#now if i could just lay my weary head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat thatd be a dream

[angelbambisworld]

Sir don't do that you're gonna make my pussy explode

[chadleys]

moon sick. | astarion

›› pairing: astarion x f!reader

›› wordcount: 2.5k

›› genre: smut, established relationship

›› rating: 18+, mdni

›› synopsis: whilst on the road, you get your period. astarion, being the loving, caring, supportive boyfriend he is, offers to help. he has no ulterior motives. obviously.

›› warnings: period sex, bloodplay, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk

you wake with a start, astarion’s cold arm a comforting weight across your waist. you can’t think what could have possibly woken you up so suddenly, as you listen for any untoward noises around camp. but there’s only astarion’s steady, gentle breathing behind you and gale’s obnoxious snoring echoing from the other end of the clearing.

as you settle back down on your bedroll, however, you become aware of something sticky and wet between your legs. could be that a wet dream concerning your beloved has you in such a state, but you don’t remember dreaming of him last night. no, now that your senses are returning to you, you remember that last night was reserved for another visit from your so-called guardian. so what … ?

you toss your end of the blanket aside and groan, throwing your head back against the pack you’ve set out for a makeshift pillow. doing so earns you another yelp; must have made contact with one of the stems of the many apples wedged into your supply bag.

astarion is on his feet in an instant, startling you; you weren’t even aware he was awake. not that elves ever truly sleep. it always slightly unnerves you to feel him levitating beside you in his meditative state. ❝ you’re hurt. ❞ his voice is rough, thick with inertia. ❝ i swear i’ll find whoever did this and bleed them dry. we should never have trusted that damned cleric; shar this and shar that. i’ll shove her blessed shar right up her — ❞

he’s already kicking his own pack aside to stomp his way out of the tent when you hiss, ❝ astarion! ❞

luckily he’s not too aggravated to stop and give you a glance back so you can explain in a low murmur, ❝ it’s my cycle … ❞

astarion stops short, one pale hand clutched to his chest. ❝ oh … i — ❞ he waves that same hand now toward the opening of his tent. ❝ i thought … ❞

❝ i know what you thought, ❞ you sigh, more weary knowing what’s to come over the next 7 days than you are of him, than you could ever be of him. ❝ but it’s not. so just come back to bed. please? ❞

❝ i thought you’d never ask … ❞ he purrs, back to his normal self.

unfortunately, you’re doubled over in pain before he’s even halfway back.

❝ i knew you were in pain. ❞ astarion’s back at your side in a flash. ❝ just tell me who and i’ll — ❞

❝ i am, ❞ you gasp, ❝ in pain. but … not because anyone hurt me. well, more like mother nature cursed me. ❞

a particularly bad cramp seizes you and your hand flies out, clutching the front of astarion’s silky tunic. you press your fingers in to feel his cold, broad chest. the sensation calms you a bit … until yet another bout of pain rolls through your midsection.

icy fingers find yours, ghosting over your knuckles. ❝ shall i … see if the druid can make you something? ❞

you shake your head, tugging at his shirt. ❝ just lay with me. please. ❞

astarion’s skin is blessedly cool against yours, as it always is. you lean into him, pressing your face against his frigid neck, soothing your burning cheeks.

his glacial hands find the edge of your tunic, and then the small of your back, which helps more than he could possibly know. you shudder against him, pushing, trying to get more of him.

❝ you know … ❞ astarion sniffs, delicate voice very close to your ear. ❝ i have heard of one thing that is guaranteed to relieve moon sickness. ❞

pulling back, you glance curiously up at him.

he has that rakish grin on his face that you’ve come to know all too well in the past weeks. his reddened eyes roll away from you. ❝ come now, pup. you must know what i mean … sex. ❞ your heart jumps into your throat at the thought; you’re sure astarion can feel it beating harder against his own chest.

suddenly, his mouth is just under your ear, teeth rasping against the exact place he’s fed from you dozens of times before. ❝ i can smell it, my love. ❞

you don’t answer immediately; while you can’t deny the thought appeals to you, if for no other reason than to rid yourself of these damnable cramps, you’re also apprehensive. astarion feeding from your neck is one thing — still intimate, but relatively normal by vampire standards. to have astarion feed down there, on that blood, feeding from your womb …

❝ you’re right, it’s a bad idea, absolutely disgusting. i don’t know why i — ❞

❝ do it. ❞

❝ eh … hm? ❞

❝ do it, ❞ you repeat, grasping onto him for dear life as another squeezing, crushing shock of pain settles in your stomach. ❝ please, astarion. i can’t take it anymore. ❞

it’s been many moons since your cycle has been this bad. traveling on the road without proper food or rest may finally be catching up to you, exacerbating things. not much you can do about that until you reach the city, though.

other than letting your vampire lover drink your blood, of course.

laying you gently back without another complaint, astarion slips the blanket off of you and reaches to undo your breeches.

anxiety overtakes you; there’s already blood on your trousers and the blanket, you’re going to have to wash them in the river as soon as you’re able. you can’t even imagine the scene underneath your pants … but you’re about to find out.

gently, astarion prizes the trousers from your legs, then gasps softly. ❝ oh, my love … ❞

prying your eyes from the ceiling of the tent, you finally look down. astarion is there, of course, looking lovely as always. except, however, the lines on his face look deeper, almost carved, and the dark circles under his eyes are darker, his eyes redder.

another spell of panic grips you; bright red blood is smeared across your inner thighs.

astarion looks dizzy as he takes you in, cold hands cradling the outsides of your legs. you’re about to apologize and shove him away, tell him this is a mistake, in fact you will ask halsin to make you something — and that’s when astarion mutters, ❝ you are exquisite, ❞ and dives in to have his first taste.

the feeling of his tongue on your thighs makes you shiver, and the cool night air wafting in from the tent flap isn’t helping. you grab the clean end of the blanket and drape your upper half, canting your hips up to tell astarion what it is you truly want.

because even through all the anxiety, there’s also a bubble of arousal blooming between your legs. astarion can’t tell, of course, not through all the blood down there, but you sure as hell can. you have the most perfect creature you’ve ever set eyes on between your legs; how could you not be aroused?

❝ all in due time, ❞ astarion chuckles, voice muffled against your thighs as he continues to clean you up. thoroughly. too thoroughly.

❝ you always tease, ❞ you whine, knocking one of your knees against his ribcage.

this time when his gaze flashes sharply to you, his eyes are the reddest you’ve ever seen them. it makes you shake.

astarion’s nails dig into your hips, deliciously, wickedly. you tremble, reaching for him. he chuckles and kisses the inside of one of your wrists, which leaves a smear of blood. ❝ always such a needy little pup for me, aren’t you? ❞

you don’t even have time to nod before he dives back in, his mouth exactly where you want it this time. his lips suction around your clit, tongue lapping out lower down to scoop a sizeable pearl of blood into his mouth.

this time, astarion is the one who shakes. he lays his cheek against your still-bloody thigh and shudders. ❝ you’re going to be the death of me, ❞ he sighs, and you can see him skirting his tongue around his mouth, flitting over his lips, savoring you.

you huff. ❝ you’ll be of me, too, if you don’t keep going. ❞

❝ so pushy, ❞ your lover mutters, but there’s absolutely no heat in his words as he obeys your command and buries his face back into your blood-soaked cunt.

for a while you just lie back and enjoy yourself, and let astarion enjoy himself as well. his arms are strong around your legs, holding you in place so you can’t squirm away. it feels way too damn good, you may have been tempted to try. but as it is, you can’t do anything but revel in the silky feeling of astarion’s tongue lapping up everything you have to give him, his fangs catching every so often on your clit, making you see stars.

at some point, you glance down at him and gasp. ❝ your shirt! ❞

you know how much he prides himself on his physical appearance, and now there’s blood staining the front ruffles of his normally immaculate tunic.

he glances down and tuts, frowning. ❝ oh well. it’ll have to go with the rest. ❞ just like that, he rips it off and tosses it with your soiled trousers.

he must be in heaven, you suspect, if he’s willing to discard his cherished clothing for you.

now shirtless, astarion gives one last gentle kiss to your clit and then slowly starts to climb your body. there’s blood dripping from his chin, staining the rest of the blanket wrapped around you. but more importantly, his broad chest is skating up the expanse of your bloody cunt as he comes, and your clit throbs seeing all that red coating his torso.

❝ astarion! ❞ you gasp, and he grins, mouth full of your blood.

❝ i’m loathe to ask you for a kiss, ❞ he whispers, so low you can barely hear him. ❝ just one. i promise. ❞

you swallow thickly, and he waits for you to lean up, pressing your lips to his in the softest kiss you can manage. blood squishes between you, and you can feel it coating your lips as you lie back down.

one lap of your tongue against your bottom lip and you grimace, spitting and rubbing at your mouth with the back of one hand.

astarion laughs heartily as you mutter, ❝ ugh, not for me. ❞

❝ more for me, ❞ astarion says, almost gleefully.

he’s obviously preparing to get back to it, but you keep him close with your hands on his shoulders. ❝ i want you. ❞

brows furrowed, astarion squeezes your waist. ❝ darling, you have me. ❞

❝ inside, ❞ you beg quietly, which you know enjoys immensely.

your next step might be a mistake, but you decide to chance it. bracing yourself with your legs wrapped around him, you thrust up, dragging your wetness along the front of his trousers. you can feel that he’s hard, and now there’s blood all over his pants. you’re hoping he won’t mind, considering his tunic is already ruined for the night as well.

luckily he doesn’t seem to, dark gaze sweeping down over the two of you covered in your blood, and then back up. ❝ i thought you’d never ask. ❞

his trousers quickly follow his tunic, erection jutting up between your legs.

❝ he looks happy, ❞ you giggle, as his swollen head prods at your blood-soaked entrance.

❝ to see you? always. ❞

having astarion inside of you is normally a relief, a release of all the rampant, pent up emotions this journey has bestowed upon you.

tonight is different.

with all that blood flowing south, your womb is aching, you're sore and swollen as astarion’s cock spears through your lips. every thrust sends a fresh flow of blood down his shaft, which earns you a tight growl from the vampire as he takes the backs of your knees in hand and shoves your thighs back toward your chest, eager to get even deeper inside of you.

and you’re eager to have him, nails digging into his chiseled back, the hard marble of his jaw knocking against your shoulder as his lips, slick with blood, find your ear again. ❝ are you feeling better, pet? does my cock soothe that ache inside of you? the ache that raged inside of you, until you met me? until i filled you up in every lovely way possible? ❞

his words make your brain go haywire, knees shaking around his ribcage, toes curling, your mouth rubbing comfortingly at his cool shoulder.

more than that, you do feel better. the more aroused you become, the more blood flows out of you, the less painful your cramps become. until you’re pushing down against him, trying to ride him at the same time as he’s shoving himself inside of you with reckless abandon. until you can’t remember why you started this in the first place, other than to wind up begging for him to finish inside of you.

❝ inside. please, astarion, inside … ❞ it’s hard to even think clearly enough to form words, your mind consumed with the sight of his beautiful body moving atop yours.

you assume he’ll make you beg, as he so often does; he loves hearing the desperate, pleading tone in your voice that tells him all he needs to know — you belong to him.

but he doesn’t. he fucks into you as hard as he ever has, his thick cock gliding against your engorged walls, making your eyes roll back.

and then the talking starts. the words that make you wish you knew whether or not vampires can actually have children. ❝ you want me to get you pregnant, love? want your belly to swell with my child inside of it? i will wait on you hand and foot, i promise. i would love seeing you walk around knowing you hold my heir, that you protected my seed so well that it grew into a child inside of you. ❞ astarion pauses momentarily to laugh, tugging your earlobe between his teeth. ❝ with all this blood, i know you must be fertile. ❞

both of you share a laugh, briefly.

and when you cum, together, he sinks his teeth into your neck with nothing but a quiet grunt, cockhead twitching and spurting inside of you.

you mewl softly, feeling the vampire trembling and shaking as he empties himself into you. your hands pet through his hair, soothe the back of his neck, across the scars circling his back.

the pain from before is nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a warm, fizzy feeling sitting low in your gut. astarion is bracing himself on his elbows above you, with obvious effort.

you pull him down to lay atop you; he’s not exceptionally heavy anyway.

❝ i love you, ❞ he sighs, nestling his face, chin still slick with blood, against your collarbone. ❝ and … promise me we can do that again. ❞

❝ i love you. and i promise. ❞

[euaphora]

“YOU KNOW IM A SEXOHOLIC, IM SO ANXIOUS!”| part1

colleague!kento who saw you the following monday with a weary look plastered on your face while you looked down at the paperwork being overdue, you boss loved giving you a hard time after you rejected him— kento knew this so he could only do so much to give you a better job experience.

colleague!kento who came up to your working cubical, he saw you added another small pin to your collection hung up on clipboard along with a new set of pens you bought. He watches you stress about all the paperwork scattered around the table and listens to your pleading sighs.

colleague!kento who calls you from behind —barely resizing he was standing behind you this entire time, “did you need something?” you asked in a sweet tone, he shakes his head at you at gives you a warm smile, “no I just saw how much work you had due and was wondering if you needed any help?”

colleague!kento who brings his chair from his cubicle to yours so he can fill in the boxes you had missed when you were just trying to finish up and leave to go home to your cat, he saw you wanting to pack up and leave the moment he saw you.

colleague!kento who asked, “since it’s the only the two of us left, would you want to put some music?” he asked while making marks on the paper. “i didn’t even realizing everyone else had gone home..god what time is it?” you sighed, leaning back against the head of your chair.

“12:34” he answered, checking his watch, “He needs to lay off you, nobody here gets this much paper work in a day.” Kento pointed out, looking at your relaxed body suddenly tense up at the thought of your boss.

“Exactly he’s only doing this because…anyways, see this is why your my favorite coworker, Nanami.” You giggle— opening your eyes to look in his direction only to already be meeting his gaze looking down at your body. He quickly fixated his gaze back to the paperwork and clear his throat, “Nanami, we’re you just starting at my chest?” You question him, watching his body language.

“O-of course not, then that would be unprofessional of me..” he quickly explained, nervously laughing it off. You hesitate at first but push yourself of your chair and go up to him, your legs in between his. He looks up at you and grabs the hem of his tie, “is it getting hot in here?”

“Don’t try and change the subject, you want me..don’t you?” You lean down to meet his gaze, getting real up and personal with him. He accepts his fate and admits his feelings, “You have no idea.” He stated, pulling you in by your hips only for you to be straddling his legs, you feel the pump of his muscle in between your folds.

