sleep in such conditions.

“We can both sleep in the carriage,” you said, sounding much more confident than you felt, “We can keep each other warm.”

The two of you gathered all of the blankets, coats, and furs that had been stored in the carriage, and piled them onto your laps, sitting very close together. It wasn’t particularly well-suited for sleeping conditions—a nap, sure, but for a whole night’s rest? Not so much. You and Caspian spoke quietly, talking about what you would do in the morning, and how you’d proceed, speculating on how much longer the storm would go on, until he asked if you were still cold. You couldn’t lie to him—not just because he was your King, but because he was your friend, someone you cared about—so you told him yes, you were. Carefully, he put his arm around you, asking if it was okay. You nodded, suddenly unable to speak. He was so warm and firm; you couldn’t help but lean into him. He smelled of the woods: of trees and adventure. His hair tickled your face as he leaned down, telling you how he was sorry that the carriage had crashed, but glad he was with you.

“…I like being with you,” he said, voice low.

You felt the same way—of course. Wordlessly, you reached out and took his hand in yours. You glanced down at your intertwined hands and it just felt…right. Caspian was smiling at you when you looked back up at him, and you were warmed by the sight of it. You smiled back, putting your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes.

“I like being with you, too.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence after that, listening to the sounds of the whirling wind and rusting leaves outside, perfectly cozy and warm in each other’s embrace. Before you fell asleep, you felt Caspian’s lips, warmer than they should be, on your forehead as he wished you sweet dreams.

You were still in his arms when you woke up the next morning.

“No breakfast,” he said with a soft smile, arm still holding you to him, “but at least the storm has passed.”

It didn’t take long for the rest of the party to track you down. They fussed over the both of you, making sure neither of you would come down with a cold, and insisting that Caspian travel in a bigger carriage, but he said he was fine with this one. They hitched it to a few horses, took it to a shop where a very nice villager reattached the wheel, and you were on your way again. The ride was long, but you and Caspian kept each other entertained as always.

And he held your hand the entire way to the coast.

Once you boarded the ship, Caspian went out of his way to spend time with you, excusing himself from other conversations to be with you, placing his hand in yours when no one was around. It was a new habit he’d formed—one that you were very much a fan of. He also started kissing your forehead when he said goodnight, and if he wasn’t sneaking into your quarters first thing in the morning for a private breakfast…

…you were sneaking into his.

Even after the ship landed on the island, and Caspian met with his father’s old advisors, the two of you kept up those habits. The snow melted, the flowers grew back, and before you knew it—Caspian was seeing you in your sleeping clothes every day: when you woke up next to him, smiling sleepily as he leaned down and kissed your forehead, your nose, and then your lips, and again at night as he held you to him, kissing your hairline as he wished you sweet dreams. By the time it snowed again, and you were crowned Queen of Narnia, you barely even bothered with your bed clothes at all. It was easier that way. Besides…

…Caspian always kept you warm.

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

I’m not gonna lie, ya’ll. I like writing dialogue more than this haha. Let me know what you think, though! Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @lexxierave​ @loveintheroyalfamily​ @suchatinyinfinity​ @fanfictionrecommendations-com​  @maxslime-blog​ @elanor-of-imladris​ @songforhema​ @lucielandss @fandomlifeandeverythingelse​ @themadhatter92​ @realduckvader​ @the-blind-assassin-12​ @christinawxxx​ @anabella-baby @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme​ @luminex3​ @littlemermaidprobz​ @ashkuuuu​ @luckysstrikes​ @carlaangel86​ @floralpeaceofmind​ @dylanobrusso​ @teacuplotus​ @iaintnofurry​ @thesumofmychoices​ @ymariejp​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ @mrsjaxtellerfan​ @whovianayesha​ @holamor​ @drinix​ @rhabakoli​ @stories-you-wont-hear​ @king4thesirens​ @starkrobb​ @marauderskeeper​ @charlylama​  @gollyderek​ @leahnicole1219​ @evanlys19​  @something-tofightfor​ @banditthewriter​  @binbons-is-theloml​

Caspian Taglist: @miss-nerd95 @a-jem-found-in-a-papaya @ladyblablabla​

Benny B Characters Taglist: @thesandbeneathmytoes​

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #18)

(cw: vomiting) ----------

01/06/88  2:55 AM Hey.

Y’know what’s weird?

This is getting harder and easier at the same time.

I stayed at the edge of the forest until the arcade opened. It felt safer that way. If anyone wanted to sneak into our game and snuff me out, they’d have a tough time getting past the Surge Protector within working hours. Even still, there was the thought, how was I to know someone hadn’t somehow dodged all my booby traps, and was already waiting for me at my den?

Being paranoid sucks. I would not recommend it.

