#my headache has dulled to a soft throbbing and i am seated in front of the window ac unit until my brain turns to ice

[theninjamouse]

I want to make OoF merch, like stickers or keychains

[iced-coffee-and-imagines]

Now, this might be hell angst, but can I request a spin on your miscarriage post where it also threatens Hubert’s s/o’s life? Just for added suspense ^^

Anon, if you’re going down, I’m going down with you; angst is my Achilles’ heel. You can absolutely request that;;;

~Latte ♡♡

((This got real long; I am so sorry, mobile users))

**Also, big warning for some descriptive stuff**

Hubert von Vestra/f!Reader - Dual Tragedy

A chill ran down your spine, pulling you from the comfort of sleep. Groaning softly, you tugged the bedclothes further over your figure; the manor had not been nearly this cold when you retired to bed last night

A soft knock on the chamber door roused you again, the muted voice of your midwife reaching your ears

Bidding her entry, you heard her shoes tap against the floor and the latch of the bedroom door closing again as she entered

Your eyes opened to a squint, ignoring the dull throb behind them, gaze drifting to the older woman as she approached your bedside

She patted your shoulder, “Good morning, Countess Vestra. Are you well?”

You grunted, sleep still clouding the edges of your vision, “I suppose; cold, but well”

“Countess, the room is quite warm, I assure you.” You felt her hand press against your forehead. She tsked, displeasure evident, “My lady, you are feverish, and pale at that. What else are you feeling?”

Trying to brush your symptoms away would do no good; the older woman was both stubborn and knowledgeable. You relented, “My head aches, but nothing more”

The midwife hummed. “How long have your symptoms been present?”

“Only since this morning”

She brushed her fingertips against your temple. “We will keep a watch on you then; send word to Count Vestra, if need be. Rest, my lady; you and the child both need it”

——–

You awoke sometime later, the bedroom dimmed to deepen your sleep. Your headache was piercing now, vision blurring; your pelvis hurt like a blade had been twisted into it

Propping onto an elbow, you tried to shift out of bed, collapsing back onto the feather mattress seconds later

Your breathing had shallowed, the pain seeping into your back the longer you lay conscious

Tears stung your eyes as you squeezed them shut; your skin was damp with sweat. The midwife; you needed the midwife

You did not register the presence of another in the room until the figure touched your brow

Startled, your gaze snapped open to find the older woman, busily wetting a cloth and placing the cool rag against your heated skin, the lines on her face deepened by both the scarce candlelight and worry

Your voice was raspy, throat parched, “What…what’s wrong?”

“Hush, dear; everything will be fine”

The term of affection was not lost on you. Your face scrunched as you looked at her; the reassurance appeared more for her than you

She never met your eyes, instead pulling the blankets back, gently lifting your legs and hips to place several thick towels underneath, apologizing when you sucked in a breath through gritted teeth

She shushed you as she laid a thick blanket over you, different from the bedclothes previous; she dampened the cloth again

You swallowed, dots beginning to connect in your pain-addled mind: You were miscarrying, with your husband miles away at the palace

You whimpered as a surge of pain shot through your hips, tipping your head to the side; a chill trailed down your spine in the moments after

——

In the hours that followed, your breathing became more laboured; your fever broke, replaced by a minute but steady dropping of your temperature; your pain increased, no amount of specialty teas able to lessen it. Sleep had come uneasily, leaving you dozing with little knowledge of the time

The midwife had sent an express message to your husband, entrusting it with the fastest flyer the household had

Several other healers and physicians had come and gone, each baring an expression more troubling than the last; terms like sepsis, inevitable, and hospice rolling in your skull like boulders

The older woman held your icy hand in hers, stroking your knuckles

Your head lolled from side to side every so often, skin sticky with dried sweat; your chest ached from struggling for breath, back and pelvis a constant thorn

A heat against your inner thighs caused you to jolt, exhausted muscles seizing weakly as the scent of blood and infection filled the air

The midwife stood, placing your hand against the bed before pulling the blanket away from your lower half. Your eyes closed as your nose twitched, deciding not to look at the horror show that miscarriage was

You faintly heard a call for another physician, your mind racing; Where was Hubert? Were you going to die? Was this a bad sign? By some off chance, good?

——–

A sharp rap on the study door caused Hubert to pause; dipping his quill into the ink pot again, he called, “Come in”

He continued to write as the stranger approached, footsteps hurried; he glanced up as the figure, a servant of House Vestra, he noted, paused at his desk

A sealed envelope was pushed into his peripheral, “Forgive the intrusion, my lord.” The flyer was near breathless, eyes shifting nervously as the count took the letter

Breaking the seal, the raven-haired man glanced over the correspondence, his mind catching on few details: it was from the midwife, not his wife; it was hastily written, with little heed of fixing errors; and the word miscarriage, bold and clear on the page

Clearing his throat, he addressed the messenger, not sparing him a glance, “Thank you; you are dismissed”

Hubert released a shuddering exhale once he heard the door latch shut. He pinched the bridge of his nose, running the hand down to cover the lower half of his face; Would the Emperor allow him to leave so suddenly?

Quickly sorting his work and locking it away, he rose, reattaching his cloak and gathering his satchel; There was one way to find out

——–

The manor was silent as the grave when Hubert arrived, quickly stripping himself of his soaked cloak, pauldrons, and outer coat—a storm had begun halfway through the journey—and handed them off to a servant to be cleaned

He straightened his collar and rolled up his sleeves as he ascended the stairs, pausing only briefly in front of the bedchamber door; even from outside he could hear the bustling of physicians and healers

A priestess nearly knocked into him as she opened the door, a basin of water on her hip, “Oh! Forgive me, Count Vestra. I was not aware of your presence”

He simply nodded to the girl, stepping back only to give her room to exit; the midwife met his gaze, her aged face stern with stress

She barked an order to her troupe and wiped her hands clean before walking over to him, step sharp; she dipped her head in a bow, “My lord–”

“Save your formalities. How are they?”

“Count Vestra, forgive me, but I cannot–”

“Goddess damn it all, woman, spare it. How is my wife?” His voice had lowered to a hiss

The older woman, far accustomed to her liege’s temperament, held her ground, her voice low, eyes hard, “In truth, she is dying; the child is gone. She has an infection; her body is in nearing shock. Forgive me for announcing this to you, my lord”

The fire in the young man flickered, his shoulders dropping as he straightened, chartreuse eyes finding the door frame; he swallowed, mouth set in a tight line, “May I see her?”

The midwife stepped aside, floating around the room to check with the other caretakers

Hubert entered slowly, black boots almost silent; his heart clattered to his feet when he saw you

You were ashy, shiny with sweat, the rise of your chest barely visible; your brow was creased, though from pain or fighting to live he did not know

And the blood, goddess, the blood; the stench of it coated the room, mixed with decay; the amount of what he could see made his stomach lurch, nevermind how much you had actually lost

Healers and doctors stilled as the count approached the bed, step stiff, uneasy; they watched with wary eyes as he sat next to you, removing his gloves before taking your cold hand in both of his, lifting it to kiss the back of it

He failed to see them turn their heads away, gaze shifting to floor

Your head slowly turned to him, eyes cracking open as you managed a weak smile; your voice was more breath than sound, “I’m sorry…”

He shushed you immediately, baritone soft, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, starling.” He held your hand in his, the other reaching to stroke your forehead, “Save your strength”

Feeling a hand firm against his shoulder, Hubert turned, neck craning to meet the eyes of the midwife

“She’s been fighting since yesterday morning”

“If there is anything I can do, just say it”

“A blood transfusion, sir; we’ve done several already; however, it has only staunched a little. Though it is beginning to slow; the infection is making a hard time of it”

“I suppose magic is doing no good then”

“It is; far slower than we would like, unfortunately”

He turned his free arm wrist-up, “If it is blood she needs, then take as you will”

“Count Vestra, you cannot be serious”

“Would I joke about such a thing?”

