#one night with this overnight foot brace and i was able to get up as walk immediately

[stonesandswords]

my doctor told me that i should get an overnight foot brace to help my plantar fasciitis and tell me why i’m mad that it’s working and basically a miracle worker 😭

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Beyond Hope chapter 2

here it is or read it down below

Daniel thinks about it and thinks about it.  

While he does, his condition worsens.  It’s only a few weeks, but it’s a rapid decline.  He tries to hide the difficulty chewing and swallowing.  It’s fine; he doesn’t need to put much food in him anyway.  He’s having issues using the bathroom.  He’s lucky to piss twice a day, in the morning when he wakes up and at night before he goes to bed.  

He starts acting out his dreams while asleep.  One night, he makes it out of his room and falls down the stairs.  The impact wakes him, the pain searing through his entire body.  He’s tangled in a pile of limbs at the bottom of the stairs, left arm twisted at an odd angle and his shoulder blade feels like there’s glass under the skin.  His right ankle throbs and when he tries to push himself up, he can’t.  

He’s an old man who has fallen and can’t get up.  Daniel tries, again and again, but his stiff muscles refuse to allow him to rise.  After what feels like hours, hot tears spill from his eyes.  

Daniel does the only thing he can think of, and mentally calls out to Lestat.  Armand used to be able to hear him call out like this from nearly anywhere.  But then, he and Armand had the blood connecting them.  

Lestat arrives within the hour.  When he sees Daniel he rushes to him and helps him to stand.  Daniel can’t support his weight on his right ankle and nearly buckles.  Lestat sweeps him up in his arms like some princess and carries him to sit down on the couch.  He talks to him, but Daniel isn’t really listening to what he’s saying.  The pain is too much.  

Lestat calls an ambulance for him and sits with him to wait for it to arrive.  He asks what happened, more gently than Daniel knew Lestat was capable of being.  Daniel finds it’s difficult to speak, his speech slurring.  It’s happened on occasion, here and there, but it’s gotten worse now.  He sounds drunk.  So he explains it mentally, trusting Lestat to read his thoughts.  

The ambulance arrives a little less than twenty minutes later.  Lestat berates them for taking so long and insists on riding with Daniel to the hospital.  Daniel closes his eyes and when he opens them, he’s in a hospital bed with a IV in his arm.  Lestat is standing near the foot of the bed with an Asian woman in her mid-forties in a white coat.  He’s explaining how he’s been taking care of his poor sick uncle, and found him tonight when he returned from an evening out.  

He’s taken for X-rays, and poked and prodded, and questioned.  In the end, he has a dislocated shoulder, a broken wrist and a sprained ankle.  The doctors seem more worried he hasn’t been eating like he should.  And that he hasn’t taken a shit in a week.  Dr. Park wants to keep him overnight for observation, though Daniel objects.

“Nonsense, Daniel.  If the good doctor says you are to stay, you’ll stay.”

Daniel glares at Lestat.  Lestat glares right back.  

Dr. Park glances between the two of them and says “I’ll give you two a moment of privacy.”

As soon as she’s gone, Lestat is by Daniel’s side.  Daniel’s lower arm is in a cast and his ankle is in a brace, and his damn shoulder is still sore from where they reset it.  Lestat eyes his injuries, then looks him in the face.   “Your condition is worsening.  You need to decide.”

He’s silent for a beat, then says “I don’t want to watch you die.”

“I don’t wanna die,” Daniel says.  

“Then you accept my offer?”

Daniel hesitates; thinks of Armand just for a moment.  He’d be furious if someone else turned Daniel into a vampire.  But then, he had never loved him enough to offer him the dark gift.  Lestat barely likes him and offers it.  

Lestat isn’t the best vampire mentor; he’s learned that from Louis.  But before he met Lestat, he thought him nothing but a monster.  Now he knows there’s a softer side.  It doesn’t justify the things he did or make them okay, but it makes him easier to forgive.  Besides, people change.  He’s hardly the same man he was fifty years ago.  And the thing about immortality is you have forever to get it right, to keep trying to be better.  

Daniel nods.  “Yeah, I accept.”