Once the quarters started rolling in, the thundering dull roar of gameplay eventually grounded me enough to breach the tree line. I bolted through the trees and reached my den, which was blessedly free of murderers, for the time being. I tore down all the curtains so no one could hide behind them, and I kept my back to a tree while I gave another real, more involved shot at using my brush.

I tried to make a pie, but just got cherry slime. I made way too many apples, oranges, and bananas. I made red strings, orange streamers, yellow confetti, red sequins, orange beads, yellow ribbons, always with the red, orange, yellow, red, orange, freakin’ yellow.

Everything about it made me sick. I felt betrayed. This was the one thing that I was supposed to be able to control, one of the few good things the Devs gave me. Now, rubbing handfuls of salt into the gaping wounds I was already nursing, they took it away, for what I preferred to think of as no reason at all. I’d find a reason if I let myself think about it, and it would not be good. The last thing I needed was more ‘not good’ things.

I’m a strong sprite, there’s no doubt about that. But that aforementioned weight on my shoulders was starting to really bear down, slowly carving hairline fractures in my bones. I wasn’t broken, yet. But I was sure as hell breaking, and there was crit all I could do to stop it. You know me, though. I’m not one to resign to fate, or whatever you’d call it. I’m a kicker and a screamer.

So, I kicked and screamed. 

Threw my brush, flipped my bed, ripped my papers down, shattered my mirror, pulled out clumps of hair and just screamed, just like in Fix-it’s apartment. I wanted to purge all the panic, rage, and desperation, and I wanted it to be easy.

That method usually works. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t this time. It didn’t really have time to. It actually… almost made things a lot worse, I guess. 

I was so loud, the gamer at controls heard me.

After I’d been screaming for a couple minutes, I had the absolute pixels scared out of me by deafening beats on the side of our cabinet, courtesy of Litwak. It sure shut me up, I can tell you that. I fell right on my ass and held my breath.

Way off, I heard Litwak say, “And… all better! Some of these older games can really start singin’ sometimes. Lemme know if there’s an encore, huh?”

Then, some kid’s voice giggled, “Thanks, Mr. Litwak!”

I got us smacked. Maybe that should have bothered me more than it did -- after all, that could only have added to my ‘danger to the game’ allegations. The Nicelanders would definitely go around saying that I’d gotten an Out of Order sign all ready to be taped to the screen after that. But there was hardly anything I could do anymore that wouldn’t have been incriminating in their eyes.

No, what bothered me was what he said. About how we were one of the ‘old games.’ I guess we’re the old games by default, now, with this wave of shiny newcomers being plugged in. But the way he said it just really made me think of how unfair it all is. All the first-generation Litwak’s Family Fun Centre games bust their bits for years to keep the quarters flowing, but hey, none of that matters once something new comes along. Like Roadblasters. I remembered all the grief I’d seen you go through once that flashy eyesore started leeching your ‘loyal fans’ -- and the very same giant wastoid who plugged it in now had the nerve to call games like mine, and by extension, yours, ‘these older games’? My gut burned with so much spite, I wanted to go break through the screen and rip out his moustache. 

Instead, I threw up in my laundry barrell. Somehow, less satisfying.

Once most of the chaos in my head had settled to more flexible levels, and after I’d been dry-heaving my feelings for a solid five minutes, I had a decision to make. The longer I stayed in my den, all alone, the more dread crept back into me. I wanted so badly to be able to be on my own, where no one could see how hard I was having to fight to keep it together, but that was just impossible. I couldn’t turn my back to the darkness. I could barely close my eyes. It felt like the worst kind of pathetic, like a scared little kid needing to sleep with the lights on. But there was no negotiating it -- I needed company. Real bad.

It didn’t take long for me to decide where to go. I was, by no means, in love with the idea, but I didn’t have much of a choice. After all, now that I was no longer speaking to Fix-it, there was only one other non-Nicelander left. Whether or not he’d kick me out on sight remained to be seen.

I stuffed my bag full of notebooks, slung my guitar over my shoulder, and wrapped a few things from my hoard (including a bucket) in a big makeshift blanket-sack, along with as many pillows as I could fit in. All the pillows in the world would not save me from those bricks, but one has to try.

I also found your scarf and goggles. You know. The burned ones. 

I’d kept them, of course, but I’d just been… ignoring them. They felt like the most pressing question of my life, and I hadn’t wanted to face them again until I had answers. But, suddenly, that changed. I don’t know how to describe why, right now. All I know is, when I wore them around my neck, it felt... right. In the most terrible way.

I almost never take them off, now.

Anyway, once all had been gathered, I grabbed the knot of the sack, and like the dull, flightless bird I’d become, I started trudging towards the most awkward series of sleepovers in my life.

Also known as the dump.

I didn’t bother waiting for the arcade to close, or even for the game to end, before crossing the map. The gamers seeing me wouldn’t do any damage -- quite the opposite, really. They love me in short spurts. That is, they love the idea of me.