She sighed, relenting, motioning for a healer to hand her a transfusion needle, the tube it would connect to wrapped shut against your other forearm, “You’ll feel a slight sting”

——–

You awoke sometime later, a familiar warmth surrounding your hand; your body ached, though nowhere near the stabbing you felt before; you were warm, comfortably so; you no longer felt or smelled the blood from earlier, the thick towels now thinner, softer

You turned your head, eyes opening slowly to find your husband seated next to you, asleep in a chair; your gaze traveled to the gauze around his forearm, unblemished

Brows furrowing slightly, you glanced down at your arm, finding the transfusion tube absent, in its place a bandage wrapped tight, pristine; Had he really?

Eyes returning to the young man next to you, you smiled, twisting your hand in his and lacing your fingers together

A gentle knock on the door roused him, angled face turning before languidly muttering “Come in”

The midwife, goddess bless her, entered, her expression shifting to one of surprise and elation, “Well, good afternoon to you both”

At this, Hubert startled, head turning to you; the joy that softened his stare and tipped the edges of his mouth up made your heart melt

You gave a closed smile in return, squeezing his slender fingers between yours

Patting your leg, the older woman checked the towels quickly, her sigh of relief not escaping either of you; “You are recovering nicely, Countess Vestra.” She addressed your husband, “And you, do you feel more at ease, Count Vestra?”

At the quirk of your brow, she chuckled, “This one refused to leave your side, even after being told that you were stable. I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that he gave us the time we needed”

Your smile broadened as you nodded, your gaze finding him again

“If I had to guess,” the woman continued, “I’d imagine you’re both quite famished after such an ordeal. May I get you something?”

Hubert looked at you for confirmation; at your nod, he replied, “If you would be so kind.” He stopped her as she turned on her heel, his tone strikingly sincere, “And, thank you for everything you’ve done”

“Of course, my lord. I have served this family since before you were born; it is my pleasure to do all that I can for you both.” The door clicked shut behind her

You stared at the ceiling, eyes trailing to the crown moulding; your tone held a bittersweet lilt, “So, what do we do now?”

He kissed the back of your hand, his response somber, “We grieve, pick up the pieces, knit them back together, and move forward.” At your almost shocked expression, he continued, “It will not be easy; we lost our child, nearly you with them. It will take time. But, I will be with you every step of the way.” He bit his lower lip in thought, holding your hand in both of his, “I promise you, I will not lose you again, my starling”

[mandakatt]

Dragon Age Origins Drabble - Iron Bull - Comfort

A/N: My last writing stream was fun! Thank you to those who made it out to watch me wrestle the muse into doing.... something productive.

I ended up turning the stream into a small request stream, just to get the words to beyond the writers block they felt like they were hiding behind.

This was written for @ravenvelith​ - as I promised her ages and a day I would write something with her Inquisitor and Iron Bull. X3

Characters: Iron Bull/Reader Warnings: None Word count: 534 Summary: A sudden rainstorm brings with it a headache that won’t leave you be.

A sigh passed your lips as you gently rubbed your fingers against your temples. Glancing up at the window you scowled, as if that look alone would get the rain to stop. Three days now, you had listened to it patter outside your window, and for three days it left a dull, throbbing ache almost right behind your eyes. 

Cursing it quietly under your breath you shifted, hoping maybe that sitting in another position, or rubbing against your temples in a counter-clockwise fashion may make the pain go away. 

So far… it hasn’t helped. 

With a groan you lean forward, resting your elbows on the table in front of you as you rest your head in your hands. You try to drop your shoulders, only to find that a knot has appeared between them, so you shift again in your seat, hissing under your breath.

Till a gentle warmth presses against the small of your back. 

“Kadan…” Bull purrs gently into your ear as you sit up with a start. “Easy, I have you…” and without another word, he slips an arm behind your shoulders, and the other under your knees to pick you up with ease. 

“Ah! B-Bull! Please, put me down…?”

“No,” he rumbles softly, an affectionate smile on his face as he walks back to your rooms. “Just trust me.”

“I do, my heart, but—”

“Shhh…’ and he grins further as he simply pushes open the door with his foot, walking backwards into your room. Bringing you over to the bed he lays you gently upon it, mindful, as if you were fragile, then climbs in after you. Rumbling soft compliments to your ear on how lovely you are.

“Bull, I don’t need… well I don’t need that, I just need—”

He laughs, and loudly. “No, Kadan, I didn’t think you needed sex to feel better, but I had another thing in mind. Just trust me.”

With a sigh you let your head fall back against the pillows only to be turned over to your side. He wrapped a large arm about your middle and drew you close to his chest, and he practically purred when he let his lips travel along the skin of your neck. 

“Or is it you that needs sex, Bull.” 

He laughs again, shaking his head lightly as he continues to brush his lips over your skin, while his hand then moves to gently lace his fingers, in someway, with your own. “Just rest, Kadan. Know that I am here, and that my pain is yours. Though I may not be able to take it from you, I am here to comfort you, in anyway that I can.” 

A smile pulls your lips upwards as you turn your head to look over your shoulder at him. “Thank you,” and you lean more so into him as his lips cover yours in a gentle kiss. 

“Though,” he begins when the kiss ends. “If you want sex, I won’t be opposed to that either.” 

With a huff you moved your arm enough to slap him, only to get a soft purr of ‘harder’ huffed into your ear, glad that your pain was forgotten about, for now.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Sweet Fantasy (Ethan x f!MC)

Summary: Ethan and Naomi pull an all nighter to work on a case.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: NSFW. Literally office sex, the type of sex we deserve in book 2.

Tags: @canknot @lapisreviewsstuff @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @choicesobsessedd @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @sparklinglilac  @cream-ray @perriewinklenerdie @barricades-of-freedom @dr-brianna-casey-valentine @doroshi-desu

~~/~~

“I’m glad we settled on takeout, because I cannot eat anymore hospital cafeteria food.”

Ethan looks up from the stack of papers on his desk and at Naomi, who’s sitting on the small couch in his office, happily eating her second slice of pizza.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying.”

The two doctors have been working in Ethan’s office for the past 6 hours, working on a particularly difficult case. A patient of theirs is in a coma, and no one can figure out why. So they raided the hospital’s library, pulling all sorts of books, journals, case studies, and files they could get their hands on in hopes of finding something, anything useful.

But it’s just past midnight, and they’re just as clueless as they were a few hours ago, and Ethan can feel his frustration rising. He’s no stranger to difficult cases, but he hasn’t been this lost since working on Naveen all those months ago.

“You know, one of the very first things I told you about myself is thatI’m a pretty observant person,” Naomi starts. “And I noticed that you’ve been staring at the same page for the last 5 minutes, so clearly, you aren’t doing any critical reading right now.”

He glances down at the page and chuckles softly to himself. “Honestly, I think I checked out around 30 minutes ago. And I’m getting a headache.”

“You’re on work overload,” Naomi says. 

“That much is obvious.”

She takes a napkin and wipes off her hands. “Let’s take a break.”

“We can’t afford to take breaks.”

“Would you rather take a 30 minute break now, or crash later on, thus being absolutely no help at all to our patient?” Naomi challenges with a slightly raised eyebrow. “Besides, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Ethan sighs. He hates admitting defeat, but she’s right. “So what do you suppose I do during this break?” 

Naomi gets off of the couch and walks over to Ethan’s desk. She runs her fingers across it, appreciating the quality of the aged light brown wood. This is one instance where their height disparity works well, because even though he’s sitting, they’re still eye-to-eye.Reaching out, she softly removes his glasses from his face, her fingertips just barely grazing his temples. “You won’t be needing these.”

Ethan tries to keep his composure. He and Naomi hadn't been this close to each other in 3 months, not since their last night together after her ethics hearing. Since then, they had been the ultimate professionals, careful not to fall down the very tempting rabbit hole of becoming lovers again.

“Close your eyes,” Naomi commands softly, her breath tickling his face.

He does what he’s told, and seconds later, he feels her warm thumbs gently massaging his forehead. “What are you doing?”