Lestat grins.  “I knew you would see reason, mon ami.” He surprises Daniel by giving him a loud smack of a kiss on the forehead.  “Once you are out of this hospital, we will make preparations.  You must get your affairs in order.  Take the time to say your goodbyes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Daniel says.  He doubts his daughters will even speak to him.  

Lestat rises to his feet.  “I’ll go gather your things for tomorrow.  You’ll need fresh clothes to wear home.  Rest now, Daniel.”

Daniel falls asleep not long after Lestat leaves.  

It’s afternoon before he can leave the next day.  The doctors want to put him in a care facility.  It takes forever to convince them that Daniel can be released to his own care.  They only relent then when he tells them his nephew has been staying with him to care for him.  He has to call a car service to get a ride home.  Once there, he settles on the couch and spends the day watching trash television.  

All he can think is that soon, he’ll be a vampire.  He doesn’t know whether to be anxious or excited.  

That night, Lestat is later than normal.  Usually he shows up not long after sunset and generally leaves when Daniel decides to go to bed.  Daniel assumes he’s feeding, seeing as he likely interrupted him the night before.  When Lestat does arrive, he knocks on the door, something he never does.  

“Come in,” Daniel calls, not wanting to get up and open the door.  It’s hard to hobble around on the crutches the hospital gave him.  

There’s a moment where Daniel thinks Lestat must have forgotten where Daniel hies the spare key, then he hears the door open.  Lestat comes into the living room and his smile is more of a grimace.  “I don’t want you to be angry, but-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, just gestures behind him as Armand rounds the corner.  

Daniel’s heart skips.  It’s been over a year since he last saw Armand.  He had given him the amulet before he left, and had told Daniel he would wait for him.  Daniel’s chest feels tight looking at him.  He feels frozen in place, unsure of what to say or do.

“Hello, Daniel,” Armand says and just hearing his voice sends a thrill down Daniel’s spine.  

Daniel looks to Lestat.  “What’s he doing here?”

“Ah, you’re angry.  I told you not to be,” Lestat says, as if that makes any kind of sense at all.  

“Lestat!”

It’s Armand who speaks.  “Lestat contacted me yesterday and told me what happened.  I came right away.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have wasted your time.”

Armand glances toward Lestat.  They hold eye contact for a moment, then Lestat nods and leaves the room.  Daniel watches him go with mounting anxiety and irritation.  He thought Lestat was his friend, and he pulls shit like this?

“Lestat told me what he plans to do,” Armand says, arms folded over his chest.

God, he looks good.  His hair is slicked back and he’s wearing that dark eyeliner that makes his eyes stand out.  His silk shirt is white, as are his pants.  Daniel always did like him in white.  

“And what, you’re here to stop me?” Daniel scoffs.  “Fuck off.”

Armand sighs and comes to stand in front of him.  “No, Daniel.  I’m here to offer you what you always wanted.”

“Huh?”

Armand looks away, then moves to the edge of the couch.  There’s no room to sit–Daniel has to prop up his ankle–so he perches on the armrest.  He’s doing that little self-soothing motion with his thumb.  Daniel realizes that Armand is nervous to be here.  Armand is so rarely nervous.  

“Lestat knows that you’re mine; that if anyone should make you like us, it should be me.”

Daniel doesn’t know what to say to that.  A hysterical sort of laugh bubbles up from his throat.  “What?  Someone else is going to give it to me, so now you want to?  Thought I wasn’t good enough for immortality.”

Armand closes his eyes and takes a breath.  “It was never about that, Daniel.  You have always been enough.”

Daniel’s heart aches and he has to blink back tears.  “It never felt like it.”

Armand isn’t looking at him, eyes focused somewhere over his shoulder.  “That’s my fault; I…apologize if I made you feel lacking.”

Daniel shakes his head.  “You didn’t love me enough to turn me then; what’s changed?  Or did you just call dibs?”

“What’s changed?”  Armand repeats softly.  “I suppose I have.”

Daniel waits for him to go on.  Armand  meets his eyes and Daniel can see they are swelling with tears.  Daniel hates to see Armand cry.  “Don’t cry; it’s not fair.”

“You say I didn’t love you enough to turn you; I say I loved too much to do so,” Armand says, eyes boring into him.  There’s a desperate edge to his voice, like he needs Daniel to understand something. 