Once I stepped into the light of the screen, they had their usual little freak out. 

“Woah, hey, what’s that!?”

“Get it, get it!”

I paused. Being on my way to cross behind the building, I was out of their playing range, but it’s not like they could tell, with their crummy depth perception. They puppeted Fix-it over, ‘til his long shadow almost touched my feet, and he looked over his shoulder as much as he could, straining to smile. The gamers mashed the fix button and bounced him around. Bing bing bing bing bing.

“I can’t get it--”

“Jump on it!”

“I am jumping on it! It’s like, in the background, or something.”

“Oh my god, look at Felix’s face. He’s looking at it. What the hell is it?!”

“Looks kinda like a little pink Felix?”

Always and forever with the Dev-damned pink. Not to dig on pink, but it’s so obviously salmon. What’s the point of being 16-bit if the colorblind gamers only see in 8?

I kept moving. The scene felt too familiar, you know. They kept up their insistent twittering ‘til I emerged on the other side of the building. I heard Fix-it hopping around in the foreground again, but I didn’t stop to look. I just carried on to the dump. I’d done the game enough of a favor -- after all, even after I’d left the light of the screen, the gamers were still in a tizzy, jamming in quarters to try to figure out how to get me back.

“I’ve sank a fortune into this game, and I’ve never seen that before.”

“Was it some kind of Easter Egg, you think? How did I unlock it?!”

And so on.

I climbed up the bricks, and I make a point of saying ‘climbed’ here, because the old pile has really grown over the past five years, and I never really thought about it too much until I couldn’t fly anymore. The wrecker’s beloved stump sat flat against the ground, once, but now it’s easily higher than two of me. I set my stuff down a little ways behind it, looked up to see both Fix-it and Wreck-it giving me the side-eyes through gameplay, and pushed together a brick pile big enough to duck behind and gain some semblance of privacy.

I honestly don’t remember how I spent the rest of that day, until closing. I can’t have done anything too interesting. Waited, stewed, debated, panicked, threw up, waited some more. Something like that. 

Waited, waited, waited.

[capricornus-rex]

Two Sides of the Coin (6)

Chapter 6: Occupational Complications | Jidné Sheedra x Cal Kestis

Summary: Hell-bent on exacting revenge and retrieving the Holocron, the dreaded Darth Vader is now on the hunt for the young Jedi Knight, Cal Kestis. Under the assumption that he still possessed the artifact, while fueled by the intrigue of the boy’s strength and skill with the Force, the dark lord hires the bounty hunter, Jidné Sheedra, to track him down and have him delivered alive. However, the task becomes a trial for young Jidné, as she faces a conflict that tests her beliefs of a scarred past she had hidden for so long.

Also in AO3

Tags: Fem OC, Jidné Sheedra, Force-Sensitive! Fem OC, Bounty Hunter! Fem OC, Jedi! Fem OC

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 | Previous: Part 5 | Next: Part 7 | Masterlist

6 of ?

Jidné tilted her head back, sighing, she turned around to answer Cal right in the face.

“Yeah,” said Jidné, plainly.

She wrapped her cowl around her shoulders after clearing off the dust and leaves that clumped onto it during their skirmish with the Bashiji cats. They exchanged looks, but she kept her distance from him. Cal’s eyes wandered to the girl’s hilt, the two strands of turquoise beads attached to the ring of the pommel’s base stood out from the black and silver color scheme.

A robotic chittering came within their earshot, ID-3 appeared from the branches where he was hiding the whole time. Alarmed by the sight of a probe droid, Cal reignited his saber and pointed it at the black hovering disc of a droid.

“No, no, no—wait! He’s mine!” Jidné put herself between ID-3 and Cal who had his saber at the ready, who only looked at the Imperial probe droid by face value.

“He’s mine,” she repeated, more calmly this time.

Cal stopped at Jidné’s behest, he looked over her shoulder and saw the droid was hiding behind her back, its single red lens for an eye peeked over her hair.

Confused, Cal pulled his eyebrows together, “That Imperial probe droid is yours?”

“I reprogrammed him, and he’s with me,” she explained. She turned to the shuddering black disc hiding behind her shoulders. “It’s okay, ID-3, they won’t hurt us.”

Now standing much closer, she got a good long look at him. The sunlight that pored through the jungle canopy highlighted of his features for Jidné to see: the freckles that riddled his cheeks like stars to a night sky, the clear emerald shine of his eyes and the soft gaze that he makes with it.

Cal ticked the boxes of the job detail—red hair, a Jedi, and as much as she was too prideful to admit it he is handsome—but there’s no sign of the Holocron on his person. Jidné presumed that he wouldn’t carry it around with him, as people might mistake it for some heftily-priced relic.