“This is one of the easiest ways to relieve tension. I don’t think you realize just how much of it you carry around.”

“Trust me, Rookie, I am acutely aware of just how much tension I have,” Ethan argues with a smirk. “You try being a department head in one of the biggest hospitals on the east coast.”

“So defensive,” Naomi tsks. “You should still take the time to unwind every once in a while. All this stress isn’t good for your health, you know.”

“I do know. I am a doctor after all.”

“Doctors make the worst patients. Always so stubborn and touchy.”

“I am not stub–” Naomi’s thumbs move from his forehead down to his temples, and the rest of her fingers tangle in Ethan’s thick hair. His argument halts right in his throat as his breath hitches at her touch.

“You are,” Naomi insists. “I don’t mind though.”

“Because you are just as stubborn.”

“It’s part of my charm and why you like me so much.” Ethan only snorts in reply, but he doesn’t retort. “How’s your head?”

“The throbbing isn’t as intense as it was a few seconds ago,” he says honestly.

“Good. I’m using my magic on you, and it’s working.”

“Is giving massages a superpower of yours?”

“Yes,” she replies matter-of-factly. “I’m a woman of many talents, Dr. Ramsey. Besides, I did this all the time in med school to keep my brain from exploding, so I’ve become a pro.”

Her nails gently graze Ethan’s scalp and his head drops against his will. A shudder passes through his body and a soft moan slips past his lips at the sensation. 

He opens his eyes quickly, a blush already forming on his cheeks. Naomi decides to stay silent, not wanting to draw any more attention to it or ruin the moment. Instead she just grips Ethan’s hair tighter, eliciting a sharper moan from him. 

She knows she’s playing a dangerous game, but she wants to see how far she can push it, push him. Her hands slide down the sides of his face, tracing his features – his high cheekbones and chiseled jaw covered in stubble – and settle on his neck.

Ethan locks eyes with Naomi and suddenly they’re trapped in a stalemate. Neither of them knows what to do.

Not breaking eye contact, Ethan reaches forward and grabs Naomi by the waist, pulling her closer to him. Her shirt rides up and his fingers slowly glide across the smooth expanse of her stomach, and she sucks in a deep breath in an effort to stay calm.

The air in the room is suddenly crackling with electricity, and Ethan is pretty sure he’s forgotten how to breathe. All he can focus on is how soft Naomi feels, and how good her sweet perfume smells.

His eyes flicker down to her full lips and he wants to kiss her. He’s never wanted to do something so badly, and there’s a physical ache in his chest at the longing. Thankfully he doesn’t have to make the decision as Naomi leans forward and presses her lips to his in a chaste kiss. It’s tentative and for the first time, she’s nervous and cautious around him, and before Ethan can even kiss her back, she pulls away.

“Damn,” he murmurs against her lips as she pulls away. He didn’t realize just how much he missed this — being close to her, kissing her — until now. It feels like a dormant flame has been reignited and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop it this time.

Naomi opens her mouth, probably to apologize, but Ethan doesn’t give her the chance. He takes her by the waist and pulls her back in for another kiss, the sheer force of it nearly knocking her over.

Scrambling, Naomi draws herself into his lap, her legs trapping him in his seat. She wants to gasp, hoping to get some air in her lungs, but it doesn’t seem like Ethan is letting her go any time soon.

His hand travels from her waist under her scrub rob until he feels the small of her back. His fingertips are on fire, every touch of her skin scorching him. Naomi moans at the contact and he takes the opportunity to run his tongue along her bottom lip before pulling it roughly between his teeth. Unable to do anything else, she grinds her hips against his, earning a groan from the older attending.

Eventually she breaks the kiss with a shuddering breath and rests her forehead against his. The only sounds that could be heard were their exhausted pants and heavy sighs.

“I’ve missed you,” Naomi whispers. Ethan’s chest clenches at the rawness in her voice, the vulnerability.

“I haven’t gone anywhere, Rookie.”

“You know what I mean.”

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss her as well. Not just the sex, but their shared intimacy. He cups her face between both of his hands, a thumb running across her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” he assures.

And that’s all she needs to hear. Gripping his tie, Naomi pulls him in for another kiss, just as fervent, but much more desperate.

Her lips travel across his jaw, enjoying the scrape of his stubble across her skin. She traces the shell of his ear with her tongue before whispering, “Do you trust me?”

“Without question.”

“Good.” Naomi removes herself from Ethan’s lap and he groans at the loss of contact. “Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up,” Naomi repeats. Her eyes scan the room until she settles on the perfect spot. “Stand against the bookshelf.”

Ethan does what he’s told, despite the confusion. Where was this headed?

Once his back is firmly planted against the tall bookshelf, Naomi removes his tie, letting the piece of silk slide between her fingers. She then wraps it around her head, fashioning it into a hair tie, pulling her curls out of her face. “I hope you’re not too attached to this tie, because I kind of like it.”

“It’s yours,” Ethan says quickly.

Smirking at his eagerness, Naomi slowly unbuttons Ethan’s dress shirt, marveling at every new inch of skin that’s released with the adept work of her fingers. She rids of the offending material once it’s fully unbuttoned, throwing it behind her without a backward glance to where it lands.

“Ethan Ramsey, you are quite the work of art underneath all those pesky clothes,” Naomi says. She nips at his neck and collarbone, eliciting soft groans and grunts from the man. She loves the fact that she can do this, turn such a powerful man into a puddle of goo beneath her feet. 

Her nails rake across his chest and stomach, leaving scratches and tiny crescent shaped indents in their wake. She’s marking him on purpose, and Ethan is too far gone to care. “Fuck, Rookie–” Naomi’s hand gently grazes the front of his pants and the ability to form setences is wiped away completely. He doesn’t think it’s possible for him to get any harder than he is right now, but he had a feeling that Naomi was going to test the limits.

She makes quick work of unbuckling his pants, dropping them to the floor. “Keep your eyes on me, Dr. Ramsey,” she commands, and fuck, the use of his official title in such an intimate moment makes his knees go weak. Her voice is soft, but there’s a firmness there. He knows she means business. “Don’t you dare look away. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Good.” 

Naomi’s tongue darts out and she swipes it across his chest, taking in the taste of his expensive cologne, his sweat, and something that is just so uniquely him. His abdomen seized at the sensation, especially when she drops down to her knees and gets closer to his navel.

She pulls his boxers down at an alarmingly slow pace, and Ethan is almost certain that she’s trying to torture him to death.

He was uncomfortably hard at this point, dripping precum, but Naomi doesn’t seem to care. She’s humming quietly to herself, her fingernails tracing patterns onto his hips, which are taut with tension. He’s a whimpering mess at this point.

“Naomi…”

There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes as she looks up at him. “Yes?”

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“How much more of what?” She’s teasing him now, wanting to draw this out as long as she can.

“This, this teasing.”

“What do you want me to do?” Naomi asks innocently. She kisses the area above his pelvis and hips snap against her involuntarily at the contact. “Use your words.”

“Stop torturing me,” Ethan pleads. “Please.”

At long last, she takes him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the tip. A growl escapes from deep in his throat and he throws his head back in satisfaction.

But that action makes Naomi stop her movements. “I gave you a very simple instruction, Dr. Ramsey. Keep your eyes on me.” Ethan struggles to open his eyes, but he manages. “Thank you.”

She resumes working on him, adding her hand to stroke his length simultaneously. Unable to look away or turn his head, Ethan grabs a handful of Naomi’s curly hair and pulls it roughly. She moans, the sound reverberating against him, heightening the sensation. “Fuck.”

He feels her tongue tracing something on the underside of his shaft. It takes a few times before he realizes that she’s spelling her name.

V

A

L

“Naomi–”

She ignores him, alternating between taking him fully into her mouth and teasing him.

E

N

T

I

The all too familiar tightening settles in his stomach. He’s close. He’s so close, he can almost taste it. His grip on Naomi’s hair only gets fiercer, his knuckles turning white at the force. His hips buck uncontrollably under her touch, but she doesn’t change her tempo at all, maintaining her steady pace. Ethan wasn’t the one in charge, she was.