It’s a sentiment he’s shared before, but Daniel never believed him.  How could he?  Except now, he can see it’s true.  It’s irrational and frustrating, but it’s true.  And Daniel thinks he can understand it now, after talking to Louis and Lestat and hearing their stories.  These vampires treat what they are like a curse.

“So why now?  Because you don’t want to share your toys with Lestat?”

“It would be a lie to say that has nothing to do with it.  His decision has forced my hand,” Armand says.  He rises and moves to kneel next to Daniel and grasps his hand.  “And why?  Because I’m a coward.  And I love you too much to let you go.”

It’s a cold triumph, after all these years.  “And why does it have to be you?  Why not Lestat?”

Armand’s free hand curls into a fist and his eyes flash.  “Because you are mine, Daniel.”

“Not anymore, boss.”

After a long minute, Armand nods.  “Perhaps not.  Nevertheless, I am yours.”

His cool hand reaches up to cup Daniel’s face.  “I would have you be mine.  My fledgling.  The only one I would break my vow for.”

Daniel feels warmth spread through him.  “Would you offer, if not for Lestat?”

Armand’s mouth curves into a sad smile.  “I told you, I’m a coward.  I could not watch you die.”

“Then what have you been waiting for?”  His own tears well and spill over.

Armand’s thumb strokes over his cheek, collecting his tears.  “Oh, Daniel.  I’ve been waiting for you to return to me.”

Stupid, that it should make him want to cry.  But Daniel is weak; and Armand feels inevitable.  Knowing that Armand would have given it to him is nearly enough to have him forgive him of all his past sins.  Still, he has to know.  “And if I didn’t?  Would you have just let me die?”

“I don’t know; I’ve been avoiding the thought.”

Daniel gets that; he’s been trying to avoid it too.  “So what now?”

“Now you may choose your maker,” Armand says.  “Lestat or I, the choice is yours.”

His hand is still pressed against Daniel’s face and Daniel realizes how cool it is.  Almost icy.  Armand must have come straight here when he heard the news without stopping to feed. He’ll be like that soon, like Armand, like Lestat.  One of them will be his maker.  

“You’ll really do it?” Daniel says.

“Say the word, my love,” Armand says and presses their foreheads together.  “I’ll do it.  We’ll be in hell together after all.”

Daniel thinks of the long months of loneliness, of wanting and missing Armand.  He never planned to act on it.  But now Armand is here.  Armand is here and giving him what he always wanted.  Armand still loves him.  And despite it all, he still loves Armand.  He doesn’t know how to stop.  

“Would it really be hell, if we’re together?”

Armand draws back and kisses his forehead, both his cheeks and finally his mouth.  It feels like coming home.   Daniel clutches him to him with a hand buried in his hair.  Armand pulls back, but only enough to speak.  “Then you’d have me do it?”

“Yeah, yes,” Daniel says.  “I want to live forever with you.”

Forever with Armand.  There’s still a lot of things they have to work out, fights that have to be fought, conversations that need to be had.  They’ll have to learn how to be around each other again, how to make these new versions of themselves fit together.  

Luckily, they’ll have all the time in the world.

[ethereousdelirious]

Sicktember 2023 Day 8

Prompt: Persistent Fever

Fandom: Po.kémon

Characters: M.olayne, K.ukui, So.phocles (mentioned)

Wordcount: 1,932

Notes: Bespectacled babyboy 🥺 IDK anything about astronomy so I just made it up. Take my hand. Let's suspend our disbelief together.

Tonight, the famous Alolan breeze wafted with it the smell of plumerias and sea air. It ruffled the pages of Kukui's textbook, inducing him to lift his head and gaze out into the darkness. With or without the light on, there wasn't much to see. Hokulani Observatory hadn't been built with the surrounding landscape in mind. While the view upward was immaculate, the view out the windows left much to be desired. Rocks and various equipment made strange silhouettes in the fading light.

A shuffling of footsteps drew Kukui's attention, then a string of wrenching dry coughs. He turned and found Molayne slouching in the doorway of the office, a blanket around his shoulders and his fist pressed to his lips. He took a deep breath and shuffled further into the office, seemingly content to ignore his friend for the time being.