He switched his saber off after believing that the probe droid was indeed harmless. ID-3 was still frightened from the sudden stance but quickly warmed up to Cal after spotting little BD-1, to prove that he was good, ID-3 raised one tentacle and waved it as if saying “Hello” both to Cal and BD-1.

“Booo-wooo…” BD-1 cautiously beeped in response. For good measure, he lit up his scanners at ID-3 and his lens panned up and down to get the full picture of the droid. The abrupt change of tone in BD-1 verified that ID-3 wasn’t the Imperial droid he used to be.

“See, he’s harmless!” Jidné insisted.

“Sorry we doubted you, ID,” Cal apologized for both himself and BD-1.

ID-3 accepted the apology, his raspy and monotonous tone somewhat had a cheery chirp in it.

“Oh! You’re hurt,” Cal uttered, spotting blood staining on Jidné’s jacket through the tears of her cowl.

Jidné searched for the injury, the adrenaline practically made her numb from feeling the sting, she only felt it when she slightly flexed her shoulder.

“Oh, crud…” she mumbled.

Cal snapped his fingers and out comes a healing stim from BD-1’s little compartment.

“Here,”

Jidné’s slender fingers picked up the green vial from Cal’s palm. She brought it closer to examine it.

“A healing stim,” she identified. “You have one impressive little droid.”

BD-1 took the compliment and chirped happily. Jidné sucked in some air before injecting herself of the green, soothing substance on the flesh of her upper arm. The substance relieved her of the pain, but she still has to treat the wound.

“Thank you, both of you,”

“You’re welcome, again,” Cal cooed bashfully, hanging his head low so Jidné doesn’t find him blushing.

And then the same awkward silence immediately followed them back.

“So, uh, what are you doing in the middle of the jungle?”

Okay, that was bad enough! Cal scolded himself in his subconscious.

“I should I ask you the same,” chuckled Jidné.

“W-Well, I was about to take a look around the town there until…”

Jidné bobbed her head, prompting him to continue.

“Until I heard you.” He finished.

“Oh… Well, my hero,” she giggled at her lighthearted yet dry joke. Cal received it as a compliment and awkwardly chuckled along with her.

The silence was getting old between the two of them now—that much they’re certain of. Both youngsters just don’t know how to interact with one another for their own various reasons.

“Listen, Jidné… um…”

“Yes?”

Cal had his tongue tied, he didn’t realize that he was saying things to her out on a whim, he didn’t exactly plan ahead with the conversations that he starts with her. He gulped the lump that’s been stuck in the middle of his throat so he could say the words right.

“You should treat that wound soon,”

Jidné examined her wound again, “Yeah, I suppose I should.”

“Right, err… so… I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Sure,” she shrugged her shoulder; in a deadpan tone, she added, “Maybe.”

Jidné watched this endearing, bumbling, ginger Jedi slowly back away into his original path. She remained where she stood until he was out of sight, out of the forest and back into the open—where he planned to be in the first place.

“Good gods, that boy… is a threat? To Darth Vader?”

“Trill, beeeee-eeep!” ID-3 chirped teasingly.

The bounty hunter translated the droidspeak, her own droid was teasing her that she must have found him cute.

“Oh shut up, you flying saucer,” she chuckled in great denial.

She began walking in the opposite path, where the wood gradually cleared out; along the way, she found her rifle that the Bashiji had chewed on. She picked the weapon and studied the damage, bite marks have dented the paneling; she flicked the safety and cocked it to see if it would still work.

“Well, so much for that mint condition earlier,” groaned the girl. “Come on, ID. I need to wash off this blood.”

The droid hovered as he followed her along, continuing to tease her in an upbeat string of notes and chirps—which Jidné constantly defended herself from.

“Beee-beeep!”

“You can’t prove I was blushing—you were behind me!”

Eventually, ID-3 finally toned down on the teasing, much to Jidné’s relief. Her trek ended when she spotted the bank of a river that leads to a waterfall on the far right, the crashing was within hearing range and so she decided to go to the main basin.

Stripping off her cowl and jacket, leaving only her black tank top, the claws of the Bashiji have sickled through the fabric and nicked at the corner of her shoulder; had that cat buried its nails into her then it would’ve reached the bone. Jidné soaked her clothes into the shallower part of the water, then scooped up handfuls of water to wash away the dried blood; when the wound had lessened the bleeding, she decided that it would be impractical if she hiked back to her ship to patch herself up.

“Never thought I’d be doing this again,” she mumbled under her breath.

She resorted to using Force healing, albeit was a skill that she’s still learning; in her level, it required her to meditate—compared to her late mentor who did it as simply as breathing, it was one of the things she strived to imitate in terms of mastery. Nonetheless, she sat herself up—back straight, legs crossed together, and her mentality clear. Jidné allowed herself to relax on her grassy seat, her fingers loosened around her kneecaps and took slow, calm breaths—feeling the warmth of the midday sun pinching her cheeks with its rays.