“Fuck, Naomi, I’m gonna c–”

N

E

A string of expletives leave his mouth as he comes and Naomi hums in satisfaction. That was definitely a new record that she intends to beat in the near future.

Ethans pulls her up and slants his mouth over hers, kissing her hungrily. Hooking his hands underneath her thighs, Ethan lifts Naomi up with ease and carries her over to his desk, not caring about the pages of research he was pouring over just minutes ago.

Once she’s securely on his desk, Ethan tears her scrub top off of her body, admiring the lace covered hot pink bra she’s sporting. “You’re so beautiful.”

“You aren’t so bad yourself.”

“What do you want me to do?” Ethan asks, mirroring the words she spoke to him not too long ago.

“I want you to fuck me, right on this desk,” Ethan.”

“Ethan.”

“Ethan.”

“Ethan!”

Ethan’s eyes snap open and he awakes with a sharp gasp, trying to fill his lungs with as much air as possible.

He looks around and instantly relaxes when he sees that he’s in his office. There’s a hand on his shoulder and he looks up and finds Naomi staring back at him, a concerned look on her face.

“Ethan, are you okay?”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, I just heard you talking in your sleep.”

Ethan takes in his surroundings. His office is dark, lit only by a few lamps. He’s fully clothed still, and so is Naomi,

“Did I say anything?”

“No, it was just a lot of incoherent mumbling,” Naomi responds.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s late, and you’re tired.”

Ethan isn’t necessarily tired for falling asleep. He’s sorry for having sex dreams about his young mentee. It feels selfish, especially since he’s the one who’s been keeping her at an arm’s length.

“You’re right.” He rubs a hand over his face, trying to shake the thoughts out of his mind and hide the blush creeping onto his cheeks. It’s hard to look Naomi in the eye mere seconds after very dirty thoughts crowded his brain. “Why don’t we put a pin in this for the night.”

“Are you sure?” Naomi asks. “I don’t mind pulling an all nighter.”

“I’m sure. Go home and get some rest. We’ll tackle this with a fresh set of eyes tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.” Naomi tidies up a bit, stacking all of the textbooks and articles she was reading neatly on Ethan’s small coffee table. Before she leaves, she turns to Ethan with a slight smile. “Have a nice night, Dr. Ramsey.”

“You too, Rookie.”

Once she’s gone from his office, Ethan drops his head onto the cool surface of his desk and lets out a shaky breath.

He’s completely and utterly fucked.

[youremarvelous]

Hello yes I am always down for sickfics 😍 If you want a prompt, might I request a sick Victor doing his best to coach Yuuri but it's obvious he is unwell and should be resting?

Viktor’s initial mistake on the dawn of his first hanami is leaving Yutopia early enough to scope out a perfect for him and Yuuri with a big blanket, a cooler of sakura-flavored alcohol and snacks, and no sunscreen in tow. His second mistake is getting drunk off the dual influences of Asahi Sakura beer and locals asking for pictures, not because he’s Viktor Nikiforov, five-time consecutive gold medalist, but because he’s that eccentric foreigner dating the Katsuki boy.

By the time the sun is setting and Viktor’s day-long bender is wearing off— leaving a dull headache and loose-limbed contentment in its wake—his skin is stinging and dry but not unbearably so. He doesn’t even really notice it until he playfully hip checks Yuuri on their walk back to Yutopia and Yuuri retaliates by pinching the sensitive spot on Viktor’s nape.

Viktor throws his head back with a pained hiss and Yuuri snaps his hand back, cradling it against his chest as if he had accidentally thrust it into burning stove coils. “You okay?” He asks, concern creasing his forehead.

‘Fine—” Viktor waves off his worry with an easy smile—“you just surprised me.”

It isn’t until they’re bathed in the artificial light of the inn that they realize Viktor is about as fine as a boiled lobster. Every inch of exposed skin is searing red, so bright it appears to be glowing against the porcelain white of his normal, healthy complexion.  

“I should’ve brought sunscreen,” Yuuri frets for the tenth time that night, rubbing aloe into the hard to reach spots on Viktor’s stripped nude body.

“It’s not your fault, dove,” Viktor says into his pillow because moving is too painful. He’s turned red before from the light streaming through car windows, gotten burned after five minutes in a tanning bed. He’s well acquainted with his limits as a melanin deprived individual and if it’s anyone’s responsibility to account for his evolutionary deficiency it’s his. He’d tell Yuuri as much if the effort required for doing so didn’t spin the room like an off-kilter carousel and flip his stomach into his throat.

The pain is worse the next morning. Viktor groans when his alarm sounds after a fitful night of trying to get comfortable without setting fire to his limbs by, well, moving them. He peels himself from his aloe-dampened sheets and has to pause on the side of the bed with his head bowed over his knees when the movement makes his pulse knock angrily against his temples.

He should probably call the day a wash and spend his Monday prone in bed, soothing his sun-roasted body with icy washcloths, an artillery of fans, and Yuuri’s fingers, combing comfortingly across his scorched scalp. He should, but he has his duty as a coach to attend, so he invokes Yuuri’s stubborn influence and pushes himself up from the bed and toward the closet.

Viktor doesn’t remember dressing ever being so painful, and he’s been known to suffer for fashion in the way of waist cinching tops and six inch heels. The fine fabrics comprising his wardrobe—normally soft and comfortable against his sensitive skin—feel like sandpaper ripping up his stinging flesh to a bloody pulp. The mental image makes his stomach roil so he pushes it out of his head with choreography reviews and staggers to the kitchen on stiff limbs to keep his clothes from shifting against him.

Yuuri is already there when he reaches it, his arms piled high with ice packs and water bottles. “What are you doing up?”

“I was going to ask you the same.” Viktor puts a hand on the table, uses it as leverage to lower himself slowly into a chair like an old man with a bad back. “Turning over a new leaf as an early bird?”

“No, I mean—you should be in bed.”

Viktor leans an elbow against the table to keep his burning back from grazing the chair. “Is that a proposition?”

“Vitya,” Yuuri says pointedly, depositing his armful of sunburn treatments on the counter.

“I’m okay.” Viktor straightens up to prove it. He barely manages not to cringe when the movement scalds his shoulders with fire and makes his gut bubble and surge like the ocean during high tide. “Sore but okay.”

Yuuri opens his mouth to argue but Viktor cuts him off. “I won’t even get on the ice. I’ll just watch you from the bleachers.”

Yuuri cocks his weight into one hip, chews his lip uncertainly.

“Let me stay by your side, right?” Viktor says, which is an unfair final blow but a successful one. Yuuri gives in begrudgingly, though insists on having Mari drop them off at the rink in lieu of their usual jog and shielding Viktor with his Mom’s parasol on the short walk from the inn to the car.

Everything is fine at first. Yuuri manages the best run-through to date of his new FS and Viktor sits rinkside with uncharacteristic slumped posture, basking in the residual chill of the ice while the triplets entertain themselves by pressing words and drawings into his inflamed skin with their fingers.

It isn’t until he stands to correct Yuuri’s form that the reality of his singed, dehydrated state sinks in again, blacking out his vision at the edges so he’s forced to sink back on the bench or else risk face planting into the boards. Sitting doesn’t help like he wants it to. His head spins in time with his stomach and he feels more than hears the rattle of the triplets moving out of the splash zone in case his breakfast decides to make a reappearance.

Viktor waves a hand over his head to indicate he’s fine—more to alleviate their fear than anything—but his skin is pulsing with molten heat and he’s starting to think lying on the ice might not be a bad idea. It’s like a full body ice pack—a lake-sized cooling balm for his pounding head and throbbing limbs. Maybe that’s why Yuuri falls out of his jumps with surprising regularity considering his skill, he thinks, to keep this frozen spring of eternal youth and sunburn healing to himself.