The office was Molayne's, but he hadn't set foot in it in well over a week. He'd come down with something nasty, so nasty it didn't even give him to set a course down the mountain for his home. He'd spent two days in a high fever before he'd been able to call Kukui for assistance. And, despite Kukui's best efforts, he didn't seem to be getting better.

"Yo," Kukui said, watching Molayne paw through stacks of notebooks and binders. "Should you be out of bed?"

"Probably not," Molayne admitted from somewhere within the blanket he'd wrapped around himself. It was blue and patterned with Dugtrio and big enough to drag on the floor despite Molayne's height. "But I, uhm…" He trailed off, leafing through a notebook before discarding it in favor of another. "I…" A shudder ran through him and he pulled the blanket tighter.

Kukui leapt to his feet. "Sit down, yeah?" He steered Molayne into the swivel chair— carefully. "What are you looking for?"

"Almanac," Molayne muttered. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. "What time is it?"

Kukui leaned across him to check the time on the computer, bracing a hand on Molayne's shoulder. Even through the blanket, Molayne's fever seared against his hand. "Uh, 7:30, yeah."

"Oh." Molayne sighed, eyes slipping closed. "Good."

He'd forgotten his glasses somewhere, probably on the end table that had become the temporary home of them and a collection of other small objects: cough drops, his old Gameboy, various glasses and bottles of water and sports drinks and juice.

Kukui adjusted himself and palmed Molayne's forehead, letting his fingers tangle in sweat-dampened locks. "What's going on?"

"Well…" Molayne relaxed into Kukui's touch and folded forward, bracing his elbows on the desk. A few coughs, muffled behind closed lips, shook his shoulders. "Ah…"

He closed his eyes and Kukui ruffled his hair. "It's okay, Mo. Take your time." The natter at hand was obviously important to Molayne, even if he couldn't articulate his thoughts with any speed or clarity at the moment. Kukui really couldn't blame him. He'd been in and out of a fever for so long it was a wonder he hadn't broken down and cried yet.

Not to mention the fact that Hokulani Observatory was not equipped to handle many overnight visitors. While one of the unused offices had been set up with a couch to sleep on, it wasn't exactly the kind of place you wanted to spend more than a few nights. Certainly not the kind of place you wanted to be trapped in while sick, especially when you were as tall as Molayne. Kukui had had to drag over a table just so he'd have something to rest his feet on.

"I need to call Soffy," Molayne muttered into his palms.

"Why?" Kukui asked, gently returning Mokayne's focus to the heart of the matter.

"Tonight— Uh, I think it was tonight… You're supposed to be able to see three planets in alignment. I mean, you could see them yesterday, probably, and a few days before, but this is the night. Soffy— Sophocles was supposed to come over and stargaze with me."

"Ohh, I get it."

"I thought we could at least video chat."

Kukui nodded, though Molayne couldn't see it, and ruffled his hair again. "Don't worry, buddy. What time did you have in mind?"

"10:00 at the earliest," Molayne said, and sighed. "Maybe I can make a coffee or something… I don't want to disappoint him."

"Kukui's got you, oh yeah! Now let's get you back in bed. I'll take care of everything."

Molayne raised his head and blinked and Kukui allowed his hand to be dislodged with the motion. "Thank you," he said slowly.

He got to his feet even slower and Kukui put an arm around him to steady him, pulling up the blanket so it didn't drag on the floor. The last thing he needed was for Molayne to trip and hurt himself.

The hallways's white fluorescent lights rendered everything bright and free of shadows. Molayne burned against Kukui.

"Think you might go back to sleep?" Kukui asked, as casually as he could. Molayne's illness had seemed like a simple flu, but it just wasn't getting better. Kukui was about two days away from calling a doctor in.

"Probably," Molayne said wearily. He sighed and let his head hang for a moment. "I'm really tired of this. I was hoping to have a paper written in time to submit for the New Astronomy Review's winter quarter."

"I'm sorry." Kukui rubbed Molayne's back through the blanket. "Let's get some pills and water in you first, yeah? See if we can't kick this thing once and for all."

He guided Molayne back to the couch, into the depressing little office that had become Molayne's bedroom for the time being. While Kukui was no stranger to sleeping in his lab, it wasn't the sort of thing he sought out— it wasn't the sort of anything anyone would seek out.