Her surroundings in her consciousness were beginning to blur as she puts her mind into focus. Her senses have softened and keened at the same time—a phenomenon that was instinctive as it was complicated to comprehend to those who are less sensitive, it was something she can’t put into words yet there was a familiarity to it. At first, she managed to reconnect with the Force and gently willed it to the wound—bit by bit, new skin began to seal the damaged flesh; when she sensed that she was succeeding, she strained out of impatience which she mistook for eagerness.

“Come on…!” muttered Jidné almost voicelessly, but the demand in her tone was apparent.

Jidné sensed that the new skin had slowed down in closing the wound, she forced herself just a little bit and she snapped back involuntarily; as consequence, the injury didn’t fully close, a significant portion of it remained fresh and unhealed—perhaps half in size. At least the bleeding stopped.

She examined her wound, patting on the new skin that concealed the rest of the injury. Accepting that she had lost control with her grasp on the Force, she resolved to letting what remains heal naturally; her mind shifted to the thought of Cal. The fact that he’s already met her and identified her as a Jedi—and not a bounty hunter—a strategy came up onto the top of her mind.

“This complicates things, though,” she thought out loud.

She continued to clean the grime, dust, and blood off of herself by the riverbank. Seeing that the forest was devoid of other humans or sentient life forms, she decided to take a dip into the cool water of the waterfall’s basin. The coldness blanketed and soothed every inch of her body, her dark hair swirling underwater; as she swam around, her mind constantly reminded her of Cal—the way he behaved, the way he spoke, but most importantly, his touch.

She brought her hand up from the water to examine it and try to reenact how she took his hand, how he held it, and how they shook each other’s hands. His palm was coarse, no doubt from his line of work, but if Jidné thinks about it—his grasp was so gentle. Water plopped when she jerked it back down, but she can’t stop rubbing her fingers in that hand.

“Definitely complicates things,” she groaned and submerged her face into the water, bubbles boiled as she exhaled her frustration underwater.

On the other hand, Jidné relished her time alone, bathing in the waterfall—it was a badly-needed cleanse. In the very center of the basin, she attempted to meditate—burying her toes into the silt floor of the stream to anchor herself, her body submerged from the chin down, and letting the coolness blanket her.

“Find it, Jidné,” she coaxes herself. “Latch onto it.”

She repeated this mantra until the sound of the waterfall have hollowed out in her hearing, until the only thing she could feel was her entire body subtly floating within the weak current of the water.

Nothing.

She growled, smacking and pounding the water with her fist, creating fountain-like splashes that rained down on her head. She brought her hands back out of the water again, gazing at her empty hands riddled with water droplets like transparent pearls.

“It’s always like this. I couldn’t be that damaged with the Force, could I?”

ID-3—who was hovering above the water, staying close to her as she swam—answered her question, even though it wasn’t exactly directed to him. He sounded affirming towards his owner, chirping high-pitched, raspy tones at Jidné.

“Thanks, ID, I appreciate that,” she hummed and continued to swim.

After her bath, she put on her clothes and collected her things before proceeding to hike through the jungle, avoiding the denser patches of greenery where Bashiji cats or other predators might jump on her again.

She decided to climb the waterfall’s wall, curious to see where it would lead her. Her little droid clamped itself on the harness’s strap on her back as she climbed. Using the skills she’s gained from her Padawan training back in the day, she scaled the rock wall with little to no equipment—just her iron grip.

“Just don’t look down, ID!”

“Booo-wooooo!!” the droid chirped in a nauseated tone.

The climb led the duo to the mesa, in the same level where she originally came from before landing into the surface of the jungle. From there, she stalked the ridge in search of the Mantis—relying on the homing beacon as she goes. The farther she went, the device’s beeping rhythm became faster until slow beating transitioned into a quick flickering with the noise barely keeping up with the pace.

She places herself on a vantage point, quite higher than her original spot where she first found the ship—atop a boulder’s throw. Zooming in through her binoculars, she scanned the treelines again, hoping to spot that same silver twinkle that she saw prior to this unprecedented predicament. The Mantis stuck out more from her current perspective, she patiently sat there, examining Cal’s companions.

Jidné eventually spotted that particular Lateron that Sorc was talking about. She watched the four-armed gray creature flail his arms while inaudibly conversing with a much older lady wearing beige clothes while a second lady in red and black garments—whom Jidné assumed to be Dathomirian—stood idly to survey the nature around them.

“Completely harmless, I wager,” Jidné commented to herself. “Kinda cranky for his size, though.”

She thumbed the knob on the underside of her binoculars to zoom in some more, she got a closer look of the Mantis and it was clear enough for her to see their faces.