He doesn’t register fully losing consciousness, but it must happen because one moment he’s sitting on the bleachers with his head hovering precariously low between his knees and the next he is sprawled out on the floor, something cold pressed against both sides of his neck and under his armpits and Yuuri’s frightened, handsomely tanned face hovering over him, fanning him with a tissue box. It’s been a while since Viktor’s contemplated his demise, but on the list of ways to go, swooning into the arms of a beautiful man like one of those delicate ladies on the covers of his favorite romance novels is very near the top.

“Is this heaven?” Viktor asks. He means for it to rinse away the look of frenetic worry lining Yuuri’s features, but the words come out rounded at the edges—stuck on his dry lips— and have the opposite effect.

“Mari’s on her way to take us to the hospital,” Yuuri informs him, tracing Viktor’s jawline with his cold fingers, gently thumbing stray hair behind Viktor’s ear. “Do you think you can drink some water?”

Viktor nods. He has a mind to make a comment about how he’s already enjoying the tall drink of water in front of him, but when Yuuri helps hoist him up into a seated position his stomach jumps to his throat and all that comes out is a dry heave.

Yuuri rubs Viktor’s thigh—one of the few spots that aren’t glowing crimson—and doesn’t say, “I told you so,” which is nice because Viktor thinks he might’ve by now. The sentiment does manage to creep its way into his hands—clasped together in his lap—when Viktor is safely set up at the hospital with an iv and prescription strength burn cream and is starting to feel more like a human than a molten magma monster.

Yuuri doesn’t scold Viktor, even when he’s released from the hospital that evening with strict instructions to stay hydrated and rest and Yuuri spends the night in Viktor’s bed with him, as close as he can get without hurting him, carefully massaging cooling balm into his burns whenever the pain and the heat stir him from sleep.

He does load Viktor down with no less than ten bottles of sunscreen by the time the next spring rolls around, setting hourly timers so he won’t forget to re-apply no matter how distracted they get by sakura wine and the sight of one another in their robin’s egg blue coordinating couple’s outfits.

“I guess this is what I get—” Viktor tilts his head back to smile at Yuuri who is busy rubbing cold sunscreen on the back of his husband’s lily-white neck—“for falling in love with a man who’s so damn hot.”

                       send me a prompt  |  my yoi drabbles  |  kofi ♡  

[ahumanfemale]

The Talk

I got in the mood for a little 19x03 episode tag... set the day after the infamous “yummy” scene.  Angsty, be warned.  -  xoxo, ahf.

Rafael really should be at home.

The file in front of him could be dissected in his apartment, from the comfort of his deep couch or even from bed.  Notes could be made in sweatpants and a worn t-shirt rather than his three-piece suit.  Work could be done even over the top of his reading glasses, a thought that occurs to him as a dull headache throbs between his brows.  There was no reason he couldn’t be home other than his own stubbornness.  

That, and the budding desire to keep work away from home.

An impulse he hasn’t had the courage to face just yet.

And one that he avoids yet another night with the sound of a knock at his door.  The quick, rhythmic knock that signaled either Olivia or Carmen and he had sent Carmen home three hours before.  

“Come in.”

Olivia walks through the door and the sight is a welcome one.  At least for a second, until Rafael’s eyes rest on the smaller body she’s carrying past his door.  Noah, in a thick hooded jacket with a candy bar in one hand and a small tablet in another.  He offers a strained smile at the child’s animated wave and he watches Olivia settle him onto Rafael’s couch.  The nice leather one.  The nice leather one he doesn’t want to spend half an hour cleaning chocolate out of.

“Liv-”

A look is all it takes.  A look that tells him in no uncertain terms, Live with it Rafael.

“Here you go, sweetie.  Watch your show while Mr. Barba and I talk, okay?” she asks nicely and the child nods, attention back on the animated video almost as soon as she’s done talking.  

“I seem to remember a lot of high rhetoric about screen time a few years ago,” he teases and Olivia scoffs in return.

“Sugar, too.  Every parent is that parent until you need them to be still and quiet for more than five minutes.”  He laughs and sets down his pen, leaning back in the chair while Olivia squares her shoulders and adds, “I was hoping we could talk, if you have a minute.”

“Of course.  Although somehow I feel like this talk is already not in my favor.”

“I’m not here to attack you.”

“And thank God for that.”  He nods at Noah behind her.  “You already have backup.”

That wins him a smile, however brief.

“I came to talk to you about yesterday, in my office.”

Rafael cocks his head.  “Yesterday?”

“When we were discussing what to do about Evelyn, Nora, and Julie.”

“And we decided to go through with Carisi’s suggestion.”

“You did.  Without a fight, even,” she points out and his stomach gives a slight flip.  “I’m glad to see you’re getting along again.”

“We never stopped.”

She arches an eyebrow in his direction.  “I’m almost certain the last year would beg to differ.”

“We’ve had…” he starts, grapples for a word that doesn’t sound too intimate.  “Disagreements.”

“No, you’ve had sparring matches.  Carisi had a temper that I’ve never seen from him, but only with you.  I didn’t see him lash out at anyone else during that time.”

“Liv-”

“Don’t hurt him again, Rafael.”

He blinks, stunned.  

Olivia doesn’t so much as bat an eye, holding his gaze evenly while the sound of Noah’s cartoon in the background detracts from the otherwise deafening silence between them.  

“I don’t recall disclosing a relationship to my superiors,” he says coolly, “And I’m almost certain Carisi wouldn’t, either.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Then I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“Do you think I’m blind?  Or just willfully ignorant?” she asks, exasperated even after less than five minutes in the room with him.  “I don’t know when or how, but I know that it happened.  I even think you made him happy, that much was obvious.  Even after Mike’s death, he was okay.  Until he wasn’t.”

“And you think that has to do with me?”

“I know it does.  Just like I know that it must be fading, because here you are again.  Flirting, sending those same long looks over my desk like you’re the only ones who can see them,” she sighs.  “And maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am.  So I’m here to ask you again - please, please don’t hurt him.”

Rafael clears his throat, feels the knot there and does his best to talk around it. 

“I never… this wasn’t supposed to happen.  It wasn’t intentional.”

She scoffs, “Now that I believe.”

“I’m just trying to tell you that it wasn’t the plan.  This wasn’t supposed to develop into… feelings.  What it became, and even how it ended.  I never meant to hurt Sonny.”

“Uncle Sonny?!” Noah cried from behind them, happy to have heard a name he recognizes.  

“That’s right, baby.  We’re talking about Uncle Sonny.”

“He gives me cookies when you aren’t looking.”

Rafael chuckles.  That sounds like something the man would do.

“Does he?  Well, I’ll have to start using the eyes on the back of my head then,” Olivia says and shakes her head, looking back at Rafael with softness across her features.  “He’s smitten with Uncle Sonny.  We all are, I think.”

We are, he thinks but can’t bring himself to say it.  

Next to his arm his phone vibrates and his eyes dart to the screen, seeing a familiar name flash across it.  He thumbs the message open in less than a second, without even thinking about it.  The message is short and simple and still Rafael can hear Sonny’s voice in it.  The accent, the warmth.  He can even picture Sonny’s smirk as he typed out the words, plans already forming in his mind as the message sends.

You free tonight?

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Olivia asks quietly.

He nods briefly and puts the phone away, forgoing a response until he could form it alone.  

“I can tell.  You light up near him, Rafael.  Like I haven’t seen you done in years,” she tells him and before he can answer she’s stepped away, collected Noah from his spot on the couch.  To his surprise there’s not a dollop of chocolate on his seat from what he can tell.  Olivia heads for the door and turns back at the last minute, offering him a small smile.  “I hope… I hope you know what you’re doing.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a defense.

“Have a nice night, Olivia.”

“Bye, Mr. Barba!” Noah cries as she leaves and then the door is closed behind them, the sound of the heels of Olivia’s boots fading down the hallway until he’s left with ringing silence and the unpleasant skitter of his own unease.  