“Wanna ride my leg, bunny?” He asked, teasingly tilting his head to the side while brushing off the stands of hair blocking his view to look at you. You suddenly feel like the shy one now, nodding.

You go onto right leg and slowly pick up your pencil skirt while rocking your hips back and forth, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time while he unbuttoned your dress shirt. “They sit so perfectly..” he said, holding them in his cold, slender hands— felling how warm and plump they are. He easily unclipped the back of your bra, only to wrap his mouth around one— younger lapping over the nipple while the other gets pitched and pulled by his fingers.

“Careful, princess. Don’t be trying to push me away now.” He demands, pulling your hair into a make shift monytail, giving you a soft slap in your cheek.

You push your head back at the euphoric feeling, letting out several pornagraphic moans slip out your mouth, heavy pants joining after. He feels you stutter your hips, knowing your almost close. “Cmon baby, just a few more thrusts…you got it.”

Feeling a knot in your stomach, you hold him by the torso— letting out huffs while rolling your eyes to the back of your head when he slaps your ass and rubs the soft flesh after.

“Cumming! I-im fucking cumming..”

Nanami suddenly feels a wet spot form on his leg, making him give you a quick kiss on the lips so you could still have some air to breath after your earth-shattering orgasm.

“Bend over.”

You pick your head up from his broad shoulders and look up at him, “does he want what I think he does?” You thought while getting up from his lap to lay down on your desk, watching him pull his pants down from behind you. “Let me know if it’s too much…alright, princess?” He reassured, giving you a quick heads up like if he was over nine inche-

He pushed the head of his cock inside you— feeling your velvet walls squeeze him “greedy little pussy,huh?” He shuddered, making you get cut off by your own thoughts. “S-shit.” was all you could slip out before he slipped himself fully inside you, giving you time to adjust to the size, knowing you couldn’t handle it.

He starts pumping his cock while completely ignoring your pleads, “S-slow down…your so deep inside me, Nanami!” You let out a loud moan, feeling hot tears slip out of your now watery eyes.

“It’s only half of me, bunny.”

You felt your head spinning with from what he just said, he felt your walls clenching again, feeling himself reach closer to the edge when the knot on his stomach tightened.

“kentopleaseimgonnacum!” You scream out, thankfully nobody was here so you could let out a loud cry. He slides his veiny fingers inside you mouth, hearing you gag in his fingers, “come on my cock, sweet girl mmm go right ahead you deserve it f-for being good all week..my good girl.”

He leaks his seed inside you while you cum on his cock the same time, feeling your pussy tighten all over again— making it hard for him to pull out. “Oh, you sweet thing, can’t get over this pretty greedy pussy.”

The next morning when your boss came to work, he checked the cameras to see you both in your cubicle, his cum leaking out your pussy while he cleaned you up, giving you a kiss on your forehead.

[stevie-petey]

Maybe a little baby blurb of Steve's daydream/ dream life with bug. Basically what he was imagining their life would be like outside of Hawkins. I always picture Steve daydreaming about it before bed😭

as always im missing steve n bug and since chap 3 is taking a while heres some fluff <333

enjoy !

"you need to sleep," steves lips press against your forehead. the skin is overly warm, scrunched in concentration.

you try to shrug him off. without looking up from your notes, you wave a dismissive hand at him. "no time."

"did you just shrug off my doting kiss?" steve scoffs at you, offended. only you still don't look up from your notes. he worries about your neck, he knows your back will ache later tonight. weary and full of concern for you, as he always is, steve softens his voice. "angel, youve been at this for days."

"just a few more hours, then i'll go to bed."

"you said that three hours ago."

"and now im saying it again."

youve been cramming for an exam since wednesday. its currently friday and your body hasnt left your desk since early morning.

steve cups the back of your neck, settling his palm against its base. He massages the joint that sticks out, eases the tension between the muscles. youre exhausted, its obvious to anyone. "come lay down with me."

"steve-"

"please?" he brings the tips of his fingers to your chin. gently, he angles your head up; his eyes meet yours. in the brown and honey that coats his eyes lays love and adoration, a softness meant only for you to see. "i miss you."

your eyes swim with conflict. steve can see the part of you that always abides by responsibility. you hate disappointing people, you hate failing. the only reason youre in college is because of the incredible scholarship you received for your academics.

yet theres a part of you that melts at the idea of laying in steves arms. to rest against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. feel his hand tangle in your hair, his nails scratching your scalp. youd wilt into his body and wrap around his ribcage.

"i..." you bite your lip, slowly giving in. steve knows the weight of your bones must be heavy. he strokes your cheek, finger lingering on your lips. closing your eyes, you admit defeat. "carry me?"

the moment the words leave your mouth, steve sweeps you into his arms and cradles you against his chest. carefully he navigates your small apartment. the walls are narrow and theres hardly any room to breathe, but itd been all you could afford in new york and it was only yours and steves. no one elses.

it was your home together.

steve sets you down on the bed and crawls in beside you. he throws his arms around you, encasing you against the world. burying his face against your neck, he settles his weight against you. you breathe him in, push yourself further into his body, and for a moment everything is still.

"im not going to bed, you know." you mumble into his shoulder.

he laughs, the sound reverberating your bones. "just lay with me for a little while longer."

"always," your lips whisper against steves skin.

warmth seeps into his chest, coats his lungs with sickly sweet honey. he can taste it in his mouth, it mixes with the aroma of your perfume. his body buzzes with all the love he has for you, for all the gratitude within him to have escaped hawkins with you. to be so lucky as to know youre still his, hes still yours, and that youve made something for yourselves despite all the pain youve endured together.

then a piercing ring rips through steves eardrums. he sits up in bed, heart pounding with adrenaline. his hand slams down on his alarm clock on his bedtime table, silencing it.

he rubs his face, groans with exhaustion.

steve had been having such a good dream. he can still feel your weight on his chest. he already misses it.

he'll blame robin for it later. shes the reason hes getting up so goddamn early, anyways. shes the one who needs a ride to her stupid pep rally.

[plaguechyld]

I HAVE A REQUEST FOR YOU!!!

Gently fucking kagaya to sleep bc he's been so stressed lately :((( He's trying so hard to stay awake but he's just too sleepy and and comfortable.

OMG YESYESYEYSYEYSYESSS AHHH ❤️❤️

This poor man is so stressed, always visiting the graves of the dead slayers. :(( His body just can’t take the long walks but that doesn’t stop him from trying, but when he heard that Kyojuro died he was just so upset even if he wouldn’t show it. :(( He really wants to stay up all night again memorizing his dead slayers names but his body is just so weak and tired from all the stress. :((( So it’s up to his dear partner to fuck him to sleep, but make sure to be gentle with him, he can’t take it if you’re rough and/or mean. :(

Contains: 18+ content, soft sex, Dom!Reader, Sub!Kagaya, Reader being a gentle dom, cute fluffy sex

Kagaya’s hand shakes as he reaches it up and gently pinches the bridge of his nose, tiredness fogged his mind and it made him hard to listen to you reading out the seemingly never ending list of deceased slayers.

He was so determined to not let his weariness get the best of him. In his mind he needed to memorize his fallen comrades, if he didn’t know their names then who would?

“Dear, could you repeat the name you said… I didn’t quite get it. I’m sorry..” Kagaya says quietly, his voice is sleepy and his blind eyes are half lidded. You can’t help but feel concerned for your husband, and also admire him. He showed so much effort despite his ailing state, never once stopping despite his sickness. You sigh softly and rest your hand over Kagaya’s slightly shaky one and rub the back of his hand with your thumb. Gently, you ease him out of his chair wordlessly, helping him up and having him lay down on your shared bed. He looks up at you with his sightless eyes, a calmly confused look on his face.

“Y/n, why have you.. laid me down? I need to memorize more names…” He says softly. Kagaya is surprised when he’s met by your gentle hand rubbing his cheek, though he leans into the touch. His cheeks redden slightly when he feels you ease your way on top of him.

“Y/n…” He starts, however you cut him over with a finger being placed on his lips. “You need to rest, you’re working too hard, my dear.” You say to him in that gentle voice he loves oh so much. He was about to protest when he feels your soft lips on his neck, making him suck in a soft gasp. Almost instinctively, he spreads his legs, blush coating his cheeks even more now. You smile softly at him and even though he can’t see it, he can feel it.

“But dear..” He’s interrupted by a yawn coming from him as he holds onto you. “I.. I need to.” You make a sound in disagreement and no matter how much Kagaya want’s to continue, he knows he can’t without you reading the names out. He squeaks softly when he feels you push his legs up, making his thighs rest beside his head. He knows what’s coming and while he isn’t truly against it, he still wants to keep going. However you don’t let him get a word in because when he opens his mouth to speak, he’s met with a warm tongue. You let his legs fall back against the bed, knowing he couldn’t take that position for long. It was more of a non verbal cue to let him know what you were going to do.

He let out a soft and content sigh when he felt your hands gently caressing his body while undoing his robe. You continue your deep kiss with the man you love most for a while longer, only pulling away when you had managed to completely strip him of all his clothes. He blushed softly, knowing his body was exposed and vulnerable to you. You leaned in and started placing soft and gentle kisses on his neck, making different patterns that mainly consist of hearts. Your hands rub his chest for a bit before you pinch his nipples with care and gentleness. The action elicited a soft moan from the ravenette.

You moved your mouth down, trailing more kisses along the way. Eventually you reached one of his nipples. You take the soft skin in your mouth, playing with the sensitive bud and making Kagaya’s back arch slightly in surprise. He tugged softly at your kimono, too shy to say anything. With a soft chuckle you pull him into another deep kiss while pushing his legs apart.

He felt your fingers slowly push into his hole, making him let out a muffled whimper into your mouth. You savor the sound as it’s not often the two of you indulge in sexual activity, Kagaya often deciding he is too busy. However tonight was one of those nights.

You gently stretch his hole, pressing your fingers against his prostate. Kagaya lets out a soft whimper, his hands moving to hold onto your back. His legs shake slightly, he was always weaker when it came to times like this.

Your fingers draw out moans and whimpers as Kagaya presses himself down on them, trying to fuck himself on your fingers weakly. He let out a soft whine when you pull your fingers from his loosened hole, his mind was too fuzzy to realize you had finished prepping him and were preparing to actually fuck him. He cries out softly when he feels your tip pushing into him and he holds onto you tighter, trying to bury his face in your neck. Soon enough you completely sheath yourself in him, his walls squeeze you tightly as he lets out a moan.

Kagaya’s eyes drift closed no matter how hard he tried to fight his urge to sleep. He let out soft moans and whimpers with every gentle thrust of your hips. He just couldn’t help it, he feels so comfortable and good in your arms. He held weakly onto you still, but his grip was loose.

“Y-y/n…” He whimpered out in a warning, signaling that he was close. You press a gentle kiss to his forehead and roll your hips faster, causing him to let out a louder and longer moan. He just couldn’t help himself, he feels so warm and full and his body needed sleep so desperately. He lets out a soft cry when gets close to orgasming. He’s so so close and he shakily reaches for your face. Naturally you comply and kiss him deeply as ropes of white pearlescent cum shoots from his dick. The stimulation and intense feelings are too much for Kagaya and sleep tugs him away, causing him to pass out in your arms. You smile gently at him and place a final kiss on his forehead before retreating to retrieve a rag to clean your husband with.

[luciel-anciel]

Bound to Falling in Love

(Rody x Vince) (Dead Plate)

A/N: I wanted to make something lighthearted, my intention was to write a "Touch Starved but Affectionate Boyfriend x Partner, who hates being touched"

I'm still planning on writing something with the same dialogue expect make it darker, but for now— have something bittersweet.

His thumb brushed against the crumpled polaroid , the picture had been clumsily stuffed into his pockets numerous times. It was an image of him with Vince on his side; a grimace ever so obvious, a deep frown on his face— glaring at him for disrupting his work.

Rody lets out a small laugh, this was taken during his first month working at the bistro. Vince never smiled that much outside from his professional line of work, he'd show a charismatic smile in those newspaper clippings but he could tell Vince’s smile was stiff.

Speaking of the devil, his boyfriend stepped into their shared apartment. His perfect posture gone as he abruptly slouched his shoulders, the weight of the day's stress evident in the tension that radiated from his every step

The old polaroid now placed on the nightstand.

He only kept that formal and well mannered facade when eyes watched him, Rody knew how much his partner cared deeply for his reputation, even more than death.

“Evening handsome, rough time at work?” The brunette’s tone was soft, no longer brash or rowdy��� just gentle. If you listened closely, there was a slight firmness to his tone as if his gentleness felt forced.

“Mhm.” Vince's only response was a weary sigh as he made his way to the couch, collapsing into it with a heavy thud. Rody's heart ached at the sight of his partner so exhausted, but he refused to be deterred and followed Vince like a lost puppy.

His eyes seemed to have withered under the strain of his responsibilities, leaving behind a man consumed by his own inner turmoil.

“By the looks of it, it does seem like a rough day.” The brunette showed a warm smile, hoping to offer some semblance of comfort. Though with the way how Vince looked at him— It felt like he was talking to a brick wall.

The tan skinned man sat next to Vince, he slowly moved closer to him but noticed his lover, straying a bit further away from him. Oh how Rody wished that Vince would lay his head on his shoulder instead of the pillow.

Vince’s pale hand clutched the pillow tightly, a hint of vulnerability showed in his blank demeanor for a second.

Rody approached cautiously and reached out to hold his hand. But as his fingers brushed against Vince's, the reaction was immediate and sharp.

"Don't," Vince muttered, attempting to slap Rody's hand away, his fear of touch manifesting in the harshness of his actions.

But Rody held on, his grip firm yet gentle, refusing to let go. He still kept on persisting.

"Why'd you stay with me for so long?" Vince's voice was barely a whisper, filled with confusion and a touch of bitterness. He preferred to be blunt.

"Because I love you" Rody replied, his affection had always been sincere, never the type to lie about his affection as well.

His voice unwavering and he played around with Vince's fingers, intertwining them together.

To Vince, when people say a word too much or too often, it cheapens the meaning.

“I—I loved you enough to let you tear me into pieces.” Rody’s tone wasn't one out of desperation nor infatuation, rather it sounded like someone that endured hardships, one who's tone sacrificed so much to fight for the ones he loved even when he had to go through immense pain.