“They’re obviously hiding it inside that ship,”

That fact led to Jidné remembering that her initial plan had been slightly ruined, hence the necessary alterations. With Cal thinking that she was friend not foe, the bounty hunter concocted her Plan B on the spot.

“I guess I have to keep up an act now, huh?”

“Beee. Trill, beep,”

“Figures…” she sighed. “One hell of a contract, eh, ID?”

[docmanda]

37 for poly pile because I'm a sucker for this kind of things

So I finally made your thing ^^ only one chap though, it worked better like that hope you enjoy it ^^

here´s the ao3 link and the rest is under the cut

A Small Kindness (chapter 2 of The Abyss, Gazing Back)

It takes Hua Cheng a small moment before he realizes he isn´t alone anymore, startling slightly when he registers movement out oft he corner of his still swollen, single eye. It´s the first time he has dared to leave Xie Lian and He Xuan  alone together after they had crashed right into the middle of their God and Yin Yu having a sparring match -something Xie Lian often did when he was nervous and worried about his husbands- in a tangle of bloody limbs and mud, his dice heeding his order of ´take us to gege` perfectly. Poor Yin Yu nearly had gotten his arm broken with how mercilessly and rudely Xie Lian had disarmed him midstrike, carelessly dropping his own sword at the same time and already halfway across the room before the other God had even realized what was happening, Xie Lian´s eyes wide with blooming panic at the sight of them. He Xuan had lost conciousness again, the pull of Hua Cheng´s transportation spell too much for him, a dead, motionless weight in his arms. And oh how Hua Cheng had envied him that, he would have given anything to not be able to see the flash of pure, endless fear in his Beloved´s eye at the state of them. He Xuan with his seal applied brutally like that felt like a wet clump of clay devoid of any spark to their senses, a truly dead thing and Xie Lian´s hands were frantic as he sent a bit of his own energy through the still form cradled in Hua Cheng´s arms, having to make sure that while his spiritual energy might be blocked his meridians were still intact. Only after that did his shoulders relax the tiniest bit, his core of steel taking over as he methodically mapped their injuries, only allowing himself a soft, pained ´oh my sweet San Lang..´when he carefully inspected the damage to his good eye. He knew what an injury  in this area means, a He Xuan that was himself would -never- deliberately injure Hua Cheng like that, that eye was absolutely taboo and he would personally go for the throat of anybody trying to use Crimson Rain´s handicap to their advantage. Hua Cheng was still drowsy from the remnants of the poison running through his body and exhausted from their fight and the emotional toll it brought with it so he lets Xie Lian take over, leaning heavily on Yin Yu with still numb legs while Xie Lian carefully picked up He Xuan to carry him to their private chambers. He would usually not allow Yin Yu to step into  their private suite, not unless there was an emergency, but Xie Lian couldn´t take care of both of them at the same time and Yin Yu was silent and unobtrusive like always, carefully helping him to get rid of the mud and most of the blood while Xie Lian did the same to He Xuan. The disgraced God did not touch Crimson Rain´s face, it would be a suicidal move with Hua Cheng already  injured and on edge, he just bowed and left as silently as a shadow when Hua Cheng dismissed him. It only took a few more minutes until Xie Lian brought over a still sleeping Black Water, mostly clean and dressed in soft sleeping robes, his hand bandaged tightly and settled him into bed next to where Hua Cheng was sitting, gently pushing a few strands of hair out of He Xuan´s face before getting up again to get a basin of cool, clean water together with some soft cloth and their medicinal tray. "Tell me what happened." Xie Lian does not need to ask what happened for Hua Cheng to see the need to seal their lover like this, the reasoning clear to see in the pattern of injury on Hua Cheng´s skin. He asks because he knows Hua Cheng needs to tell him, explain the reasons why he had no choice but to take such drastic measures, hurting their lover like this, more as a justification for himself then for Xie Lian. Xie Lian was silent through all of this, gently cleaning Hua Cheng´s face, spiritual power warm against his skin as he tries to bring down the swelling around Hua Cheng´s good eye so he can see better...only when the first tears start to fall did Xie Lian put away his cloth and his herbs and pulled his husband close, letting him old onto him and sob into his ruined robes, smeared with both of his Devastation´s blood. They might seem like water and fire sometimes, his Devastations, opposite part of the spectrum that could never be anything else but adversaries...but Xie Lian knows better. They might not say the words out loud but to him it was clear to see how much they loved each other, Crimson Rain Sought Flower and Black Water Sinking Ships. And so Xie Lian will put aside his own pain and fear and hurt for now and let them curl around him as if he was the only thing still keeping them tied to this world and they might just lose hold and disappear if they ever let go of him. Xie Lian sighed as he pulls them both onto the bed, arranging them so that He Xuan is between them, himself needing the reassurance of feeling his body against his now that they can´t feel him any other way just