He looks down again, at the paperwork he hasn’t managed to make any headway on in close to two hours.  Then at his phone, flipping it over again to see Sonny’s message.

Rafael stares at it, the ghost of a smile forming.  

It’s so easy to smile around Sonny.

Then Noah’s earnest face floats to the forefront of his mind again, chocolate smeared at the corner of his mouth while he excitedly asks about Uncle Sonny.  Noah, the child of a coworker who somehow Sonny had managed to bewitch into loving him.  Like everyone else, Rafael mourns and feels a familiar chasm open up in the center of his chest.

Those old fights are still there, he realizes, as every one of them wells to the surface again.  

Always there, always haunting him.  

They hadn’t gone away, not really.  Not the big ones.  Rafael had only forgotten how those old fights made him feel in the year and a half since their last one-sided shouting match around two in the morning - frustrated, angry.  Grieving for a man who refused to leave him in the hopes he could persuade Rafael to want the same kind of family he did.  A fight Sonny could never, ever hope to win because Rafael was fifteen years past persuading.  

Rafael looks at the message again, picturing Sonny’s smiling face even has he hears the remnants of Olivia’s heartfelt warning in his ears.

He looks at the message, takes a deep breath.

Heart panging in his chest, he deletes it.

[exurbiaa]

Slavonic Studies 4: Reminiscent Studies

Warning: Explicit

Read on AO3

"I'm late I'm late I'm late I'm" Viktor repeated like a chant as he struggled to gather his notes together, half leaning out of the car, having struggled through the night to put together something coherent to say in the second years' introduction class.

He hadn't planned to spend the night the way he had. Really, he hadn't.

His initial plans had run something along these lines: go to the bar, get a bit drunk because it was the last day of the holidays, maybe get off with someone quick against the alley wall if they got him buzzed enough, get home, work for a bit and get a good night's sleep.

What he wasn't expecting was some beautiful Japanese man to seduce him that simply and easily. Normally, it was him who did the seducing, loving the blush in the other person's cheeks at just his words, the hitch of their breath at the trail of his fingers, the little gasp as he pressed down some place sensitive. This time, it was him that was a mess, internally tripping over himself, at a loss for words to describe this man. And he knew several languages with which to describe things, thank you very much.

He certainly didn't expect to hear the man mention the same university he taught at to be the one he studied at. He'd probably spent a good fifteen minutes when he got back to his apartment trying to distract himself, finally rising off the sofa to make some coffee to shake off his drowsiness. He'd barely managed to scrape something together and finally managed a couple of hours of sleep.

He kept walking as fast he could, glancing down at his watch to look at the time, before violently slamming into someone and almost tumbling to the ground with his sheets. He immediately bent towards the ground, apologizing profusely.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry, are you okay?"

He stopped for a moment and couldn't help a soft gasp.

He most certainly did not expect the aforementioned beautiful Japanese man that preoccupied his thoughts to be wincing and twisting on the ground in front of him, with a pair of glasses he definitely did not have on the night before sliding off the end of his nose.

God, he looks so attractive in those. Please tell me I don't have a goddamn boner right now it's too early for this.

"Do you need a hand up?" he asked him, finally coming back to earth. Clearly the other man hadn't come back yet as he still kept staring with the same doe eyes as yesterday, albeit with an innocence that wasn't there the previous night.

He laughed, "I’d love to stay here all day but I need to rush to my class, may I help you up, Mr. Katsuki?” That seemed to jolt Yuuri out of his reverie and he blinked once before his eyes snapped wide open and he dazedly put his hand in Viktor's.

Viktor pulled him up and bent over to retrieve the rest of his papers and spotted Yuuri's shrug off to the side. He picked it up and handed it back to him, suddenly remembering what time it was and yelling, "Well, I need to rush, I’ll see you around," over his shoulder as he hurried away, trying not to let the loose papers fly away.

Goddamit, why did he have to choose today to forget his bag at home?

The lecture that he delivered passed quickly enough, his mind in another place entirely as he attempted to introduce his class to another year of Russian culture, catching up with his students, and ribbing the few hickies he saw. Looks like he wasn't the only who got lucky last night. His distraction was quite obvious though, with some students teasingly asking him why he seemed to be stumbling over his words during his lecture.

He settled into the seat behind one of the front desks, deciding to take a few minutes to get the throbbing headache out of his head. He undid his tie as his students approached to ask him a few questions (how did they already have doubts about the lecture? He had barely taught anything) and internally chuckled as a few visibly gulped. Finally picking his papers and phone up, he left the lecture hall and headed to the staff room.

"-tor. VIKTOR!" Viktor finally awoke at the loud voice near his ear, a hand repeatedly patting his head in an annoying way. He grumbled and swatted at the hand, not sure when he'd reached his cabin and fallen asleep. That was just far too unprofessional of him, and Chris knew it, as he leaned in to ask him, "Have a good night?" winking as he did so.

"Great one, to be honest," Viktor answered as he rubbed his eyes trying to get rid of the drowsiness. His stomach let out a loud rumble and he looked at his desk clock, horrified to find that he had slept up till lunch time. Quickly grabbing his wallet, he followed Chris out of the door, walking towards the canteen.

The walk was a quick one, questions answered shortly by Viktor in his distracted state of mind. He didn't notice the mechanical motions as he ordered his usual and payed the cashier.

Why is one person weighing so heavily on my mind? Why am I this distracted?

"What's wrong? You seem awfully quiet and distracted today," came Chris' muffled voice from around a mouthful of his sandwich.

"I just... Um..."

"Did you piss off Yakov again?"

"What? No!"

"Okay, even that doesn't weigh that heavily on your mind. So, what's up? Why are you this distracted?"

"Remember how you asked me if I had a great night?"

Chris grinned, apparently ready for whatever tales came his way. Viktor knew that he sort of liked listening to Viktor about his hook-ups, especially the ones that were massive failures because it just went to show that even Viktor Nikiforov could sometimes be turned down in so harsh a manner that he spent the rest of his night sexually frustrated and terribly grumpy.

"Yeah, I do. What about it?"

"Well, um, I may have fucked up a little?

Oh, Chris looked so ready for this.

"Whatever happened, it's okay. They'll come around, you'll see. They missed a-"

"I slept with a student."

Chris frowned. Viktor wasn't sure what his reaction would be but wasn't expecting-

"- what was a high school student doing in a bar?"

"What the fuck, Chris? No, oh lord, I meant a student at this university."

"Oh. Oh shit."

"No, don't worry they were old enough. I'd put them at between 23 and 25."

"Oh, then why's that a problem?"

"Because it's a student, Chris. A student."

"Are they your student? Have you taught them or are they in your class this year?"

"No, they aren't."

"Viktor, I really don't see your problem here."

"I don't fuck students, Chris."

"Alright, first off, they aren't your student. Second, they're old enough, they're just a couple of years younger, by your estimate. Third, they aren't your student."

"So, you think I'm being irrational about this?"

"Yes. See, there would be a problem if they were your student because you might go at them again and then develop feelings and it would all be a messy situation."

"I know all of that."

"I mean, do you want to go out with them?"

"It was just a one-time thing but honestly, I wouldn't mind taking him out some time, he seemed quite lovely, even when he was drunk, and God, Chris he's so shy and adorable when he isn't drunk, I just bumped into him this morning but I was in a hurry to get to class but he has the most beautiful brown eyes and they look like rusted gold and chocolate had a child and glasses, Chris, and h-"

Viktor suddenly found a hand waving in his face and Chris yelling at him to stop.

"He sounds wonderful, Viktor. Just consider what you want to do. If you can just leave it at a one-night stand, you should. If you can't, then go out some time, see how well you get along and maybe go out more but be a discreet, I suppose."

"Are you encouraging me?"

"My man, you haven't found a steady relationship to be in for the past year and half and you've continuously been hooking up with strangers."

Viktor knew Chris was more than a bit worried about him. He hadn't taken his last relationship breaking up well, his girlfriend having left him because he was too academically focused and had wanted to get his doctorate quickly. Most of his relationships had ended because of that. Because he was too focused on his own career. Because he considered his education more important than anything else. Because he was selfish.