Vince, upon hearing that, could only hold his head down low in shame.

The amount of times the two fought, felt meaningless now. Excruciatingly long years spent building bonds and reluctantly given trust— was all lost under a fit of rage.

It was always Rody that would reconcile to Vince, asking for forgiveness and he always let his pride get to him.

He brought Vince's hand to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his own heart beneath it. “And I loved you enough that I was willing to let all your mistakes be ignored even when it kept me awake at night…”

"Why?" His dark eyes softened, a flicker of emotion breaking through his hardened exterior.

Rody had nights where he laid awake, staring at his lover's resting face. Their faces were a few inches apart, and he would keep looking at Vince's peaceful expression, trying to match his breathing pattern. It calmed him down, made him feel closer to Vince in a way that words could never capture.

He would watch the gentle rise and fall of Vince’s chest, the way his lashes fluttered slightly with his dreams. Rody wondered when Vince would look at him like that, with calmness, with such a rested expression. The sight brought a strange mixture of comfort and longing. Comfort, because he could be near the person he loved most; longing, because he wished Vince could find the same peace in their love that he did.

He pondered, would Vince ever look at him so calmly when awake?

The man shook his head gently, his other hand slowly reaching up to touch Vince's cheek. "I loved you even when I felt like I was losing myself.”

A pained expression crossed Vince's face as he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Silence hung between them, the weight of Rody's words settling over Vince like a heavy blanket. In that silence, the pale man thought about all the ways he had failed his lover, all the times his actions had caused pain rather than joy.

He didn’t want to lose Rody, nor did he want Rody to bear the burden of their relationship alone.

Vince leaned into Rody's touch, his eyes closing as he absorbed the warmth and reassurance that radiated from his partner. "I don't deserve you" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Rody's smile was soft and filled with unconditional love. "You deserve to be loved, Vince. And I'm here, always."

He placed a soft kiss on Vince’s forehead, Rody was gentle with his actions.

"And I loved you even when I constantly questioned myself why I'm still staying with you," Rody finished, his hand cupping Vince's cheek tenderly, his thumb brushing away a stray tear.

Vince sat there rigid, the feeling of his warm lips lingered on his skin, his body feeling overwhelmed, instinctively flinched at the initial touch.

The idea of being vulnerable, of letting someone in so intimately, was foreign and uncomfortable for him. He had built walls around his heart for so long that the simple act of a hug felt almost foreign.

Rody, sensing Vince's hesitation, moved slowly, his hand moving away from his cheeks. He didn't force the embrace but instead offered it, letting Vince decide whether to accept it fully or not

For a moment, Vince remained stiff, his muscles tense as if he were bracing for impact. His mind raced with doubts and fears, but he had to take a chance-?

Slowly, Vince's defenses began to crumble. His arms, initially hanging awkwardly at his sides, moved to encircle Rody's waist. The touch was hesitant at first, Vince unaware how to even hold his own lover.

Vince was still scared to hold his arms around Rody; embracing him and though his actions were meticulously slow, the way he moved his arms to wrap around Rody’s waist was quite slow, matching the pace of a snail.

He felt the steady, calming presence of Rody's heartbeat against his chest. It was a rhythm that spoke of acceptance, a reminder that he wouldn't be rushed, that Rody wouldn't force him to deal with his ‘issue’ quickly.

Gradually, Vince's grip tightened, his fingers curling into the fabric of Rody's shirt.

Vince buried his face into the crook of Rody's neck, his breath warm and shaky against his tan skin. The reluctance was still there, a lingering doubt that gnawed at the edges of his mind, but the comfort of Rody's embrace began to soothe the turmoil within him.

Rody held him patiently once more, his hands gently rubbing Vince's back in slow, reassuring circles. He could feel the tension slowly ebbing away from Vince's body, replaced by a tentative acceptance of the intimacy they were sharing.

He was careful with his touches, or where he even touched the man— avoiding places where Vince felt the most discomfort.

As Vince finally allowed himself to melt into the hug, streams of tears escaped his tightly shut eyes, tracing a path down his cheek. He clung to Rody as if afraid he might disappear, finding solace in the warmth and safety of his partner's arms. It was a reluctant surrender, but a surrender nonetheless, and in that embrace, Vince began to realize that maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to face everything alone.

There was still a part of him that disliked being touched, a part of him that would flinch at the faintest of touch but he wanted to still try, he wanted to embrace Rody in his arms, just this once.

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin]

Walks along the Dreaming

Fandom: The Sandom

Paring: Morpheus x Dream of The Endless

Genre: Fluff

A/N: I love my tall white emo boy sm aaaaa Idk if I'm making it a blurb or nah

Summary: Dream and reader are walking through the Dreaming and Morpheus is just being cuteee because he thinks Reader is cute and it's just aaarrrrhhh

Morpheus watched the sun from his corner on the palace balcony. In the dreaming when the sun finally set a cool breeze filled the air. When the sun in the dreaming finally did set

Unlike in the waking world the sun was always out much longer and though he didn't need the night as it was just an time for mortals to rest their weary bodies. He'd come to love it.

Why?

Because of a certain someone he'd come across. He hadn't meant to get attached. He had been asked for a tour of the dreaming and he complied, it'd been eons since he'd hosted a mortal in his castle. He watched as she'd been mesmerised by what his realm had to offer.

Even now as he watched her slumped in the sands he wonders what's so special about her, why can't he get her out of his head. Maybe she accidentally spelled him.

That might have explained why he appeared beside her. She jumped slightly at his sudden appearance. Before she arose to her feet, bowing slightly

"Lord Morpheus, I hope I cause no trouble," he shakes his head. You've barely done anything except be kind. Something most humans must learn from you.

"May I join you," He asks his voice merely above a whisper. You shyly nod and sink back into the Sands. Morpheus claims a spot by you a fee inches apart. Together you both watch the sea.

After a beat he watches you, even as you cease and lay on your back as you gaze at the stars.

"If I may My Lord-"

"Morpheus,"

"Pardon?"

"You may call me Morpheus," her eyes widened.

"Morpheus," his name slipped off your tongue like honey from the finest aphrodisiac.

He said something which was too quiet for you to hear.

"What?"

"I like how my name sounds from your lips," you swore his eyes flitted down to your lips. Without really thinking much, his name left your lips again.

"Morpheus,"

"I could listen to you for an eternity," You racked your brain trying to remember what you meant to ask.

"You distracted me," you say softly. "I've forgotten what I wished to say," Morpheus chuckled.

"I apologise. Would you, would you care for a walk along the dreaming? Before you retire, It helps with remembering." He asked. "You are within your rights to de-"

"I would be honored,"

"T'is I who should be honored," you blushed as you rose from the sands. The sands didn't cling to your clothes as mortal sand would.

He held out his arm. You flinched before you took it. A sharp pain slashed his chest. What had been done to you to make you so scared of him?

Was it his doing?

Your gripped his arm and gave him a small smile. It's not your fault

"Your realm truly is beautiful Morpheus, "

"It's merely an extension of me,"

"Then, you are beautiful," It came out before you could even think. "I-"

"Thank you although i think I should be the one to call you beautiful, considering you manage to be the main focus of anyone who gazes at you,"

You blush at his words.

"I wonder which other mortals or better goddesses you whisper such sweet things to," you say jealously singing in your head.

"On the contrary I tend to avoid most of them, especially those who seek for me for things other than...help"

"You did not avoid me,"

"True,"

"Why?"

"Something about you called to me, I am yet to know what,"

"I hope it's been worth you're while," you say jokingly.

"Without a doubt."

We reached a greenest gardens you've ever seen. The path through the garden shimmered and shone with glitter like stones.

The shrubs and bushes that greeted you held beautiful roses, some were red and some were white, others held different kinds of flowers in different colours.

The moon lit up the entire scene, it's white rays highlighting a swingset.

"Morpheus, this is beautiful," Your eyes roved over the entire place. Morpheus glanced around before looking at you. Then lush green garden

The lush green gardens were something he made eons ago, he'd seen it a million times but for someone like you to compliment them made him feel...warm.

He looked at you, the gardens may have once been the Dreamings most prized possession, but ever since your very prescence entered here.

It paled in comparison, even now as your eyes sparkled at it's beauty his eyes only ever where on you.

"It is quite a sight indeed," you turned to glimpse his face but froze once you noticed his eyes were on you.

"The garden?" You asked although you already knew the answer.

"You," your thoughts scrambled.

You

You

You...

"Me,"

"Yes," a light blushed coloured his cheeks. "You," your lips formed a smile one which he swore lit up the world. "May I be so bold as to ask you to to...extend your stay in the Dreaming." He paused. "I'm sure the residents would love to have you,"

By residents he meant him. Sure Lucienne would be happy to have another person around but he would be the most pleased.

"I would love that, I'd be honored to spend more time with the residents." Morpheus' heart leaped for the first time in centuries.

She leaned in and pecked his cheek. Morpheus smiled as he realised that:

1. He was in love something he'd never felt in eons

and

2. He was in love with you

***

Here's a lil something

🎁

[arokel]

Don/Bobby after their first win?

hello anon!!! sorry this is so late; i meant to post it much sooner but alas i am god's sleepiest soldier. but it's here now!

Nice and Easy

Word count: 960 Rating: G Pairing: Don/Bobby

Every muscle in Don’s body hurts. The skin of his cheeks feels tight and a little warm to the touch, a pink he’s sure must be deepening to red. Breathing is agony. He’s never felt better.

And Bobby is beside him, sweaty and grinning, running his mouth in the way Don has already come to find dangerously endearing in the few weeks they’ve known each other. It makes him want to say things he shouldn’t, and the only thing stopping him right now is the fact that he can’t get a word in edgewise.

“And you saw their faces when we passed them, Christ, felt so good to wipe that smugness right off ‘em. We destroyed those assholes. And it was all thanks to you, Don.”

“It was just a time trial,” Don says in the brief pause while Bobby takes a deep breath in preparation to start up again. He has to fight down his natural awkwardness and propensity for blushing; Bobby is being much too kind. “And I just did my part.”

Bobby shakes his head like a dog emerging from the water, so violently that a drop of sweat lands on Don’s cheek. It should be gross. But, somehow, as is everything Bobby does in Don’s eyes, it’s mostly cute.

“But it was varsity. And you knew exactly what to do; it was like you were reading my mind out there. I’ve never had a stroke who could do that. You’re the best. You carried that boat.”

Don glances guiltily around the empty shell house, just in case he miscounted and one of his teammates is still lingering after all. Bobby is just exaggerating because he’s excited and on is the only target on hand for his praises, but it still wouldn’t be great if anyone else overheard. They’d be hurt by the implied slight to their own rowing, and then Don would have to tell Bobby to stop complimenting Don alone. Which he doesn’t want to do.

He knows Bobby would be just as nice to Chuck or Joe or anyone else if it was them standing there instead of Don. Don isn’t special to Bobby. It’s just nice to let himself pretend he could be for a little while.

“I don’t think I could do it with another cox,” he says quietly. Let Bobby think it’s just the win spurring Don to hyperbole too. “You’re just… you. It’s easy with you.”

Bobby makes a small sound of surprise, opening and closing his mouth several times. Don might be proud of himself for how easily he managed to shut Bobby up if he weren’t so busy being mortified by the fact that he obviously misjudged the level of sincerity appropriate to the situation.

He tries to walk it back. “Not - I mean - you’re very… easy to listen to. Hear, I mean. You enunciate well.”

“Not a chance,” Bobby says with another shake of the head - slower, this time, closer to amazed. “You don’t get to take it back. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Don Hume. Don’t cheapen it with qualifications.”

“Nicest thing about your coxing, you mean,” Don says. Even laying claim to that small honor sends further heat to his face and makes the aches and weariness in the rest of his body recede a little. He could say even nicer things, if they weren’t so terribly incriminating.

Bobby bites his lip, smiling at his feet. He looks shy. “No, I mean nicest thing about me ever.”

He has to be exaggerating again. Don wants him to be exaggerating.

“But… all I said was that you’re you,” he says, bewildered.

Bobby’s lip is still caught between his teeth when he looks up, stretched into a sweetly pleased smile. “Yeah. But you said it like it’s a good thing.”

Don wants to do a lot more to the varsity crew’s faces than wipe an expression off them, if he’s right in thinking they played any part in making Bobby think it wouldn’t be a good thing. But there’s also a small thrill of possessive pride creeping up from his chest and into his already-red cheeks at the thought that he made Bobby smile like that, and maybe no one else ever has.

He wants to do it again.

“It’s a fantastic thing. You’re…”

His words fail him. All the things he wants to say, the things that come too easily to his tongue whenever he’s around Bobby - they’re all too dangerous. He falls silent instead.

“I’m?”

Bobby’s eyes are so bright.

“You’re… good. As a cox and… and just by being you,” Don says. He doesn’t know Bobby all that well yet, but that much, he knows, is true.

He watches Bobby take the words in, watches that smile reappear - smaller than Don would like, shyer, and yet somehow brighter even than the shine of his eyes. Bobby doesn’t sunburn as easily as Don does, but his cheeks are pink anyway.

Bobby clears his throat. “Careful with those compliments, Don, or I’ll get spoiled.”

“Good,” Don says, too caught in the loveliness of the whole picture to think before he speaks. “I want to.”

He shuts his mouth in horror and waits, heart sinking, as Bobby’s drops open in surprise. Any second now that smile will vanish, those eyes will turn cold, and Don will have to face the consequences of how stupidly, damnably easy Bobby makes things.

This time when Bobby bites his lip, it looks intentional.

“Okay. You can spoil me. If you want to,” he says, just above a whisper. “And… if there’s anything else you want - you can do that too.”

Don doesn’t have to read Bobby’s mind to know what’s being asked of him. It’s just easy.

[chris-continues]

It’s suffocating,

A Vash/reader (or my self insert but name isn’t mentioned) that deviates from my canon. Unrequited love.

It’s when I can barely handle his smile that I know it’s a lot.

It always has been, I mean, he’s far too kind and wonderful and sweet-

He’s too perfect.

And now he’s casted away and I’m grateful to be acquainted with him- his unwarranted unwanted reputation doesn’t suit him.

It’s when I feel my head and heart sink. That’s when I know it’s wrong. He smiles at Meryl, she teases and laughs all the while and I feel sick.

How could I get my hopes up? He doesn’t owe me anything, what did I expect?

“..It’s them, isn’t it?”

“Who?”

“Them.” Wolfwood gestures out the van window to them sitting at the campfire. There’s no need to explain it.