as much as he knows Hua Cheng does. They have long and draining days ahead of them with many tears and silent suffering yet to come and he knows the best way to spend these days is sleeping. It will take days for the seal on He Xuan to weaken again, and until he isn´t back to being fully himself again, Hua Cheng will not be at ease either. Xie Lian gently reaches to stroke through unruly black hair, Hua Cheng already half asleep with exhaustion. "Sleep my love. Both of you are safe and secure and I will not allow anything to happen to both of you while I am here..." And so they had spent most of the last two days: Curled together on their bed, with He Xuan only waking for small amounts of time here and there, wan and unspeaking and unresponsive to everyone and everything but Xie Lian, not even so much as daring to look at Hua Cheng most of the time,  the  swollen bruise around his single eye an ugly reminder of his loss of control. This is the first time he has gotten up ever since they came back, He Xuan always moves silently and now, with his power still locked tight under his self inflicted seal he is barely noticeable at all. „A-Xuan, you startled me. Is everything alright?“ He Xuan just stares at him, a tiny bit of his usual snark showing in his raised eyebrow for a moment before dying a quick death again, his voice devoid of any of his usual sarcasm, as dead as his still too light brown eyes. „Define alright.“ Hua Cheng grins helplessly at that. It has barely been two days since he had to seal He Xuan during one of his rare bouts of true madness and they´re both still bruised and hurt from their fight, tiptoeing around each other unsure of what to do after the initial bout of clinginess. Xie Lian is usually the one to look after their resident Water Demon until they´re both a little more themselves again and can pretend nothing ever much happened. And Xie Lian should be with He Xuan right now too, Hua Cheng had left them curled up on the bed to take care of some business, Xie Lian reading and He Xuan sleeping. But before Hua Cheng can ask He Xuan provides the answer to his next question on his own. „A-Lian fell asleep. He has been so tired, I didn´t want to wake him up.“ He can hear the self accusation in He Xuan´s voice –Xie Lian, tired and distressed because of him- and finally puts away his calligraphy brush, turning fully to face his lover properly. He Xuan must want something to come to him then instead of waiting for Xie Lian to wake up and he puts aside his instinctive want to reassure him for a moment. „What do you need then A-Xuan?“ He Xuan averts his gaze, opting to stare at some point in front of Hua Cheng´s feet instead of his eye, hiding his hands behind his back and his uncharacteristic timidness makes Hua Cheng itch in all the wrong places. This is not his Black Water Sinking Ships who usually doens´t care for anything much and who probably had to look up the meaning of shy in one of his beloved dictionaries when he met Xie Lian for the first time and Hua Cheng wants nothing more then to have his snarky, shameless asshole of a husband back. Anything is better then this wan shadow really. „…can you brush my hair?“ One of He Xuan´s hands comes out of hiding, holding what Hua Cheng recognizes as his favorite comb between the heavily bandaged fingers and he blinks once in confusion before lifting his hand and reaching for He Xuan, waiting for him to hand over the comb. It is an unusual request, at least directed at him, He Xuan loves getting his hair played with and it is usually Xie Lian who gets bullied into doing his customary ponytail in the mornings, not Hua Cheng. But it has also been a few days since anybody has brushed it at all, they had cleaned what they could of blood and mud when they first brought him home but after that it has been left to its own devices, resembling a bird´s nest more then He Xuan´s usually slick, soft tresses. And with his dominant hand still bandaged up tightly He Xuan couldn´t do it himself…even though Hua Cheng guessed that this wasn´t his primary point for coming to him with this request. „Come here then and sit down YuYu…your hair is a mess that will take me a while.“ He Xuan is silent when he walks over and silent when he hands over his comb and sits down between Hua Cheng´s legs, his back to him and Hua Cheng tries very hard to pretend that this is just an every day occurence for both of them, carefully separating a few strands and starting to detangle them from the ends up. He Xuan´s hair –is- a mess and it takes Hua Cheng quite a while to make some headway even though it is obvious that without a proper wash and some oils he won´t be able to do too much. It does not matter anyway. Because at some point He Xuan´s arm has snaked around one of his legs, his cheek now resting against Hua Cheng´s knee, slightly above where the skin still shows marks from the sharp teeth embedded in it not too long ago and when he can feel warm droplets soaking through the thin cloth of his pants he finally gives up any pretense of combing and slides down from the slow bench he had been sitting on, pulling He Xuan into a proper hug, burying his face into the still tangled, dirty mop of hair in front of him.  He Xuan is alarmingly warm in his arms, the effects of the brutally applied seal making him feverish and Hua Cheng slides one of his own cold hands underneath the thick hair, resting it against He Xuan´s neck in an effort to make him more comfortable. „You´re very warm Yuyu, want to to have a dip in your pool?