He'd gotten used to lovers leaving his life so often that he didn't even feel anything when she'd left. At least, not until two days later, when he snapped his pencil while jotting down notes too hard and muffled a scream into his hand. He cried almost every night after, spending every night in a dingy bar that wasn't as warm and cozy as the one he frequented, drowning himself in cheap liquor and wafting smoke from strangers' cigarettes, trying to lose himself in another's touch, but feeling no satisfaction.

It had become a dull routine that Chris had finally broken for him after a week and half, picking him up from the bar and taking him to his own house to let him snuggle against his chest, snivelling into his mug of hot chocolate.

Viktor was better after that, but still not ready for a proper relationship. He had loved her a lot. But apparently not enough. So he spent up until now satisfying someone to rid himself of that dull ache.

Up until now.

He leaned back in his seat and smiled at Chris, glad he had someone to take care of his self-destructive ass.

"We'll see."

"Speaking of which, how good was the booty though," Chris suggestively waggled his eyebrows at him.

"Power booty damn ten on ten would do again."

"I'm guessing he dominated the fuck out of you if you're this satisfied with a quick fuck after such a long time."

Viktor couldn't help his smirk as his mind replayed the scenes from last night.

"Oh, you have no idea."

[spacedadpicard]

hohoho

Submission from @born-potty

There was dull throbbing in his gut. Almost like the residual aftershocks of Red Mountain exploding full force.

He tried to open his eyes. See whatever was happening.

Prying his eyelids open, he could see that there was indeed movement. Everything shifted in and out of focus, though.

His body quaked as pressure was applied against his gut. It felt as if somebody was shoving a ball of energy straight inside him. It wasn’t very subtle.

A groan escaped his lips. The pressure stopped instantaneously. Something hovered over his face. Disembodied voices. Probably questions.

He tried to raise his right hand. Touch the phantom. Instead, his fingers clawed through the air fruitlessly.

The scent of roses wafted through his nostrils as his eyes closed. He felt drained. Oblivion beckoned.

Mere moments before his consciousness was stripped of him, he was able to identify the elusive phantom.

Her.

Aedan smiled to himself.

1234567890

Things had not gone the way he had thought they would.

He had thought that it would be simple enough to sneak instead Mistveil Keep, search for some incriminating documents, and leave unnoticed.

Alas, that was not meant to be.

The whoreson whom he had unmanned for molesting Madlen a few short days ago had been up and about. Apparently, Sibbi Black-Briar was no longer able to sleep at night. It was he who had sounded the intruder alarm. It didn’t take long before the whole keep was up in arms.

Aedan had been able to take the initiative and run past most of the guards before he ran into Hemming Black-Briar. The bastard had been standing before his open door with a sword in hand, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He had not expected an intruder to run past him and into his room.

For his defence, Aedan had been aiming for the window. It was open. If he could reach the window, he would be able to escape.

He had not expected Hemming to throw his sword like a javelin and inflict a three inch deep penetration on his waist, right below the floating ribs. Aedan had a foot on the window pane and though it was too late to stop the jump, the shock to his system prevented him to actually jumping. Instead, he fell three stories and landed on a nightshade bush.

Though the earth was soft, the impact was enough to jar his entire body. He had, conveniently enough, fallen on his injured side.

Breaths came in haggard gasps as he lay there, hand covering the bleeding wound in his side. Aedan was sure that the fall had broken a few things. He knew not what, what he had definitely broken a few choice bones.

His mind raced. He had to stop the bleeding. He had to move. He had to hide.

With a feral grunt, Aedan flipped his body onto his front, pulling his knee up and pushing himself with his free hand onto his knee. He then kicked himself onto his feet and staggered forward a few steps before going down to his knees again.

The world spun around him. The pain was disorienting. Everything hurt.

Aedan heard muffled yells in the distance. They would hunt him down. If they found him, well, it wouldn’t end up very well for him.

He would have to focus. Get his mental faculties in shape. He needed a goal. Something to motivate himself to reach.

Directly before him was the graveyard. If he could make it there, he could hide in the damned foxhole the Thieves’ Guild used.

Goal. Check.

Taking a deep breath, Aedan bit his lip and cast a flames spell right into his injured his side, singeing his skin and cauterising the wound. He almost blacked out on his feet. When the initial shock subsided, the pain would help him focus. Take one step before the other.

But bloody fucking Oblivion did it sting!

Standing on shaky knees, he hobbled to the stone wall of the cemetery and used it to stabilise himself. Every step exhausted his air reserves. Every step jarred his ribs. He felt a headache coming.

Normally, he would leap over the wall, but this time he thought it wiser to take the longer route and went around to the gate.

He heard the rallying calls getting louder in the distance. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he could see the distant glow of torches.

It was a manhunt.

Cursing, Aedan tore his cowl from his face and held it to the charred skin on his side. Fisting his free hand, he punched the diamond shaped symbol on the marble sarcophagus.

The giant marble slab moved back revealing a stairway straight down… to who knew where.

It was a gaping chasm straight to Oblivion. With stairs for extra torture.

Clutching his side, Aedan took the agonising first few steps. The corners of his vision darkened with every step he took and when he grasped the chain and pulled it back to release the mechanism, his body lost all strength.

He clung to the chain to stop himself from falling.

When he felt somewhat better, Aedan let go of the chain and took wobbly steps forward.

Put one foot before the other. Let the goal come to you.

Easier said than done.

A strange numbness was spreading over his torso. He could scarcely feel… anything.

At the end of stairs and at the end of his strength, Aedan found a hole, and a wooden ladder attached to the wall.

Oh, fuck these thieves.

His vision was on the verge of fading. He had done all he could. Pushed himself as far as he was able. And this would be as far as he would go.

Aedan’s knees gave way and he tumbled out of the hole.

He was vaguely aware of his body plunging into cold water. But he was too far gone to care.

Darkness enveloped him soon after. Aedan didn’t fight it.

1234567890

Everything bloody hurt.

Aedan opened his eyes and saw a girl sitting by his bedside, legs crossed. She had been reading a book, but stopped to spare him a scowl.

“You’re awake.”

Curt.

The girl then stood and walked away… somewhere.

Where the fuck am I?

The first thing he noticed was that he was on a cot of some sort. Not exactly a bed, but close enough. Plus, wherever he was, it smelled. It felt damp, too.

The man tried to sit up, but couldn’t even lift his shoulders off of the bed. The reward for his effort came in the form of a dull thudding pain shooting up from his abdomen, disorienting him.

Oh right. I was stabbed.

Memories of his most recent adventure gone wrong flooded through his mind, taunting him. Aedan closed his eyes and sighed out of his nostrils.

“You sure know how to make a sensational entrance, don’t you?”

Aedan snorted in acknowledgment. This voice he would know anywhere. The scent of roses followed soon after.

Though he didn’t open his eyes, he felt Madlen take the seat by his bedside. “If Sapphire was a tad too frosty earlier, you have to understand that you did drop like a rock into the Guild headquarters. She even had to surrender her cot to you.”

“Not exactly the most comfortable of cots,” Aedan retorted. “Sleep deprivation can lead to crankiness.”

He heard the redhead chuckle. Some part of him deep inside felt alive and died at the same time.

“How long has it been?”

“Almost a day. You aren’t the most peaceful of sleepers.”

“…did I punch anybody?”

“No.” A sigh. “You’re just really restless. It was a pain, trying to patch you up.”

Aedan opened his eyes then, locking his gaze with the rich brown orbs he had come to love so. “Thank you,” he said quietly before closing his eyes again.

“It’s the least I could have done,” was the equally subdued reply.

I can cut the awkwardness with a damned falchion.

With a pained grunt, Aedan sat up, clutching his injured side with his right hand and planting his left on the bed to keep himself upright. He felt Madlen’s hand on his shoulder, stabilising him. Her other hand went to his ribs instinctively. Aedan felt her hand over his own and turned to see a concerened look on her face, brows furrowed.