“Yeah.” My voice pathetically squeaks and he looks at me with.. pity? Empathy? Something. “I get that.”

I feel suffocated, seeing them together.

Quite literally, that’s when the first petal comes up. I walk with Wolfwood, Vash and Meryl teasing each other a few feet ahead.

It’s a few bloody petals.

A week later and it’s small buds, I cough behind the van while Wolfwood offers me water.

5 days after that and it’s whole, beautiful flowers. I can feel them leaving my throat and making me strangely pretty. I have to bury them in the sand once everyone goes to bed.

Only Wolfwood knows, along with Roberto, who had walked in once when he heard me coughing. I feel like shit.

I gag and cough and cry, throat tight and dry and I’m nauseous and lightheaded. I’ve barely eaten in the past few weeks.

“Jesus..” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “you’ve gotta eat.”

… “eat.” He insists, shoving a small portion of rations in my chest. “Thank me later.”

“I’ll just thank you now. I appreciate your help.”

A week ago I’d discovered what it was once I’d asked around a tavern curiously. Well, not really asked around. A barmaid was kind enough to inform me and listen once they’d caught my weary eyes on Vash. Who was laughing with Meryl.

“He’s a cutie, huh?”

“Yeah. He really is.” She turns, offering me a free drink. “It’s on the house, no need.” I nod, “Thank y-“ before I can begin, I hack and cough. Her towel helps to catch the blooms and now prickly vines that I feel poke my throat painfully.

“Hanahaki, huh?”

“Hm?”

“You cough up flowers thanks to unrequited love. It’s unknown why it happens.. but I’d recommend you enjoy your last few days.”

“What?”

“It’s fatal,” they explain. “I’m sorry.”

“..thanks for the free drink.”

I head up to my room early that night, and Roberto is kind enough to check on me. I cry, really cry as much as my tired throat lets me sob. Crying is even a privilege.

“And you’re still not mad at him?”

Even though it’s fatal?

“How could I be?”

Ever since we met it was always about making him happy. I left Jenora Rock to travel with him. I listened to him.

I was..

Just a really good friend. He needed that from me, nothing more.

“He doesn’t owe me anything. I can’t be mad at him for liking Meryl.”

Meryl was smart, and educated and older.

I was just.. me.

Roberto and Wolfwood make us stay in the tavern a few extra days. I’m laying on the bed again, I’ve barely left my room the past few days. One of the guys is kind enough to offer me food, but one day Vash greets me at my door.

“Wolfwood told me that you were sick. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s not your fault, uh..” I silently take the food from him. “Thank you.”

“Of course!” And he smiles. That beautiful, heartwarming grin. “If you need any help let me know, I’m just a room or two over.”

“I will.” That’s a lie.

I think it’s a slap in the face that very night that I get another coughing fit. I wish I could call him for help to rub my back, gently move the hair out of my face and hug me. But I know that wouldn’t help me at all.

Just saying hi to him pains me.

And so do the petals that grow, the vines that encase me beautifully, tearing my heart open and leaving me gorgeous.

I hope she looks at him the same way I did.

[acapelladitty]

Whole Day Off: The Week

Word Count: 4.1k (nsfw)

Pairing: Jonathan Crane/Reader

Summary: A series of snippets covering the various events Jonathan Crane engaged in during the week he spent separated from his witty girl after their disagreement.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

The Aftermath

I don’t want to be near you. Not right now, not after this.

Hands clenched until he could feel the tips of his jagged nails digging into the calloused skin of his palms, Crane waited for the solid click of the door lock before whirling in position and snatching up the closest object.

Slamming the beaker to the ground, the shards of glass scattered across the floor in an explosion of carnage which felt very satisfying in the moment. His eyes started to the stairs once more and it took every inch of restraint within his tensed frame to hold true to his word and allow his little mouse to walk free of his clutches.

“Fucking Sionis.” He growled, placing the blame where blame was due before directing his thoughts more internally. “Stupid. Utterly stupid.”

You did the right thing for yourself. As we always have.

A dark yet intimate voice whispered from the back of his mind, curling around his thoughts as a dark cloud.

She will not see it that way. I betrayed her trust and took something from her which she wasn’t willing to give. She’s irrational and impractical, but she was not wrong.

She would have given it, she said so her herself. The voice soothed. Since when does the Scarecrow ask for permission? You took as you always have, and she reacted beautifully.

Remaining stubborn in the face of his own thoughts, Crane could not deny the accusation.

She had been beautiful in her terror; eyes blown wide and limbs trembling as she faced her deepest fears. But it was a tainted experience, soiled by the presence of Sionis. Had he not been there, he would have almost been tempted to lay his head atop her heaving chest and selfishly indulge in a more intimate listen to the hummingbird beat of her heart.

I stood by as Sionis mistreated her. He struck her and groped her while she was left vulnerable by my hand. I was not quick enough to prevent it.

In truth, the sight of Sionis’ hands on her had sparked a cold fury, one borne of a primal jealousy and rage which fuelled his sharp movements in halting any further abuses. There were many things he would tolerate, but that?

No.

Not when it was something belonging to him.

He claimed so little in this life that he would allow himself that one possessive indulgence.

But still, his desire to remain collected and unbothered in the moment had allowed injury to come to his little mouse and the reality of that sparked an unfamiliar guilt which lay alongside the much more familiar anger that wrapped around his chest.

Sighing into the empty space, a weariness settled into his shoulders as he turned on his heel and crossed the threshold of the basement to channel his frustrations into something productive.

Day #1

Yanked into consciousness by the discomforting pain in his neck, a long and languid groan slipped free of Crane’s lips as his bleary eyes opened to an odd sight. The ceiling which lay above him was not what typically hung overhead and a momentary panic settled in his gut as his eyes swept down, quickly seeking out his location.

The panic settled just as quickly as it appeared as the sight of his beloved dental chair swam into view.

He had fallen asleep in the chair.

That was…unusual.

Typically, the chair provided a less comfortable sleeping arrangement than the old couch which typically housed his frame when exhaustion forced him to sleep. Hell, he didn’t even tend to sit in the chair, preferring instead to use it as an exclusive and unspoiled space for those unfortunate enough to have been selected to help him with his various experiments.

Uncomfortable and a little disturbed by the choice, he stood quickly, and his willowy frame swayed for a moment.

Hungry.

Thirsty.

Fatigued.

Irritated.

All hitting him at once, he allowed a moment to regret awaking before running his hands through the shock of his messy sleep-mussed hair. A faint recollection of throwing some breakfast bars down his throat the previous evening tickled at his memories, but it clearly had not been enough.

Moving to grab a bottle of water, his foot caught on something which lay haphazardly on the uneven floor and he gasped as he used the nearby table to right himself before he was sent careening to the harsh ground. He offered a soft growl at the inconvenience as his hand scooped down to pick up the offending object.

His fingers wrapped around something soft and leathery, and he recognised it instantly as the compact clutch bag which his little mouse liked to bring with her when she visited. Cracking open the magnetic lock, he peered inside and was greeted by the usual toys, the metal glint of the nipple clamps immediately catching his attention as always.

She had left in such a rush that she had neglected to pick up her bag.

A sweet scent tickled his senses and he recognised her perfume instantly, the notes embedded within the leather, and he lifted the bag to his nose, inhaling deeply. She always made an effort with her appearance and that extended to ensuring that she always wore the same perfume when she visited. If he were close enough to her skin, he could often pinpoint the exact areas in which she’s sprayed herself as the delicately sweet and floral notes which surrounded her were at their most intense.

Shaking himself of the thoughts, his free hand snatched open the bottom drawer which lay beneath his work desk. He dropped the bag within it, the leather cushioning the drop, and the grimace which tilted his lips did nothing to improve his irritable mood.

Day #2

“Come now, Mr. Jenkins.” Crane crooned, his thin hands splaying atop his costumed hips. “Resistance at this point is utterly futile.”

“Please, please. I’ll do anything.” Eyes blown wide with terror, Mr. Jenkins – as his wallet identified him – already appeared ready to collapse at the slightest provocation. “You need money? I can get m-money. My wife-”

“Do I look like a man who can be bought?” Crane tilted his head. “Or reasoned with? Do I look like a man who allows mercy to knock at his heart?”

A high-pitched keening noise was the only reply.

Adjusting the rim of his oversized hat, Crane dipped his hand within one of the many hidden pockets of his costume and pulled free a capped syringe; the liquid within almost clear with just the slightest tinge of green which glinted if held up to the dim lighting.

“Do you know what this is Mr. Jenkins?”

He continued on with his speech, drinking in the way which the colour drained from the restrained man’s horrified expression.

“My beloved fear toxin. A labour of love which is always seeking little improvements. You are fortunate to be the last one to test this current batch as its potency has proven difficult to control. Of the other test subjects, only one survived long enough to engage with a second dose. A third would not prove feasible.”

The cap pulled off smoothly and he raised the syringe to ensure that no air bubbles were present. Satisfied by what he could see, he approached Mr. Jenkins once more as his prone body twisted and writhed within the harsh restraints.

Snatching free the voice recorder from other pocket, he brought it to his lips.

“Time is 7.05pm and the first dose has been administered intravenously. Typical dosage and measurements. Subject appears agitated but fully conscious.”

Having kept the recorder in hand, he wrapped his fingers around the thinning strands of Mr. Jenkins hair and pulled his head firmly to the side. Jabbing the needle of the syringe into his fat neck, he paused for a moment before roughly pressing down on the plunger to deposit the full amount.

As always, the results were instantaneous.

Eyelids fluttering as his dilated irises darted across the room, seeking out the monsters which he knew were coming for him, Mr. Jenkins’ fingers scrambled against the arm of the dentist’s chair.

It was a potentially fatal dose, made even more of a risk by the overweight nature of Mr. Jenkins frame and Crane could almost picture his heart as it struggled to pump the toxin through his panicking body.

A low scream tore free of his lips as Mr. Jenkins head thrashed viciously against the strap holding it loosely in place.

Momentarily concerned that the broad man would actually break the restraint, Crane stepped forward and attempted to hold his head in place to tighten the strap a notch or two. It was no easy feat, given the frantic movements, and frustration welled dangerously in Crane’s chest as he was thwarted in his attempt.

The sting of his hand as it drew across the blubbering face in a sudden and vicious slap gave him pause. Physical violence towards his subjects was not unheard of but it also wasn’t something he typically indulged in. The satisfaction was undeniable though, the small act of aggression soothing some dark part of him that had been itching for release since his separation from his little mouse.

Raising his palm once again, he struck Mr. Jenkins once more and grinned at the small trickle of blood which broke free of his nose, his strained vocals amounting to little more than pathetic sobbing and incomprehensible muttering.

Crane took a measured step back. It would do him no good to accidentally kill the man and so he settled on falling into a more observatory role. Resting on his heels, the voice recorder clasped within his left hand was the only movement to come from him for quite some time as it occasionally rose to his mouth as interesting comments and thoughts sprang to mind.

Day #4

One aspect of his work which sparked constant irritation came from the length of time which is took to brew a decent batch of toxin. The base recipe had long since been optimised for both speed and potency, a labour of love which now made any variation, with its extended brewing time, an irritation which simply had to be endured.

But that was not the true cause of his irritation.

He had woken up hard, his cock pressing against his boxers in a wickedly uncomfortable manner. Perhaps out of sheer spite, he had refused to deal with it in the early morning as he lay on the couch, but that choice had come back to bite him throughout the day as it left him agitated and more than a little frustrated.

It was the kind of morning where his fingers would be quick to fire off a text to his little mouse, inviting her over to enjoy his company later in the evening. And she would always reply in kind, expressing her excitement to spend some time pushing her own limits.

An admission which always sparked a pleasant satisfaction in his chest.

But that was not an option.

Pride would not allow for him to break his acceptance of her absence. Besides, given that she were yet to contact or acknowledge him in any way, a bold invitation for sex would probably be received quite negatively in the grand scheme of things.

Crane’s eyes danced over the broiling liquid which would need at least another hour to fully combine and his thoughts were distracted enough that it wasn’t until his hand was pawing at his belt that he resigned himself to a little self-indulgence.

Unzipping his slacks, his hand moved quickly to free his semi-hard cock, the bulge of it straining against the thin material. The back of the chair was firm against his frame as he reclined, long legs stretching out comfortably as he wrapped his fingers around his length.

His little mouse would have been perfectly suited to this moment and he could picture her role with ease.

Her knees planted to the ground as she tucked herself into the limited space beneath his work desk; her elbows locked behind her body, tied away to ensure that her fingers could only claw against each other as he used her for his own purposes. Her hot, wet mouth latched around his cock, alternating between pleasuring him with her tongue and holding his cock deep within her throat, the muscles there massaging him with every panicked attempt at intaking air.

Rolling his thumb across his cockhead, a soft exhale escaped his lips at the small movement sparked heat across his groin, almost uncomfortable in its intensity.

Her eyes glancing up at him, so wide and glazed over as she serviced him while he completed his various tasks. Small tears forming in the corners as he hilted himself within her throat, her discomfort making her writhe and panic even as he offered her a stern tut of disapproval. He would hold himself there until the last possible moment before pulling free to allow her choking, gasping breaths.

Crane picked up the pace, twisting his wrist with every stroke of his cock as his legs spread even further, losing himself to the fantasy which poisoned his agitated mind.

Kneeling as she were, it would be easy for him to play with her in kind. His shoe raising from the floor to rub along her slit, meeting no resistance due to the moisture there, until it connects with her aroused clit, the sudden shock of the pressure causing her to flinch in place as she swallows around his cock. He would tell her to move, to rub herself against his foot like the silly little mouse she is, and she would comply immediately. His witty girl was never one to deny herself pleasure.

The thought of her soft skin and the warmth of her mouth wrapping around his cock drew a grunt from his chest, his cock twitching accordingly.

Her little whimpers would be blocked by his cock. The vibrations of them making him grunt and push forward, determined to soak in every little pleasure. She gets nothing other than his foot and he could feel her determined movements, the rapid pace she would achieve to bring herself where she needed to be as he pumped in and out of her mouth. The obscene noises spurring them both on until he came, his cock buried in her throat and his hand wrapped around her head to hold her in place until he was fully satisfied.

It proved enough, and he was drawn from his fantasies by his cock jerking in hand; his orgasm tight and hot across his groin as his release splattered across his hand, some of it falling to the tails of his shirt. Shame trickled down his spine, making the pleasure all that more indulgent as he waited for his heavy breathing to right itself.