Still, Molayne settled on the couch without a word of complaint and waited patiently for Kukui to hand him the right amount of medicine and make a note on the med chart they'd made. It was a simple thing, scribbled in highlighter and blue ballpoint on the back of misprinted diagram someone had left.

"This'll be your last dose until tomorrow," Kukui said, looking at the chart. Blue and yellow stretched out before him, a record of all the days that had gone by with Molayne still in feverish grip. "Try to get some rest, okay?"

"Will do," Molayne said, sounding half-asleep already.

Kukui turned off the light.

-

At 10:00, he left his research and went back to Molayne.

Tinny music emanated from the darkness, some looping video game soundtrack playing unpunctuated by SFX or the click of buttons being pressed.

"Mo?" Kukui whispered, ducking his head in. The lights from the hall illuminated parts of the room, revealing an empty couch and a lanky silhouette curled up against it on the floor. "I'm gonna turn the light on, okay?"

The switch clicked. Molayne twitched and scrubbed at his forehead with the heel of his palm, face pinched.

"Floor time, huh?" Kukui asked, unsure of what else to say. Molayne seemed okay; he was sitting up and reacting calmly enough.

"I couldn't—" Molayne started, still shifting like he couldn't get comfortable, like everything was bothering him from the light to the feel of his clothing on his skin. "Ah, I can't— It's hot."

Kukui's heart sank. "Hang on, buddy. I'm gonna check your temperature and then we can get you some water, okay?"

Molayne nodded listlessly. The music looped again. Kukui crossed the room in rapid strides.

"What time is it?" Molayne asked.

"Only just now 10:00." Kukui picked up the thermometer and knelt in front of Molayne, noting his red cheeks with a pang of concern. "I won't let you miss this big, uh, planetary event."

Molayne nodded, then flinched back when Kukui touched the thermometer to his forehead.

"Fever's up," Kukui said, fighting to keep his tone conversational. Way up. He was definitely calling a doctor tomorrow. He'd carry them all the way up Mount Hokulani on his back if he had to. "How 'bout some water, yeah?"

He didn't give Molayne a chance to answer.

Early on, he'd liberated a plastic pitcher from the break room, filled it, and taken it here. It was still mostly full despite Kukui's commitment to keeping Molayne hydrated. He filled a glass and lifted it to Molayne's lips.

Molayne tolerated this for a few seconds before shrugging Kukui off and taking the glass for himself. "I can…" He said breathlessly, wiping a few stray droplets of water from his lip. "I'm okay."

The numbers on the thermometer told a different story, but Kukui just nodded and crossed his arms. “Let’s get you upstairs then, yeah?” Thank the Tapu the elevator went all the way up to the roof.

Molayne was dangerously wobbly, but it seemed his commitment to Sophocles outweighed whatever havoc his fever was wreaking on his body. He didn’t complain once on their way up to the roof and sat quietly while Kukui set up the computer.

The laptop he’d chosen didn’t have a webcam, which was just as well. Molayne looked awful, definitely bad enough to freak out Sophocles.

The kid already looked plenty freaked out when the call connected and his face filled the screen. “Mo?”

“Hey, kiddo.” Molayne yawned. “Sorry, this laptop doesn’t, ah. Doesn’t have a webcam.” Kukui blinked. Molayne really had rallied.

“That’s okay, Big Mo. I’m sorry you’re not feeling any better.”

Molyane tucked his chin into the collar of his shirt and coughed lightly, then surfaced. “I’ll be okay, Soffy. I have Kukui here to look after me, so you know I’m in good hands.”

“Hey, kiddo!” Kukui waved despite the lack of webcam.

Sophocles waved as well, his worried expression melting into a smile. “Hi! Thanks for taking care of Mo.”

“Happy to do it, yeah! He’s a good patient. Alway takes his medicine and everything.”

“Enough about me,” Molayne said, a flush creeping down his neck. “Soffy, do you have your telescope handy? I’ll message you the coordinates.” Muting himself briefly, he coughed deeply into the crook of his elbow, then typed a string of numbers into the chat box.

Unable to help himself, Kukui stood behind him and pressed a hand to Molayne’s forehead. He was still burning up, really burning up.

Though he put on a good act for Sophocles, Kukui watched him wilt as the night went on, slumping over where he was sitting until he was all but lying down. His coughing fits became more frequent, his words slower.