“You need rest,” she said resolutely, applying a gentle pressure on his shoulder to get him to lie down again.

Her face was too close to his, though. He felt he could kiss the pout forming on those gorgeous pink lips of hers.

Why was she so concerned? It wasn’t like they were awfully close or anything.

She’s just that nice.

Clenching his jaw, Aedan turned away. “I’m fine,” he said and swung his feet around the edge of the cot and stood, Madlen coming around the bed to help him. He didn’t deny her that.

“Yes. So fine you can’t even take a step without wincing.”

“…I’ll be fine.”

“Gods, you’re exasperating!”

Aedan couldn’t deny that he sounded like a petulant child. She was right, too, about the fact that even standing upright made him dizzy. But at that moment, he couldn’t really help but snap.

“Look,” he began. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But stop babying me. Okay?”

Maybe it was the tone of his voice that caused it, but Madlen somewhat snapped too.

“Oh yes, sure, I’m babying you. It’s not like you fell through the entrance bleeding all over and nearly dead and almost gave me a heart attack or anything,” she spat, letting go of his bicep so he wobbled on his feet slightly.

Aedan turned to face her. “You were quick to congratulate me on my various endeavours against the Black-Briars. Did you not think that something like this would or could happen eventually? If I’m strong enough to get on my feet after being stabbed that means you ought to be happy because I can again strike at Maven. That means peace for you, your hubby-to-be and his sister as well.”

That gave her pause. Rubbing her bicep, the redhead looked away as if guilty. “It doesn’t mean I like seeing you get hurt.”

Many hurtful things he could have said at that moment in rage. He was the only thorn in the side of Madlen and Elvil’s relationship. If he and the Black-Briars cancelled each other out, it would be a completely profitable situation for the couple.

Instead, he sighed and ran a tired hand through his short hair. “I’ve outstayed my welcome, anyway,” he said more calmly. “Your boss and associates couldn’t have been very pleased.”

“Well��”

“Exactly. Hand me back my weapons and show me the exit. I’ll be on my way.”

Madlen shook her head and sighed, but did as he asked. Indeed, she went one step better and helped him walk up the wooden ladder and then the stone steps.

Aedan tried to not lean too heavily on her. It felt like trespassing on forbidden soil. Even sniffing her hair felt like a crime. But he couldn’t help it. He allowed himself this one guilty pleasure, though he was very aware that Madlen knew of his… indiscretions.

How could she not? She was a perceptive and intelligent woman. Reading the vibes of people was what she did for a living, after all.

As the marble sarcophagus slid open, exposing the pair to the fresh night air, Aedan realised the gravity of his situation.

Maven owned the Guild. Guild knew who he was. He was pissed off the Guildmaster, it was safe to say. Guild could very well just tell Maven. Even if the Guild didn’t, they wouldn’t be particularly pleased with him for cutting up their benefactors. Besides, he had not shown up at the forge. All the Black-Briars had to do was search the streets for someone missing. They would’ve figured it out. Maven wasn’t stupid.

Check, Aedan Amati.

This game is swiftly drawing to a close now, he thought as he stood on the grass, letting the cool hair envelop him. He would end it before the Black-Briars had time to get to Balimund or Shadr or Talen-Jei or Thavere or any other person he had come to care for.

Tonight, then.

“Are you going to be alright?” Madlen asked him. She kept her distance from him now after his little temper tantrum.

Aedan sighed and tilted his face upwards towards the inky black sky. He had made peace with his fate. There would be no little cottage on the foothills. No pet, no wife, nothing. Perhaps… no. It would definitely be better this way. No more lives would be ruined by the bad luck he brought upon everybody.

But then again, ending the game meant playing it fully. No regrets. And for that…

He smiled to himself briefly before shaking his head and turning around to face the woman he loved.

Dressed in her Guild wear, her hair tied up in a bun, arms crossed over chest and standing a couple of feet away from him, near the entrance, stood Madlen Sun-Voice. She looked like a dream.

He felt a powerful urge to cross the distance between them and give her a hug. Aedan pocketed his hands to stop himself from doing so. He’d already done enough.

“No. Not really,” he answered her question truthfully. Hiking his shoulders, the man jerked his chin towards the redhead’s belt. “I see you still keep it.”

Madlen glanced down to her hip and smiled gently. She patted the sheathed dagger that he had made for her some time ago. “Yes. I do. Why wouldn’t I? It was a beautiful present.”

“It was also what made everything more awkward between us,” Aedan said and ran his hand through his hair. “Look. I… need to say a few things. I probably won’t have the time to later, so just humour me. I won’t take up much of your time.”

He didn’t wait for her to acquiesce, even though he knew she wouldn’t refuse. I just want to get this over with.

“I’m sure you’ve know for a while because subtlety isn’t really my forte, but you have been getting my attention for a while now. I know it’s unwelcome,” Here he held up a hand because she looked ready to say something. “It might not have been the case, but I thought so at any rate. I’m sure you’re also aware of the depth of my feelings for you. Try as I might to put a lid on it, I never seem to manage it around you.

“Our first meeting didn’t go very well, for obvious reasons. Neither did the second, third or most of our subsequent meetings. But I thought you were beautiful and charming. I had never taken the time to feel this way for anybody before, so I didn’t really stop to consider the semantics of my feelings. I gifted you that,” he pointed at the dagger, “In hopes of maybe winning your friendship, but… I really don’t think I could have handled the sight of you and Elvil together after a while. In doing so, I doomed whatever bond we may have had the potential to develop.”

Aedan chuckled. “But then we collaborated in foiling the Honorhall scheme. You had to pretend to be my wife, and I must say, it made me feel very good about myself. Childish, I suppose, but there’s the truth of the matter. But I digress. Simply put, I’m just… I’m in love with you. I don’t blame myself, either. I think I have good taste.” He smiled. “You’re beautiful. You’re intelligent, passionate, kind… and a lot of other good things I’m unworthy of. To be honest, just the fact that I’d get to see you every day was enough for me. I will say that these few short months in Riften have been the best time of my life. Even being in your presence, the sound of your voice, the ring of your laughter, the scent of your hair… these were all magical to me. Just… talking to you makes me the happiest I have been in my life… and had I the opportunity, I would have done everything in my power to make you feel the same way for the rest of my life.”

He realised that he had gotten carried away by the force of emotion and had taken a step towards her. With a shake of his head, he took a step back. There was a line he would not allow himself to cross. Not tonight. Not now.

“But not in this life, it seems,” the man continued and took another half step back. “You’re amazing. And i have no doubt Elvil is a great guy. I’m sure he makes and keeps you happy, and I wish you both the very best. I’m glad you’re happy,” he tried to smile again, but it somehow fell apart. “But sometimes, it just isn’t enough for me.”

And that was the ugly truth. He regretted saying it. it shamed him to admit it, but he had to get it out. He couldn’t stop now even if he wanted to.

“It should’ve been me who made you smile and laugh and happy, but let’s face it, I’m no good at things like that. In a way, there’s a certain peace in knowing that you’re in good hands.” He paused slightly and took a deep breath. Then he offered Madlen a genuine smile. The first he had ever given her. “I like to think that maybe in another life, there would be a cottage, there would a wife, there would a family, and I would get to kiss you out of love and real affection, not because of some underlying theatrical reason.”

He then looked up at the sky again. Clouds had come in, covering the moons completely. It would probably get colder later.

“And that’s about it,” he finished. “Thank you. For listening. For everything, really.”

She looked as if she wanted to hug him or something. Madlen took a step toward him, too. “Aedan…”

The man said nothing, only held up a hand again. “Go back, Madlen. You have somewhere to be. I have somewhere to be.”

“But-”

Aedan shrugged. “Go. I’ve wasted enough of your time.”

And before she could close the distance between them, he turned on his heels and started walking away as fast as he could.

Have a good life, Madlen Sun-Voice. Be happy.