Wiping off his release from his now-stained shirt, a slight twinge of irritation at the mess brought his senses back and he sighed as he stood from his seated position. He kept spare shirts at the back of the basement in a zipped bag and one would have to suffice for the moment, lest any unexpected visitor be faced with some uncomfortable truths.

Walking to the shirts, the image of his little mouse trapped beneath his work desk burned itself into his thoughts as a vague hope that it would come to pass settled within his thin chest.

Day #5

Perched atop his workspace, the sheer lack of respect which Harleen held for personal space never failed to catch him off-guard and Crane subtly moved several things away from his animated body as she continued her small discussion.

“-but just as Selina and I were finishing up our drinks, we saw Ozzie throwing Maxie Zeus out of his office. And whoo-wee, he looked big mad about it. He stormed past our table and Selina heard him muttering something about the Southern Dock. Selina thinks he’s hiding some stolen goods down there but I think he’s got a little hidey-hole he wants to keep hidden.”

Harleen Quinzel; motormouth and fantastic source of information on the private workings of the Gotham underground.

Some would ever accuse her of being a gossip.

“And how is Selina?”

“Hates you.” Harley grinned, tilting her head. “Hates everyone. Hates the new haircut she got from the barber down by the multiplex. She’s moody these days.”

Crane offered a non-committed hum in response.

“And how is Joker?”

“Mistah Jay and I are planning something fun together at the moment. He’s been so focused on his planning and he’s working so hard even though I must have kept distracting him. He says that I need to do some stuff alone for this plan to work so he keeps sending me away.”

Keeping his expression as stoic as ever, his eyes narrowed slightly as he scrutinised her appearance. There, under her right eye sat the faintest shadow of bruising, the heft of it no doubt expertly covered by her garishly pale makeup.

He had covered his little mouse in so much worse; left her body striped in beautiful purples and reds, littered her skin with bruising which must have taken days to heal. And yet, to leave such a mark on her seemed unfathomable to him. Domestic violence required a particular type of cruelty and the appeal of it was lost on him.

“I think a more individual life would suit you, Harleen.”

“Yeah, Ivy says that too. I’m staying with her when Mistah Jay doesn’t need me and she’s cooking me up a refresher so that I don’t get sick around her new plants.”

So much for individual.

“But you’re not moody, Dr. Crane. You’ve been quiet the last while, but you haven’t been as bitchy as usual.”

Frowning at the term, Crane indulged her for the moment.

“Is a man not entitled to a good day?”

“A good day, yeah sure! But you’ve been busy, busy, busy, working on something. Folks have noticed that you’ve been quiet and some of them are worried.”

“Good. Let them be anxious about it.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Harley fell unusually silent, her carefully constructed vapid gaze falling away to reveal the intelligence which lurked below as she held Crane’s eye for a moment too long.

His next question ready to fall from his lips, Crane’s attention was immediately pulled away by a metal crunch which signalled that the basement door was opening.

“Salutations and commiserations, good fellows.”

“I need to invest in a stronger lock for that door.” Crane called out, voice deadpan with only a hint of irritation. “Why are you darkening my doorway?”

Stepping into the dim basement lights, Edward Nygma glancing around to regard the room with open distaste before clasping his hands over his stomach.

“An old friend can’t pop in to say hello?”

“We’re not friends.”

“Harley is my friend. Aren’t you, dear?” He asked, indicating to her with an open palm and a showman smile.

“Hi, Mistah E!” Hopping off the work desk, Harley’s strong arms circled around his waist in a surprisingly enthusiastic hug and Crane was quick to notice the grimace which tugged at the corner of Edward’s lips at the contact.

“Yes, thank you.” He muttered, pulling away gracefully before adjusting his emerald tie. “Anyway, I have some information for you, and I would be willing to exchange it for a little something-something. A trade if you will.”

His interest piqued; Crane flicked his eyes to the couch in invitation as Harley retook her position perched on his work desk.

“Is that clean?” Standing beside the couch, Edward’s nose flared.

Snapshot memories of long nights spent asleep on that couch, not to mention all the times he and his witty girl had fucked there, flickered through Crane’s mind and a mean-spirited smirk tugged at his lips as he nodded.

“Of course it is.”

The pensive look refusing to leave his expression, Edward took the offered seat regardless. His progress was quickly halted though as his hand slipped beneath his ass to pull something free.

“Lipstick?”

Clutched between his fingers, lay a thin lipstick tube; its clear plastic covering showing off the sheer pink lipstick contained within.

Had it not been for his strict control of his expression, Crane’s features would have exploded into panic. He knew that lipstick case well. He had often watched his little mouse apply it to her lips before leaving. Or topping it up between their activities. It acted as a sort of comfort for her, one that had not slipped his notice.

As Edward examined the small case, Crane did not miss the furtive gaze which Harley clapped in his direction.

“Oh, that’s mine!” She called out, bouncing from her seated position to grab the case from his fingers. “Thanks, Eddie. It’s one of my favourites.”

“I had no idea you were capable of such subtlety. Clown red seems more your style.” Edward said.

“Hey, buddy! Keep your opinions to yourself.” Harley dropped her hands to her hips to defend her honour. “I’m not defined by my makeup.”

Thankful for the distraction, even as a horrible sense that Harley was piecing together a picture of information that he would rather keep buried, Crane cleared his throat to gather their attentions.

“Anyway,” he offered pointedly, “can we move this along. You,” he inclined to Edward, “what information do you have for me?”

“Well, a rotund little birdie named Oswald tells me of a new shipment of experimental drugs from London that are due withi-”

Day #7

Slamming back the small measure of whisky, the welcoming burn travelled through his mouth and down his throat, warming him from the inside out.

His batch of toxin was a success. The information which Nygma had provided him had opened up new avenues for potential future adjustments. Two of his recent experiments had garnered surprising results, enough to have sparked a new idea which was slowly brewing within his mind.

And yet, he was not happy.

The discomfort which had been needling him the last week, a guilt which he found difficult to reconcile, had only grown more cumbersome. Distracting. It was a feeling so foreign to him that he found it impossible to ignore.

He would have to make amends with his little mouse.

An apology was due and that was a truth he could no longer avoid or justify. He had wronged her and she was owed recompense for that. His reasons for his actions were sound, practical in a way which gave the greatest benefit, but in doing so he had overstepped the delicate line which they both danced around as part of their arrangement.

He would apologise to his little mouse.

In their week apart, he had kept to his word and not approached her. However, a week of non-contact seemed fitting and after tonight, at least, he would know where they stood.

x-x-x-x-x

Standing in the hallway of her apartment, he paused long enough to take a measured look at himself before any rash decisions could be made. The weight of his fear gauntlet against his arm was a familiar comfort, a friend which provided security against harm in the dangerous Gotham streets.

He was no coward and his hand quickly slipped up to knock against the wood, the sound booming in the silent hallway in a way that made him cringe slightly.

What if she refuses to open the door?

She will.

You have witnessed her stubbornness. She may well slam the door in our face and refuse to hear what we have to say. What will the great Scarecrow do then? Return home with his tail between his legs?

It won’t come to that.

For her sake, we hope so.

The click of a metal lock alerted him to her presence behind the door and he drew to his full height, unwilling to show a hint of weakness as he stood before her.

“Hello?”

Her face, the last vestiges of sleep making her features a little bleary, appeared in the opened crack of the doorway and a twinge of amusement sparked as he took in her ruffled, birds-nest of a hairstyle. An unflattering over-sized t-shirt fell around her shoulders as her expression bloomed into open shock.

Despite it all, she was as beautiful as ever and something possessive curled around his chest as he fought the urge to push the door open and claim her as his own, right then and there.

Instead, he settled on keeping a neutral expression as he held her wide-blown eyes and shocked expression.

“Good evening.”

Also on AO3

[littledancer9]

Just wanna say love “Unrung”, but is there an approximate possible update date in the future?Love it!😍

Hi! Don’t be shy Anon! It’s good to know people are still thinking about this little story!

For those of my friends and readers not on Discord, I recently had a baby (my first)! I have every intention of continuing to write Unrung, because I love it and have so much in mind for continuing plot. I’m learning to balance new responsibilities and motherhood with my previous hobbies, but I do have a chunk of the next chapter written already.

So if I can focus and write in the next two weeks, I would love to get a chapter up by beginning of March! Feel free to message me here or on Discord any time to chat about this or anything else fandom. It’s great motivation ☺️

Since it’s been almost three months without an update, here is a chunk of what I’ve written for a little sneaky peek:

“Jon…” It sounded so soft, muffled by the wind and the distance.

Like his vocal chords had snapped, he couldn’t warn him, couldn’t say anything.

“Jon!”

Grenn fell and Jon took off running. The snow slowing him down, his clothes too waterlogged. A flash of white and…

“Jon!”

His heart thundered and he flipped over on instinct, holding down the source of the sound. They needed to be quiet. His ears whirring and eyes shifting, attempting to adjust to the dark and place himself. Round eyes blinked back at him and a drop of cold sweat rolled down his temple.

“Fuck,” he whispered, eyes widening at the silver hair splayed out on the pillow around her angelic face. She was terrified.

“Easy, soldier,” she wheezed. Ghost whined at the edge of the bed, pacing and jumping up to see them.

“Down Ghost,” he groaned. He rolled off of her leaving a wide berth between them and scrunching his eyes shut. “I’m so sorry, Dany.”

The sheets felt humid around him and he wiped away the sweat at his brow. He flinched when a small hand caressed his shoulder. He attempted to shrug it off. “You don’t—

Her hand clamped down on him. “Don’t what?”

He let out a weary sigh, throaty and deep, lolling his head to look back at her. She didn’t sign up for this. She lay on her side, opposite hand propping up her head in the shadows. “I’m sorry I woke you up. You should go back to sleep.”

She was quiet, for once. Thumb rubbing at his shoulder joint, only inches away from the phantom pain beneath the snow-capped mountains of his chest. As much as he tried to forget, his body never let him. Chills ran up and down his arms and the weight of his legs felt heavy, like he’d never be able to move his limbs from the bed.

Imagery helped, they always said. Envision what brings you peace. He racked his brain for a peaceful thought, a peaceful memory to bring his pulse down. He popped an eye open when the bed creaked and plastic wrap crackled as a petite figure wormed her way closer to him. A hand on his shoulder became an arm strewn across his chest joined by her soft leg wrapping around one of his. He was too tense, shouldn’t be so close, but he adjusted his arm around her anyway. Her head nuzzled into his collar he could feel her tentative breath against his skin.

He lay still, listening to Ghost pad back to his bed and curl up. He searched for numbness, actively shoving away any memory of Pyp and Grenn in the snow and what came after. He thought of memories of little Arya toddling after him and Robb when they were in high school. Holidays when his dad was still here and whiskeys shared by the fire. And this, silvery hair tickling his chin and shoulder and pale legs wrapped in his.

“Does it…happen often?” He was sure she’d fallen back asleep.

Yes. No. Depends on the fucking weather and the moon cycle for all he knows. “Sometimes.”

She nodded minutely into his chest. Her feet fidgeted by his and he steeled himself for the follow-up. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Another sigh. He rubbed her back where his arm wrapped around her, careful not to irritate her wrapped tattoo. “Not now.”

“You know you can talk to me…when you want to.” She sounded so small, so tired. A tamed little kitten in the night in comparison to the wild girl he was accustomed to.

He leaned down to kiss her temple. “I know. Just go back to sleep, baby. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“S’okay,” she mumbled into his chest. “I woke you up too.”

[vixensheart]

It’s a phone call that pops the peaceful bubble around Angel and Husk. 

Sharp and shrill, it pierces the silence while they’re at the table eating breakfast. Husk’s fork clatters onto his plate, and he reaches for his phone with a grumble, flipping it to glance at the screen. The irritation drops from his face into something almost weary, and he sighs. “What?” he says, brow knitting as he listens to whatever the person on the other end tells him. Angel watches with raised brows, chewing on his toast and dropping bits of egg on the floor for Nuggets to snack on. Husk’s ears go flat, and he sighs again. “Yeah, well, you can tell them I’m out for—” A pause. “Of course they don’t wanna reschedule.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine. I’ll be down shortly.” 

Angel lowers his own fork. Husk tosses his phone back onto the table, lips curled in disdain, and huffs again. His gaze finds Angel and it fills with guilt. 

“I’ve gotta head down to the office. Some asshole apparently’s decided they’re important enough to demand a meeting.” 

Well, shit. Angel tilts his head. “How long d’ya think it’ll take?” 

A low growl rumbles from Husk, tail swishing against the floor. “No idea. As short as fucking possible.” 

And, that gets a snicker from Angel. He props his chin on a hand, lips curving into a smile. “You’re real cute when you’re pissed,” he teases. Husk glowers, and Angel’s smile only widens. He slides a hand across the table, catching one of his—his boyfriend’s (holy shit, they’re boyfriends now), and gives a squeeze. “S’okay, baby, I’ll be fine, promise. ‘Sides, maybe I can start lookin’ into the security footage ‘n stuff. Figure out who the mole is.” And skin them. He doesn’t say that part out loud. Then again, he doesn’t think he’s gotta. Husk is more than aware of how itchy his hands are for his knife and gun when it comes to finding the bitchass mole. 

Husk’s frown seems to etch deeper into his features. “You sure? I can always tell ‘em to fuck off.” 

“Positive. I’ve been holed up long enough, anyway.” 

Four days. It’s been four days since Angel’s been back at the casino. Four days since he stabbed the shit outta Val. Four whole days of re-weaning himself off Val’s shitty venom, of laying around curled up in Husk’s arms, of just existing, again. And, Angel could easily stay hidden away for longer, in this tiny little bubble of theirs. But as much as he’d love to hide away from the realities of existence forever, he can’t. Or, shouldn’t anyway. 

And he really wants to catch that motherfucker. 

“Okay,” Husk says, quiet and a touch reluctant. “I’ll take you down to the security office, then.” He grabs his fork and stabs at some eggs, apparently determined to finish breakfast first. “Just…don’t do anything too stupid.” His hand gives Angel’s a squeeze, the worry leaking through the cracks of his false levity. 

Angel rolls his eyes, but affection sparks in his chest despite the minor annoyance. “Yeah, yeah, I won’t. Promise.” Been there, done that. He tugs his hand free, grabs his own fork. They eat in relative silence, after, silverware scraping against their plates. Fat Nuggets nudges at Angel’s leg with his little wet nose, eyes wide and pleading when he spares his piggy a glance. Angel bites the inside of his cheek to quell his smile and drops him another chunk of egg. 