“ He Xuan shakes his head slightly, using the back of his bandaged hand to wipe across his face before looking up, studying Hua Cheng´s face intently. „No, not right now. Later maybe.“ he amends, his uninjured hand coming up to very gently caress the puffy, angry red flesh above Hua Cheng´s one good eye. The cut has healed already but the swelling would probably take another day or two to finally go down completely, leaving him squinting. Hua Cheng holds very still, partly out of instinct –something being close to his only eye always made him at least slightly nervous- partly as to not startle He Xuan into withdrawing again. This is the first time he has touched him out of his own volition since they returned after all and Hua Cheng doesn´t want to spook him. „Does it hurt?“ „Just a little. It looks worse then it is, honestly.“ „Hn.“ He Xuan very clearly does not believe him, bending forward to very gently place a kiss, first against the bruised skin of his remaining eye, then against the scarred ruin of where his other one used to be before he tore it out in his own fit of madness, gently lifting Hua Cheng´s eyepatch to do so before replacing it equally carefully. „ I am sorry.“ Hua Cheng opens his mouth to protest but a thin finger pushes against his lips, keeping him from speaking. „No, let me say it.“ He obediently closes his mouth again, kissing the fingertip instead before leaning his head into He Xuan´s hand. What attacked him and hurt him hadn´t been his He Xuan, playful and sarcastic and loving in his own special way, but something old and insane, the remnants of the demons he devoured so long ago rearing their ugly heads at the bottom of the Abyss he created out of them and temporarily managing to overwhelm their master. It wasn´t He Xuan´s fault and so Hua Cheng didn´t require any kind of apology of him for things that hadn´t been under his control after all. But if it would make him feel better he would listen. „Stop that. I can see that you are just humoring me. Bastard.“ There is the smallest sparkle of –his- He Xuan in those oh so wrong brown eyes when he gets poked in the forehead and Hua Cheng feels something deep inside him unclench, sponatenously leaning forward to kiss He Xuan onto his too warm lips, keeping their foreheads together and wishing for a moment that Black Water had never grown out of the habit of breathing so he could feel his breath on his skin, a reminder that they´re both still alive even if that hasn´t been true for a long time now. He does this with Xie Lian too when they´re both feeling raw and unsure, just staying close like this breathing the same air for a few minutes even though neither of them needs it anymore. And as much as He Xuan sometimes scoffs at them being lovey-dovey like that this time it is him humoring Hua Cheng instead. And Crimson Rain can feel Black Water´s chest rise with the first breath in what surely must have been centuries, the resulting soft trickle of air across his face uneven and wavering as if he has forgotten how to do so after all this time. But bodies are a weird thing, even magical and dead ones like their own and they will remember many things if given the chance and it doens´t take long for He Xuan´s body to remember what it was like when he still needed air moving through his lungs, his breath evening out and synching up with Hua Cheng´s at some point. They stay like this for a while, leaning against each other and breathing each other´s air before He Xuan finally speaks again. „I –am- sorry A-Cheng. I´d say I didn´t mean to hurt you like this but I would be lying. I meant to hurt you and I meant to do much worse things to you then this too. You are truly lucky I didn´t manage to take out your eye and I would have ripped you apart laughing if you hadn´t taken me out and whatever and whoever else would have been too stupid and come to close too. You had no choice but to seal me. So do us both a favor and stop blaming yourself alright?“ He has cupped Hua Cheng´s face in both of his hands, the bandage rough against Hua Cheng´s bruised skin, his eyes deadly serious for once with just the tiniest hint of gold shining through. Hua Cheng´s face turns stubborn. „Only if you stop blaming yourself for hurting me when you were not in control of yourself.“ He Xuan snorts at that and Hua Cheng thinks this might be the most beautiful sound aside from Xie Lian´s voice he has heard in the last two days. „Well, then I guess the both of us will just continue to mope until A-Lian beats some sense back into us, right?“ Hua Cheng smiles, for the first time since he dragged He Xuan to that muddy field, and kisses his nose. „Right. Now, do you want me to continue with your hair? You look like something the cat dragged in. After drowning it in a muddy pool first. “ „Fuck you too Crimson Rain“ He Xuan cuddles close, obediently turning around so his back is facing Hua Cheng again, leaning against the sinewy legs surrounding him, humming a wordless tune while playing with a loose thread on his bandages, golden-hued brown eyes half closed like a contented cat as Hua Cheng continues to work his way through the tangles. And Xie Lian smiles in his little alcove, hidden from his Devastation´s eyes behind one of the many curtains in Paradise Manor and silently retreats his steps back to the bedroom he had left a while ago, in search of He Xuan. They would be fine on their own for a while…even though Xie Lian would never be able to understand how an insult and a curse could translate to ´I love you´and `I love you too.´ Devastations, really.