In the end, it was Sophocles who ended the call with a furrowed brow and many well-wishes. He was a good kid. Perceptive, too.

Kukui shut off the laptop and shifted so he could cradle Molayne’s head in his lap. “How you feelin’?”

“Nnhh.” Molayane’s breath burned against the skin of Kukui’s thigh. “Been better. My head hurts”

It was as close to complaining as Molayne ever got and even that slight admission was enough to make Kukui’s blood run cold. “I’m gonna call a doctor up here tomorrow, okay? I know it’s a pain, but it needs to be done.”

“Mm.”

“You falling asleep?” Kukui asked, running a hand over Molayne’s head. He only shuddered, breath stuttering. “Hey, Mo.”

“Yes,” Molayne said, more of a whine than anything.

“On the roof?”

“Please.” Molayne shifted and covered his ears with his palms. Kukui swallowed. Never mind the late hour, it was time to call a doctor out.

[uvobreakmylegs]

Retrieval

I just wanted to write some gross shit sorry

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, death, graphic imagery, gore, blood, degradation, threats of violence

A trio of very intoxicated men stumbled out of the front door of the bar followed by you. You held the door open for a second as you called out to the men to have a good night and to come back soon, but before you could give any of them a chance to respond you had shut the door and locked it, the bell on the door jingling above you. Maybe you weren't being too subtle about wanting them to leave already so you and your coworker could clean up the place, but at the moment you couldn't say you cared too much. It was after midnight and you wanted to go home.

Your coworker, Corey, chuckled at you from the entryway to the kitchen.

“Not very professional of you.”

“Because people like that are coming to a sports bar for professionalism and not to get drunk off of their asses,” you answered, grabbing a bucket and rag to begin with wiping down the tables.

“It's on you if they call back to complain,” he teased.

You laughed.

“Like any of them will be able to remember when they wake up tomorrow.”

“Guess you got a point there.”

You hummed in agreement, wiping down the wooden seats of the chairs before glancing back to him; Corey was still standing in the doorway, checking something on his phone.

“Are you going to clean up back there or are you expecting me to do it for you?” you teased him.

Corey held up his hands in mock surrender before he disappeared back to the kitchen.

The small sports bar you worked at always got pretty messy, both inside the kitchen and out. Food crumbs, wet stains from spilled drinks and small things like loose change, wads of gum and people's small personal items littered the dark carpeted floor. The tables and chairs were usually in a similar state in terms of the food and drink residue. At least you had never needed to clean the bathrooms.

Moving from table to table, you would wipe the surfaces clean, letting the mess on top fall to the floor before you set the chairs upside down on top of the table. Whatever had ended up on the floor you'd get with the vacuum later. It was time consuming and monotonous, but there was a weird part of you that got a certain satisfaction of being able to return the dining area back to a clean state, even if it would be all ruined by the next evening.

Even if it was stupid, at least you actually had the freedom to do what you liked no matter how stupid it was.

Corey was playing something on his phone in the kitchen; knowing him, it was probably some new podcast he had gotten into. The noise you could hear from the back was drowned out when you turned on the vacuum cleaner, trying in vain to clean up everything on the floor. You really wished the owners would take the time and money to replace the carpet with some hardwood; it would make cleaning up easier and would just look nicer.

The bar was always last because it wasn't usually that bad and you could get away with a not so thorough job as you tried to finish up before your shift ended. Corey was almost always done with the kitchen at this point and would be ready to mop the floor after you wiped down the counter.

As expected, Corey was waiting in the kitchen doorway with the mop bucket right next to him when you made it to the bar counter.

“Any plans after you get off?” he asked.

“Sleep,” you answered.

“You sure lead an exciting life,” he said jokingly.

“It's going to be after one in the morning soon; what kind of plans could I have?”

“I don't know. Figured maybe you'd have a boyfriend waiting for you or something.”

Boyfriend.

That word brought back some unpleasant memories. Of things you wanted to forget, and what you had run away from all those months ago.

You tried not to show it, but Corey seemed to pick up on the way you tensed at that.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I'm fine,” you told him hastily, “not in the dating scene currently. I needed a break.”

He nodded slowly.

“Gotcha.”