“You spoil that damn pig.” There’s a fondness in the shape of Husk’s words. Angel snorts and shoots him a look. 

“Yeah, well, obviously. He’s my baby. What’s your excuse, huh?” 

“Touché.” 

♠️

New chapter up! Read the rest on Ao3!

[xxbyimm]

A tale as old as time - Bard the bowman x OC - Chapter 3 - Skills of a healer

New to this journey? Here’s chapter 1.

A tale as old as Time - Bard x OC - Chapter 3: Skills of a healer

Summary: Brea is forced to turn to a practice she has abandoned some time ago.

Warnings: this chapter deals with injury and treating injuries. Though it's not described in a gruesome way, take care if you are sensitive to this topic! <3

Author’s note: lovely people, it’s been too long since I’ve updated this fic! Recently my dear friend @fizzyxcustard inspired me to work on this fic again and goodness—I am obsessed now with it. Enjoy this update ❤️❤️

The practice of medicine is an art, not a trade;

a calling, not a business;

a calling in which your heart will be exercised equally with your head.

-William Osler

She did not see Bard for a long time after.

The first few days, Brea told herself that he probably was too busy to enjoy her company–the bargeman had a family to sustain after all... But when the first two weeks had gone by and she still hadn’t seen even a glimpse of the man’s pretty ass, Brea started to consider the fact that the bowman was, in fact, avoiding her. The decision, which only spoke in favor of his character and sense of duty, made the daughter of Brenion ache for his company even more. Even so much that the concept of sleeping eluded her.

Brea heaved a weary sigh and shifted under the covers of her comfortable bed. She knew she should be vastly asleep right now, but her love-stricken brain had lost its interest in the mundane and now she spent most of her nights going back to the precious moment in which Bard had his arms safely wrapped around her. Unfortunately she had discovered that if she completely emerged herself in this past experience, she could still bask in the warmth of his embrace–her skin remembering how the bowman’s rough fingertips had brushed over her cheek.

Oh, and that rueful, adorning smile…

‘You are so young, Brea… And I’m an old man. This is foolery.’

Her heart ached at that and Brea winced. Restlessly, she turned over to her right side once more and pulled her heavy blanket towards her chest. The man certainly knew how to stab her in the heart and ruin a perfect moment in one go. She chewed on her bottom lip. But how could she accept that it was over before it had even begun? How could she forget him when he was all she could ever think about?

The stairs that led to the attic creaked, disturbing her silent musings.

Brea rose to her elbows, listening intently to the light footsteps that made their way to her room. Mîrhel was a heavy sleeper and Catherine usually spent the night with her own family, which meant there was only one person who dared to enter her domain, especially during the night.

‘Jen?’ She inquired, squinting her eyes to peer into the darkness. The door opened and her sister’s pretty face peered through the crevice. Strands of her thick black hair had broken free from her braid, framing her cheeks.

‘Bree…’ Jenessa pleaded softly. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but I can’t sleep.’

Brea already knew what was coming and waited patiently for the impending request. Ever since Jen had entered the family as a frightened little two-year old who had just lost her parents, she had singled out her big sister for comfort whenever she felt scared or sad. ‘Me neither,’ she agreed, smiling faintly. ‘My mind is too troubled.’

‘Oh! Can I stay with you for a bit?’ Jen asked as she shuffled on her feet in the doorframe. ‘Father is snoring again.’

‘Ah, that alone is enough to cause insomnia,’ Brea replied while making room in her bed. ‘Though why do I feel you’ve got something on your mind?’

‘Like what?’ Jen said. ‘I’m not a worrier, like you.’

Brea shook her head, eyeing her sister with an accusing glance before proceeding to lift the covers anyway. ‘Fine,’ she decided. ‘You may keep me company. But only if you lay still and won’t kick me out of my own bed, like last time.’

Jen–who knew their routine all too well–didn’t waste a second and practically dove into the old mattress with the grace of a drunken peasant, making the bed creak dangerously and causing her older sister to gasp.

‘Will you watch it?!’

‘Sorry!’ Jenessa giggled. ‘My limbs are practically frozen from the cold in my room.’

‘Let me guess…’ Brea mused. ‘You were too stubborn to get your woolen blanket from your cupboard?’

‘It’s spring, Bree!’ Jen complained, pouting. ‘It shouldn’t be this chilly anymore! In Minas Trith, the people will have gathered around the white tree by now, to see its first blossoms. I wish I was there too.’

Brea, who too wished their family still lived in the Guarded City, settled onto her back. ‘I know,’ she spoke. ‘But we’re not in Minas Tirith. Laketown is different.’

Jen snorted at that. ‘It certainly is. Cold, wet and stupid.’

‘Jen…’ Brea countered, suddenly feeling very worn out. ‘That’s not a nice thing to say…’

Her sister giggled again and pulled her sibling into a hug. ‘I’m just saying it out loud. I know you are thinking it as much as I am, Bree. Don’t be a hypocrite.’

‘It’s not that bad,’ Brea murmured. ‘Though it isn’t as vibrant as- GOOD GODS GET THOSE COLD FEET AWAY FROM ME!’

Jenessa laughed and retreated her icy feet to the other end of the bed. ‘Sorry…’ She eyed her elder sister with amusement as the latter did her best to look as annoyed as humanly possible. ‘You were saying?’ Jen then continued, as if she just hadn’t tried to freeze her sibling to death mere moments ago.

‘I said,’ Brea repeated herself. ‘That Laketown might not be as lively or exciting as Minas Tirith, but that it surely has its’ charm.’

‘In the form of a lovely bargeman with hazelnut colored eyes, you mean?’ Jenessa purred, her hands sneaking to his sister's side and squeezing hard.

‘Absolutely not!’ Brea countered, before grabbing Jen’s hands and keeping them in place. ‘Laketown has a surprisingly diverse market place, lovely sceneries and interesting architecture-’

‘You forget to mention the handsome male population,’ Jen filled in, wriggling herself free. ‘Especially the likes of Bard…’

‘Oh, shut up!’ Brea protested, pulling the coverlet up to her chin. ‘I did not invite you in my own bed to be made fun of! Leave me alone!’

‘Ah, Bree… Don’t be so irritable…’ Jenessa pouted. ‘I’m just teasing you…’

‘The hell you are…’ Brea muttered, her thoughts already returning to the bowman’s handsome face.

‘But I know you like him!’ Jen pressed, unwittingly evaporating her sibling’s pleasant distraction. ‘And I can’t figure out why the two of you suddenly won’t speak to each other anymore,’ she went on. ‘But I do know it makes me sad.’

Brea heaved a weary sigh.

The fact that Jen noticed something was off, meant that quite a few people would be aware of the–how to frame it–delicate friendship between herself and the bargeman. Both sisters could only hope that Mîrhel wasn’t one of them...

‘Fine,’ she then gave in. ‘But you mustn’t tell anyone. The truth is I think he’s a good man and I like him… A lot.’

‘A lot?!’ Jen squealed and excitedly clapped in her hands. ‘Bree! That sounds so promising! Please tell me, what happened between you two? Has he kissed you?’ Her face fell. ‘No, don’t tell me he did. For if he had, he should not give you the cold shoulder!’

‘Have you forgotten what happened with Ru-’ Brea said sharply, but she stopped before saying Ruthron’s name out loud. She still couldn’t let his name roll over her tongue. Because if she did, everything that had happened would become more real. She bit her lip. ‘I didn’t kiss Bard, nor did he kiss me. I couldn’t allow it, not after everything that has happened.’

‘Oh, Brea…’ Jen mumbled softly. ‘I’m sorry I brought it up. But what happened with Ruru wasn’t your fault and you know that.’

‘He should not have had to pay that price alone,’ Brea said bitterly. ‘I was just as much to blame.’

They lay side by side in silence and Brea’s thoughts traveled to her former life.

She knew Jen was right, living in Minas Tirith had been glorious. But for Brea, the never ending guilt weighing her down, made those memories bittersweet. She could never forget what had happened last fall, nor could she ever forgive herself for her incompetence.

‘Sigrid has promised me she’ll teach me how to swim,’ Jen said quietly, breaking the silence. ‘She told me that now I’m a proper Laketown resident, I have to learn.’

‘A resident of Laketown? How does one earn such a lovely title?’

Jenessa snorted. ‘A dive in the Long Lake will suffice.’

‘In that case…’ Brea shivered and moved further under the covers. ‘I think I’ll pass.’

‘Good call,’ Jen murmured. ‘I was lucky Bard was there.’

Though the pain in Brea’s chest was still there, the feeling of gratitude washed over her. ‘You were,’ she agreed. ‘Maybe it’s a good thing Sigrid will teach you how to swim. I don’t want to know what happens if you decide to take a second leap and no one is around to save your sorry ass.’

Jen shrugged. ‘I wasn’t my decision to go the first time around, if you must know. And I guess if it happens a second time before Sigrid teaches me, I’ll drown.’

‘What?’ Brea gasped before pulling her sister into a hug. ‘Please tell me you’re joking!’

‘I wish I was…’ Her sibling mumbled. ‘It’s just that I…’

‘Jen…’ Brea said sharply. ‘You said you tripped.’

Jen turned her head away, her gaze fixed into the unknown. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Bree.’

‘I understand,’ Brea replied, brushing a strand of raven black hair from her sister’s face. ‘You can tell me at your own pace. But if someone tried to harm you, I need to know, okay?’

Jen merely nodded and melted into her big sister’s hug.

‘We’ll ask Sigrid to teach you how to swim first thing this morning, alright?’ Brea soothed. ‘And I’ll make sure you won’t have to move through town alone.’

‘Thank you,’ Jenessa whispered barely audible.

There was a short silence, in which Brea listened to her sister’s unsteady breathing. A knot settled into her stomach. Jen usually was such a ray of happiness and positivity, that negativity just bounced off her before it could really do any damage. The fact that someone had succeeded in throwing her out of balance, was scary.

‘You know, I had a moment with Bard.’ Brea told her sister softly in an attempt to cheer her up. ‘I bumped into him in the kitchen after I rushed home to you that day.’

‘Oh?’ Jen commented. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing,’ Brea shrugged. ‘I was so grateful that he saved your life, I threw myself in the poor man’s arms.’

‘Like he minded…’

‘I don’t think he did mind, no.’ Brea gave in. ‘But after we almost kissed, he told me it wasn’t right and he left.’

‘He didn’t!’ Her little sister hissed. ‘That bastard!’

‘No, he’s a sensible, righteous man!’ Brea corrected. ‘He’s too old for me and even if we would become friends, we’d be the talk of the town. It’s best if I stay as far away as I can.’

‘So that’s why you two are ignoring each other?’ Jen mused.

‘He is avoiding me,’ Brea said. ‘He must be, for I haven’t seen even a glimpse of him for the past few weeks.’

Jen watched her with a strange, knowing smile. ‘He’s not ignoring you, Bree. Far from it, actually.’ She smirked. ‘I know for a fact that he still cares. He keeps asking me how you are and if Alfrid is still bothering you. And I, being the silly, trusting goose I am, kept him informed. He even knows about that awful dress Alfrid dropped off for you yesterday morning. Do you want to know what he had to say about that?’

Brea wasn’t about to let her sister have her beg for information, so she simply shrugged. ‘Well?’

’He laughed and told me he was sure you would look lovely in it. And Sigrid agreed!’

‘A generic response,’ Brea quietly told herself. ‘See?’

Jenessa shook her head and giggled. ‘No, Bree. You weren’t there. His face lights up whenever I talk about you. It’s so obvious he’s crazy about you, but for some reason he tries to fight it.’

‘You are so young, Brea. And I’m an old man. This is foolery.’

Brea’s heart ached at those words that were etched in her brain. She was desperate to believe her little sister, but she couldn’t. Loving another man meant that at some point she'd lose him and that would destroy her. ‘Not a chance,’ she breathed. ‘He’s just trying to be nice.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Jen countered. ‘He’s nice to me too and he treats me entirely different.’

‘You’re a hopeless romantic, Jen.’

‘And you are scared to love again!’

‘I am not!’

‘Yes, you are!’

‘Jenessa…’ Brea murmured. ‘If you won’t hush right away, I will get my thread and needle and sow your mouth shut!’

Jen laughed and prodded a finger between her sister’s ribs. ‘Empty threats, my lovely Bree. That particular kit, stuffed away in the bottom drawer of your closet, is out of reach.’

Despite herself, Brea grinned. ‘Well, either way: you better not tempt me…’

Days flew by and Brea settled into a pleasant, new rhythm.

Because Laketown didn’t provide the usual thrills and gossip of the city, Brea spent much of her time at home and busied herself by reading books from the family’s library and helping Catherine with chores. Though Mîrhel didn’t approve of her daughter doing the servant’s work, Brea had smartly suggested that for future reference, she should learn more about running a household–and what better example than her families’ home?

Of course no mother could not possibly have anything to argue against such solid reasoning and it was no surprise that Mîrhel didn’t.

But while her mother probably was happy that her daughter finally had shown some interest in the concept of marriage and being a wife, Brea’s motives were entirely different. She had found that physical labor helped to put her mind off Bard a bit, and the gods–though she didn’t believe in any–knew she needed that more than ever.

Recently, there had been whispers swirling through town that the bargeman was courting someone and the mere thought made Brea feel sick with dread. She had asked Jen if she knew something about the matter, but her little sister had merely shrugged and said that Sigrid had not mentioned it with her.

And that was it.

Jen still refused to tell her more about what happened that day on the docks, so Brea made sure her sister wasn’t going anywhere on her own. The daily strolls through town provided a welcome break from her mother’s looming presence and she one time she even was rewarded with a glimpse of a certain bargeman, who then suddenly vanished just as quickly as he had appeared.

Her other suitor, that hateful piece of human garbage calling himself Alfrid, managed to find her everywhere and when he did he refused to leave her alone. Brea was sure he had other, more important duties to attend to (and told him as such), but he insisted a ‘fine girl like her’ shouldn’t walk the streets alone.

‘No, miss Brea,’ he had told her. ‘Any guy can see how lovely you are and someone with the wrong intentions could wrong you. We want to avoid that, don’t we?’

Indeed, being harassed by awful men like the deputy himself was something Brea would rather avoid, but the obvious irony was lost to Alfrid. As for herself, the chance of laying her eyes on Bard was enough to endure the unpleasant company.

So that was why on this particular late, windy afternoon Brea was strolling the docks towards the market space. A few hours ago, she had dropped Jen off at Bard’s home and they had agreed she’d pick her sister up near the market. Brea knew she was early, but she enjoyed inspecting the latest wares and catching up on today’s gossip. She was just about to greet her friend Hilda-Bianca, when a loud shriek traveled through the air.

‘BREA!!’

She whirled around and almost got toppled over by her little sister. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the sturdy market stall behind her, she would have lost her balance.

‘What are you-’ she began, but Jen impatiently shook her head and grabbed her sister’s wrist.

‘No time!’ Jen urged while she dragged her elder sister away. ‘We have to go! Bard’s in trouble.’

Several heads turned and the usual bustle and talk died quickly.

Brea’s throat went dry and her pace faltered. ‘What happened?’ She inquired quickly, her voice slightly cracking. ‘Is he alive?’

‘Yes! But he’s bleeding badly,’ Jen cried out. ‘That’s why I went to get you… I know you can help. He needs you.’

Brea’s gaze darted through the marketplace. Most of the people here were merchants, housewives or fishermen, and they all looked equally appalled. There was no real surgeon in these parts, let alone someone with sufficient knowledge about medicine. Though she had sworn never to treat patients again, Brea quickly gathered up her skirts and gave her sister a short nod.

‘Please go get my medical kit,’ she instructed. ‘You know where to find it. Is Bard home?’

‘Yes,’Jenessa told her.

‘Well, then meet me there.’

The news that the bargeman had been badly injured traveled fast. By the time Brea had made it towards his home, a whole crowd had gathered in front of it. The people were speculating loudly what could have happened. Had he been involved in some kind of accident or was this a case of foul play? After all, everyone knew how much Bard was hated by the authorities and no one would be surprised if those said authorities were behind this recent turn of events.

‘Let me through!’ Brea insisted furiously as she shoved her fellow townsmen and women aside. ‘Make way!’ She clambered onto the stairs, elbowing Bard’s neighbor out of the way before knocking on the wooden door.

‘Sigrid! Bain!’ She yelled over the murmuring crowd. ‘It’s me, Brea!’ There was no immediate response and she frantically hammered her fist onto the wooden surface. ‘Let me in!’

Finally, Sigrid’s pale face appeared behind the glass pane. The door creaked open and Brea slipped through the crack.

‘Oh, miss Brea!’ Sigrid cried out as she quickly shut the door behind them. ‘Please… Da’s injured and I don’t know what to do…’ she wrung her hands together. ‘Please help! ’

‘Don’t fret,’ Brea said as she placed her hands on the shoulders of Bard’s eldest. ‘I’ve sent Jen to get my medical kit. I will do anything in my power to save him. Will you tell me what happened?’

‘Brea!’ Tilda wailed, making her way towards her friend. Tears streamed down her young face. Brea pulled the little girl into a hug and gently brushed over her small back.

‘Sshh…’ she cooed. ‘It will be alright. We will save your dad, but in order to do so, you need to be very brave and stay with Sigrid, can you do that for me?’

The little girl nodded vigorously.

Brea then let Tilda go and marched over to the bed. Her patient had been hidden from her view, as the curtains at the foot end were shut to give the poor man some privacy. As she neared the bed, Brea was confronted with an ailment she had seen many times before.

In the blood-ridden bed, Bard was resting against the cushions, an arrow protruding from his left shoulder. The bargeman’s chest heaved up and down mechanically. His eyes were closed and his face was contorted in a pained scowl. Brea stepped closer and carefully inspected the wound. The arrow had gone in deep, which meant there was no way to tell if it was barbed. The blood gushed from the wound and frayed sides of the wound told her that the bowman probably had tried to extract the arrow by himself, which only had made his situation worse.

‘Oh, Bard…’ she said softly. ‘This was no accident… What happened?’

‘We… we don’t know exactly,’ Sigrid stammered, standing just behind her. Her voice trembled. ‘Da hasn’t said a word... We believe he was shot at shore. He somehow managed to get the boat to the dock keeper, who alarmed us. Bain and a few others carried him home. I’ve sent them out to find the town’s barber. Then Jen said you knew a thing or two about treating arrow wounds…’

‘Your father is a brave man,’ Brea replied, still inspecting the wound. ‘It looks like he tried to get the arrow out himself, but that only made it worse. I will do my best to get it out in one piece, but there’s a chance we’ve got a barbed arrow on our hands.’

Sigrid’s breath hitched. ‘I don’t-’ she mumbled, her hands frantically pulling on her skirt. ‘I’m not a-’

‘I will do most of the work, but I need you to help me.’ Brea instructed, while glancing at Bard’s coat that had already been discarded and currently decorated the floor. ‘I need a bowl of clean water, make sure to boil it first,’ she ordered as she got hold of the hem of the bargeman’s tunic, the hairs on his chest tickling her skin. She grinded her teeth, tearing the fabric under her firm grip. ‘Stoke up the fire, because I need to cleanse my pliers before extracting the arrow,’ she went on. ‘And Tilda, sweetheart, bring me some honey if you can.’

The bowman possessed a finely sculpted chest, but since it was not the time nor the place to admire it, Brea reverted her attention to the wound, while vaguely registering the sound of rushing skirts as the sisters set out to their tasks with utmost haste. A pot was filled with fresh water and put on the stove. Sigrid instructed her little sister to get more wood from the basement and continued to retrieve a large jar.

‘Brea!’ Sigrid called. ‘We’re out of honey! I meant to get some from the market last week, but money was tight and…’ she groaned in frustration. ‘Now what?’

At the same time the door was pushed open, bringing Bain and Jenessa inside.

‘I found John the barber,’ Bain said hastily. ‘He will be here as soon as he can.’

‘I brought your medical kit, Bree!’ Jen cried out behind him.

‘A barber?’ Brea echoed, while gesturing at her sister to bring her stuff. ‘Please don’t tell me your barber is the town’s surgeon as well!?!’

Bain shot an uneasy glance at his father and then turned to Brea. ‘It was the best I could do, miss…’ he murmured. ‘I didn’t know…’

Brea sent him a reassuring smile. ‘I know. Luckily I’ve had some practice in treating arrow wounds back home. I’ll see what I can do.’

She then rolled up her sleeves and opened the leather pouch containing her medical instruments on the bench that Jen just put next to the bed. She hoped it would take John a long time to get here. She had dealt with the likes of him too many times and all of those had been unpleasant. People like John seemed to think they knew a thing or two about medicine, but usually their methods of choice made things far worse.

‘How’s that water coming along, Sigrid?’ She inquired, while reaching for her pair of pliers. ‘And Jen, can you find me a clean cloth?’

‘I’ve got the wood!’ Tilda called as she finally hurried up the stairs, her arms crammed with firewood.

Brea locked eyes with Bain. ‘Bain, can you take Tilda with you to fetch some honey for me? She doesn’t need to witness what’s next.’ The boy nodded shortly and after filling the stove with wood, Bain ushered his sister through the front door.

Brea got a small flash of strong liquor from her bag and poured a generous amount on her hands. Ruthron had always deemed it unnecessary, but Brea almost never skipped the first step of healing: cleanse one’s hands.

Jen then provided her sister with a clean, cotton cloth, took the pliers with her to the kitchen and then continued to help Sigrid pour some water in a large bowl. The pliers landed in the pot with the remaining simmering water. Sigrid placed the bowl on the bench and then crouched down next to her dad. Her hand brushed over his tormented forehead and to everyone’s surprise, Bard opened his eyes.

‘Sigrid,’ he murmured and the girl beamed.

‘Da!’ she gushed. ‘We were so worried! But everything will be alright, miss Brea is here.’

‘Miss Brea…’ Bard whispered softly while shifting his gaze. His eyes landed on Brea’s physique and his mouth curved into a faint smile. ‘How lovely to see you. How are you… faring?’

Brea, who had just dipped a piece of the cotton cloth in the hot water and had waited until most of the heat had worn off, bowed forward and began cleaning the wound. ‘That’s what you’re going with?’ she berated the poor bargeman, who was flinching with pain now. ‘I’m rather busy treating you right now, master Bard. Care to tell me what happened?’

Beads of sweat welled on the bowman’s forehead. ‘I had just finished conducting my business with the elves… Then all of a sudden I got shot,’ he rasped hastily, the words tumbling from his mouth. ‘I have no idea where the shooter was- ARGH!’

‘My apologies, I know it hurts…’ Brea said, while submerging another piece of the cloth into the water. ‘But I need to clean the wound in order to see what arrow we’re dealing with.’

She thoroughly cleaned the wound and established that the arrow was flat barbed, which meant she should be able to retract it rather easily. Brea was just about to ask Jen to hand her the pliers, when her sister appeared behind her with the needed set. They shared a glance and without asking further, Jen picked up a small poke and made her way into the kitchen.

‘Brace yourself,’ Brea ordered the bargeman and his daughter. ‘This is going to hurt.’

Moving as efficiently and quickly as possible, Brea managed to extract the arrowhead in one piece. Unfortunately, the disruption of the tissue also caused severe bleeding. Bard passed out.

‘I have to sear the vessels,’ Brea told Sigrid, who was looking as white as a sheet. ‘It’s painful, but he’s already lost much blood.’

‘Do what you must,’ the girl said, her voice shaking with fear. ‘Please Brea, we can’t lose him…’

Brea nodded shortly and waited for Jenessa to bring the poke. ‘It’s better if he’s not conscious during this part.’

The stench of burned flesh was something Brea would never get used to and she could hardly resist the urge to gag. She rather stitched hundreds of cuts or mended the gruesomest of pustules with pleasure, but she hated having to sear people, only doing so when there was no other choice. By the time Brea was done, her eyes were watering and her hands trembling. A soft cry escaped her when Jen gently pried the poke from her hands and brought it into safety. Then, Brea stumbled backwards and lowered herself on the bench.

‘Da!’ Sigrid begged, brushing her hand over his face once more. ‘Please wake up!’

Brea watched Bard’s handsome features, which were thanks to his current unconscious state, rather peaceful. Her stomach churned uncomfortably. She really hoped she had done the best she could…

‘I need a cold compress,’ she told Jen, who made her way into the kitchen to retrieve some. Brea got up and crouched down next to Sigrid.

‘Are we doing enough?’ The girl asked, her cheeks wet from her tears. ‘Is there anything we can do?’

‘Yes. We’ll soothe the burn with cold water until Bain and Tilda come back with honey, then we’ll dress the wound with that.’ Brea explained, gently rubbing Sigrid’s shoulder. ‘Then, we swaddle the area. Jen, have you brought my bindings?’

‘They’re on the table,’ Jen called from the kitchen. ‘I thought you wanted to keep them away from here until you need them. To keep them clean.’

Brea caught her sister’s gaze and smiled. She had taught her well. ‘Thank you, you’re a dime.’

‘I know that,’ Jen smirked as she brought a compress their way. ‘Think of that the next time you want to tell me what an insufferable idiot I am!’

Brea grinned and took the compress from her sister’s hands. ‘Remind me then, will you?’ She then proceeded to lower the wet cloth onto the wound.

‘Aaargh!!!’ Bard cried out, arching his back and pressing his shoulder into the bed. His eyelids flung open, but his wide gaze was faraway and his eyes traveled restlessly through the room.

‘Hey,’ Brea greeted him gently, while pushing his stomach down with her left arm. Her right hand caressed the sharp edge of his jaw. ‘Welcome back. I need you to lay still.’

His eyes landed on her face and sparked with recognition. Bard groaned through gritted teeth and gave her a short nod.

‘Da!’ Sigrid exclaimed, relieved that her father had regained his consciousness. Brea didn’t have the heart to tell the girl he’d probably pass out a few times more.

Sigrid and Jenessa watched as the bowman hissed and strained, while Brea redressed the compress a few times to further cool the wound. Then, a sharp knock on the door informed them that John the barber finally had decided to grace them with his presence.

Unable to sleep anyway, Brea stayed with the Bardlings all night.

It had taken hours to soothe Tilda’s grief, to comfort Sigrid’s worries and to convince Bain he had done everything right, all while regularly checking in on her patient and dabbing his forehead with a cold compress. When everyone finally was asleep and silence reigned over the room, Brea’s own sleep still eluded her.

The gods knew she could use some rest, but as the first dangers had passed, Brea found herself praying to those said gods that the bowman would make it through the night. Bard had lost much blood and now that she watched over his fever stricken body, she started to doubt her own judgment. Had it been the right call to sear the wound and if so, had it been enough? His body could still succumb from the fever that now raged through him and even after surviving the first night, the burn would be vulnerable to infection. Brea eyed Bard’s children as they lay huddled up under their makeshift beddings on the ground. She could not bear to lose another patient, let alone their father.

The one she was losing her heart to.

She heaved a weary sigh and shifted on the hard, wooden bench. The flat surface pressed into her back, turning her bones sore. The small candle she had put on the floor burned steadily, the flame swaying in a gentle manner. Her gaze shifted towards the bed.

Bard was sleeping, his bare chest heaving up and down. Even in the dim light, it was easy to tell his face was flushed and beads of sweat decorated his forehead. Strands of his loose, messy hair had fallen over his face and Brea fought the urge to get up and brush them away. The bowman groaned, his face consorting into a pained scowl. His eyelashes fluttered as he opened his eyes, a glassy expression written in them.

‘Hey,’ Bard rasped, reaching out to her and Brea rose from her place to rush to his side. The bargeman’s fingers clasped around her own. ‘Is this…’ he murmured as his gaze hovered over her physique. ‘Is this a dream?’

Brea smiled faintly and shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, master Bard.’

‘Are you sure?’ He inquired and his fingers caressed hers. ‘The goddess of the lake doesn’t usually visit me.’

‘You’re delirious,’ she told him gently as she caved in and brushed the strands of hairs from his face, scorching her fingers on his burning skin. ‘There is no goddess of the lake.’

‘Sounds like something she’d say,’ he whispered. ‘The whimsical creature of faint whispers and shapeshifting… You took her form, knowing fully well then I’d do anything you’d ask of me…’

‘Whose form?’

Bard’s expression changed as if he was reminded of something painful. The bowman let go of her hand, but found her braid instead and his fingertips continued caressing the soft, blonde locks. ‘You know of whom I speak,’ he then breathed. ‘But we both know she’s at home, where she’s safe. Her folk would never allow her to be here, and they are right to protect her.’

‘She’s of age, you know,’ Brea replied softly as she leaned forward to check the bandages around his shoulder. To her satisfaction, they were still in perfect condition. ‘She can do what she wants,’ she went on. ‘Her parents don’t own her. Besides, you have saved Jenessa’s life some time ago, which forever puts her and her parents in your debt.’

‘No,’ he countered, shaking his head vigorously before wincing in pain as the movement caused strain on his wound. ‘I only did what I had to.’

‘Lie still. I’m going to get you some willow bark to chew on,’ she told him gently. ‘It will help with the fever.’ Her braid slipped from his fingers as she rose to her feet. Her medical kit was within reach and she extracted some of her last willow bark from it.

‘But if it passes,’ Bard rasped, his eyes searching her face as Brea settled on the bed again. ‘Then you will leave.’

‘I thought we had concluded that I was not her,’ Brea said, fumbling with the piece of bark. ‘But I promise you she will be back. Even though you were avoiding her.’

A small, rueful smile crossed his face. ‘So you do know all, goddess of the lake…’

‘It’s either that or I’m Brea myself, which means you’re in trouble,’ she agreed while coaxing him to take the willow bark which the bargeman did with some reluctance. ‘Just chew on it,’ she instructed him, stifling a laugh as he made a face. ‘I know it’s not great, but at least you won’t have to ingest it.’

She watched him as he patiently did what she asked him to.

Bard was right, her parents probably would be livid she hadn’t come home last night, for she was not to mingle with his family or carry out medicinal or healing practices at all. The fact that they hadn’t shown up to the Bardling’s home yet, was a bit surprising and the only sensible reason for that was Jen.

Her sister had done the sane thing and left well before midnight, with the promise to talk to mother and father about what had happened. Perhaps Brenion and Mîrhel’s youngest had convinced them that since Bard had saved her life, it was only natural that Brea tried to save his to pay their debt. If she succeeded, their family would earn some respect from the town and if Bard should die, at least their uncle would be a very happy man.

‘Where is the water, goddess?’ Bard murmured feverishly, causing Brea to press her hand to his forehead. Upon discovering he was burning up again, she heaved a weary sigh. She should not have tired him with their conversation, he needed his rest more than anything.

‘Okay, let me take that from you-’ she whispered, taking the willow bark from him and offering a sip of watered down ale. ‘You should rest, Bard. Your body is fighting the fever.’ Bard murmured something she could not understand and Brea proceeded to tuck him in a few blankets.

‘Please…’ Bard muttered, getting ahold of her hand again. ‘Sweet siren, stay. I need to tell her…’

‘Tell her what?’ Brea inquired, her breath hitching.

But Bard already had succumbed to a feverish, restless sleep, leaving Brea to stay at his side and stroke his hair. He would tell her one day what he had meant, though somehow she already knew.

It had something to do with a kiss.

Thank you so much for reading this chapter! Feedback is always welcome. Did you like my work? Spread the love and reblog! :)

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[zephyrnine]

a few friends gave me an idea to start doing another 1-word prompt fic challenge to get me back into writing c: so of course i’m doing it with SKARSO. i hope to post a prompt maybe like once a week hopefully. my writings very rusty so 😭

oh also this drabble is just pure fluff 👍 as fluff as a fic about two deranged psychopaths can be at least

1. Comfort

…

“Firebug.” Dexter’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet, and his arms flexed nervously where they lay around Firebug’s waist. He felt the larger man stir above him, and knew he had his attention.

His throat felt dry as he spoke again. “If I’m being honest, yes, I am worried. Some nights, i’m terrified.” He traced idle, slow circles in the small of Firebug’s back, for the others' comfort or for his own he didn’t know. This feeling of being small, of vulnerability… it was incredibly foreign to Dexter. It was hard to keep going with his train of thought, only being able to do so when Firebug gently urged him on, holding him closer.

“Living in Salem, it’s going to kill us one day.” He mumbled.

Firebug hummed, the sound low and thoughtful. “Just like you killed the town’s sheriff, right?”

Dexter scoffed, “I’m serious. I finally have something to live for — you — and some crazed mutt could take that away in an instant — or we could get hanged, or…”

“We could run away,” Firebug said quickly then, because he couldn’t disagree. Salem definitely had its ways of ripping a person apart… in the most terrifyingly, literal sense.

Dexter sighed, laying his head down on the arsonist's chest, taking in the familiar smell of gasoline and ash that always smothered him. “No, we couldn’t. If we leave during the day, someone in town will catch us; we get hanged. If we leave during the night, the jailor executes us.” He closes his eyes, listening to Firebug’s heart beat soundly in his chest. Each thrum was calming and before long, despite the grim conversation, he smiled. “But it’s a nice thought. A really nice one.”

Dexter couldn’t see the way Firebug’s eyes softened, how his face turned a benign shade of red at the sentiment. His eyes still closed, beginning to grow heavy with weariness.

“We will live. No cowardly mafia, no scheming coven, and no dumb townspeople could ever harm us. We watch each other’s backs, don’t we?” Firebug craned his neck down and pressed a kiss to the top of Dexter’s head, his hand on the other man’s back sliding up to his shoulder blade and pressing him closer, almost protectively. “This entire town will burn before either of us die here. You can count on that.”

Dexter smiled again, and couldn’t stifle the hushed laugh that left him. He could never understand Firebug’s optimism, but right now… he was inclined to follow it—to believe it because he believed in the other man, and he believed in them together. “…Careful, you’re giving me hope that we might survive this craziness.” He sounded drowsy.

“Good.” Firebug chuckled, shifting a bit under Dexter to adjust the pillow under his head, before laying back down. “Now, let’s get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day for us.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right…” Dexter murmured sleepily against Firebug’s chest. “I can’t wait to finally get that vigilante bastard off of our asses. Our ‘healing eachother’ claim wasn’t going to fool him for much longer.”

“Ha. Like that idiot could do anything worth… well, anything to us.” The arsonist’s voice was deep with exhaustion and Dexter could feel it rumble against his face. It was nice, and lulled him even further into sleep’s grasp.

For the first time in a while, he was looking forward to whatever insanity tomorrow could bring.

[robotstrategy]

Recalled • Part 7 • 52 - Temple

Previous • Series Masterlist • Part 7 Masterlist • Next

TW: LIGHT BODY DYSMORPHIA

Roland gets home from work, he goes over to the fridge to check if he’s got any leftovers. He remembers that his father dropped off a batch of pisto, he ends up finding it in the back of the fridge. 

Roland cooks up some rice and an egg while microwaving the pisto. He puts it all together and it’s probably the best thing he’s ever had. Though that’s probably because he’s had cheap frozen stuff all week. 

After washing his dishes he goes to his room to reshower, he doesn’t entirely trust the showers at the swimming centre; mostly because he still smells like chlorine. 

He unglues his semi-wet clothes from his body, and stripping himself he looks in the mirror. He doesn’t like to look at himself much anymore, at least if he’s wearing something skin-tight or is butt-naked. He doesn’t look right, he looks bigger and softer, and somehow that annoys him. He clings to his stomach, there’s more fat there than there used to be. His legs and arms were skinny when he was first remade, but now they’re bigger. There are no scars to lace his arms anymore, he’s just a big teddy bear of a human. He hates it, he hates it so much, ever since Trevor made that comment about him he’s become aware of how weird he looks.

Roland looks back towards his bedroom door, the door he’ll have to go out of if he wants to get to the bathroom. He peeks his head out, listening intently to make sure Nero hasn’t come home. She usually doesn’t until the weekend, but it couldn’t hurt to check before he goes out with nothing but a towel to the bathroom. 

Certain that she’s not home he walks over to the bathroom. Once getting to the tub he just stares at it, unable to make the decision if he wants a bath or a shower. 

A bath would be nice and relaxing, but all Roland wants to do is get cleaned off and go to bed. A shower would be better, but the water runs loud and he’ll have to close the curtain, making him weary of every little noise outside of the shower. And he’ll have to look at his whole body in the shower. 

Roland gets out the rest of the bubble bath as he closes the plug in the tub. He slowly unravels the towel from himself as the water rises. He dips his toes into the warm water, he's decided to have a short bath before bed.

That doesn’t happen, ten minutes into the bath Roland lays in the warm water, comforted by the sound of bubbles slowly popping. 

He watches as his chest and belly rise and descend in the water. Considering how high they rise as he breathes he almost resembles a pregnant woman. Roland bursts out laughing, surprised he even had that thought, he feels a little happier as he sits up and starts to actually clean himself. As he cleans his legs he supposes that one of the perks of being recalled was that his body was super flexible. He could almost send his leg straight up in the tub. Makes him think of himself like a cat, if he was just a petite man he could probably fit himself into some small places. 

Roland starts to enter a laughing fit thinking about all the silly things he could do if he had a different body. He stands up in the tub, finally done cleaning himself, and he catches himself in the mirror again. He fully looks at himself, he can imagine all these things he could do with another body, but not his own. 

So he asks himself. ‘What could I say about a body like mine?’

He starts with the top of his body, his pecs were about the same size, though they seemed accentuated by the recent chubbiness of his abdomen. He remembers in the hospital he was recalled in he had jostled them a little, calling them “Man boobs.”

Going lower, there was said chubbiness. He supposes him being the parent in his family has finally caught up to him because he looks like a dad. Or maybe it was a craving for pudding when it was in the house. 

He looks a little lower…

“My girlfriend already knows about you, and I think she’ll be even happier to know how big you are,”

Roland immediately sits back in the cold bath water he hasn’t drained yet. He feels sick to his stomach remembering what Trevor told him as he was assaulted. Maybe Valerie is right, maybe it’s finally happening, the delayed response to the assault. It would explain why he feels gross as of late, Trevor did call him a “skanky, attention whore,” and a “disgusting, hairy monster.”

Roland looks at his reflection in the water, if that’s what Trevor thinks then so be it! He’ll be the skankiest attention whore ever! 

As he wraps himself in his towel he wonders how Trevor ever saw him as a skank. Sure, he was hormonal, but all he ever did was kiss Trevor and let him explore a little. When he turns to the side in the mirror it all clicks together. It’s his butt, that’s what makes Roland skanky to Trevor. He remembers after the night Trevor had approached him Nero jokingly told him he was blessed by his mother. She wasn’t wrong, because he definitely didn’t get it from his dad. 

Roland gets back to his room still inadvertently looking at himself in mirrors. He sees his beaten and scarred back in the mirror, it reminds him of the dream had with Hayden. A hibiscus flower tattoo, like in the dream those flowers don’t scare him much anymore, but he wonders how drugged up he’d have to be to not be in excruciating pain while being tattooed on his back. 

Roland climbs into his bed fully burying himself into the covers. He grabs one of the loose pillows and folds it into a tube, he places it in front of him, spooning it. This is what Roland wants tonight, he wants someone to love and to love him back, someone to cherish his body and enjoy his company outside of sex. So tonight he’ll settle for a pillow and the warm comfort of his bed.

[coping-via-clint-eastwood]

I am the fuck up please hold me - Gil Grissom self-comfort fic

(A/N: I wrote this while listening to In the End on loop. The state of my mental health is between me and my future/hypothetical therapist. Or at least, my closest friends.)

I stumbled into the house; would've fallen if I wasn't holding the doorknob. Immediately the surrounding of our familiar environment lifted a weight off my shoulders. As if the sudden withdrawal was physical, I fell back and the door shut with my body. It was late afternoon, but Gil had promised he would wait for me to return, because he knew I needed him.

Tired, body aching (to say nothing of my emotional hurt), I half-jogged, half-limped my way to where he was waiting for me in bed, lying in the cooling air, an arm beside his head. He was wearing his grey cotton t-shirt, the one he knew was my favourite and loved for him to wear especially when he was comforting me. And that meant he was wearing his black pyjama trousers that went with it. I could see in the way he was so slow to turn his head to look at me, and the drawness of his face, that he had been battling sleep for the past few hours whilst I was with my parents; I felt really bad, and really appreciated him for waiting.

I signed that I was sorry; that immediately made him frown, drawing him to alertness despite his sleepiness. "No. Come here," he said, directing his eyes to my currently empty side of the bed.

I sighed in equal parts weariness and pain, body protesting and screaming as I moved my arms to change my clothes. But once I changed into my own grey cotton t-shirt to match his and a pair of shorts, it was worth it; the softness enveloping my body seemed to counter some of the ache. I shuffled to my side of the bed. "Feeling more like myself again," I announced in a sheepish murmur as I slowly, painfully got under the blanket. Even though I naturally faced him when I got in, I turned away and lay with my back to him.

He frowned again, and slid up to me so that he could embrace me from behind. "Do you wanna talk?" I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, my mouth turning to a grimace as the tears I had been holding back began to leak out. He knew of my state because he felt my body tense; he petted my arm and nuzzled his face into my hair. "Let it out. It's okay. You're safe now." With his coaxing, I began to weep and wail and sob, my body shaking, which he soothed with gentle hugs, strokes and kisses where he could reach. I was loud; he remained calm, sturdy, present, my one anchor in the storm.

I cried for hours; I was in so much pain. All the while he held me, loved me, let me know he was there for me, he wasn't going anywhere. While it hurt, it felt better to know that I wasn't alone and had support, especially from him, the most important person in my life. Eventually, I cried myself out, and calmed down. At this point he turned me over so that I lay on him, sinking into him. He held me and kissed my hair. "I love you. I know you need to hear that. I love you." I let out a whimper; he stroked my head, and kissed it again. Now I held him tight, unable to let go. And of course he was happy for the embrace. Again he just let his quiet presence speak and let me know that he was there, unwavering in his devotion and care.

At long last, the tears stopped, every last drop of sadness having leaked out. I gave a tired groan and collapsed on him again. He caressed my head and face, kissing it to my sniffles. He pressed his lips to mine; this time I sighed in relief. His hand on my back coaxed me to lay back down and rest on him. He pulled his shirt collar down a little, asking a silent question; in answer, I put my hand up and ran my fingers through his thick, curly chest hair. I put my nose in it and sighed. He started to move to take off his shirt but I pressed on his chest to stop him and shook my head. I settled back down, and kissed his chest. I just played with his chest hair until I felt ready to sleep, and indicated as such so that he could release his hold of his collar. Snuggling up, and with one last kiss, mine to his chin, his to my head, we collapsed finally into deep cold engulfing darkness, which would be our domain we were most comfortable in when we woke.