You couldn't say that the two of you were particularly close, having only known each other a little less than a couple of months, but you did appreciate that he understood boundaries. Too many of the older staff were nosy and wanted to know your business, which frequently got on your nerves.

Wiping down the last bit of the bar, you were about to throw the cleaning rag back into its bucket when you both heard a loud banging sound coming from the kitchen.

“What the hell?” said Corey.

“I'll check it; you start mopping out here,” you told him.

He nodded as you brushed past him, your eyes looking about the kitchen as you entered it, trying to find the source of the noise. Setting down the bucket on one of the counters, you made your way to the back when you didn't see anything.

The culprit ended up being a large pan that had somehow fallen off the shelf. Most likely from being stacked incorrectly. That was annoying, since you now needed to wash it off, with it having touched the floor and all.

“Everything okay?” Corey called back to you.

“Yeah. Something fell,” you answered.

The wash you gave the pan was rather haphazard, but as you set it to the side to dry overnight, you figured that if the crew in the morning had an issue with it, they could clean it again. Right now you were five minutes away from clocking out and you wanted to get out on time.

“We're all good out here,” Corey's voice called again.

You were about to answer him when you noticed the bucket you had brought in, and when you ran over to dump the water out, you noticed the rag was missing.

“Ah shit.”

You'd left it on the bar counter, didn't you?

You had indeed managed to do that, and you slipped past Corey, standing on your toes and propping an arm on the bar counter as you reached for the rag.

“Could you maybe not step on my clean floors?”

“Sorry,” you called back, “need to grab something.”

Pulling the rag off of the counter by its tattered edge, you pushed off the counter a bit as you moved back to get off of the wet floor.

Somehow, you slipped. You felt your feet slipping against the wet tile as you fell backwards, and you had only seconds to try and brace for impact.

You hit something, but it wasn't the floor.

Corey had moved behind and grabbed you just in time. He held you like that for a moment so you could adjust your footing and stand up properly.

It was then you both realized that, in his efforts to save you from a nasty fall, one of his hands had accidentally ended up grabbing ahold of your breast, and he was currently groping you.

“Fuck I am so sorry!” he exclaimed, pulling his hands away the second you righted yourself.

“It's okay,” you answered. It came out a bit shaky, though that was mostly due to you almost falling.

“I swear that was an accident,” Corey continued.

“It's okay,” you insisted, “seriously, it's fine. I prefer that over having my skull break open.”

Corey nodded, but still looked sheepish, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his head while he looked at the floor.

Eager to alleviate this new tension, you wracked your brain for something to say that would get things feeling not so weird again.

“Hey,” you said, “I didn't fall, so at least your floors have been spared from that.”

He chuckled a little bit.

“For the most part. But you still stepped on them in the first place.”

“I forgot I left the rag! Give me a break.”

“I will, if you move so I can re-mop the floor,” he said.

Happy that things seemed to have gone back to normal, you complied, walking back into the kitchen and tossing the rag into a bin. You grabbed the bucket again, hoisting it up to dump the murky contents into the sink.

A loud noise sounded from the dining area, like wood being split apart accompanied by the light tingling of a bell.

It was so unexpected and so noisy even in the kitchen that you jumped, causing you to spill some water onto the floor.

That noise..... Was that the front door? From hearing the bell it sounded like it, but hadn't you locked it?

“Sir,” Corey's voice sounded through the kitchen door, “w-we're closed.”

Corey saying that indicated that someone had come in, but that noise wasn't normal, and you set the bucket back down as you went back to the dining area to investigate.

And how did this person get in? You were certain you had locked that door.

You pushed open the door-

And froze.

Phinks.

He was standing in front of the bar's entrance, the door practically pulled off of it's hinges and hanging open. Bits of the door frame had splintered off from the force he had used to wrench it open and had been scattered on the walkway leading up to it.

But there was no way Phinks gave a shit about that.

The second you opened that door, his eyes were on you.

Rage.

Pure rage radiated from him, a blackened aura you swore you could see that slowly began to fill the empty spaces in the bar, his form stiff and his hands in fists that were clenched so hard that his knuckles had turned white.

Only months ago you had done everything to get away from this man. Now he had found you, and he looked like he was ready to kill.

Corey looked back when you had entered, and immediately noticed your terrified expression.

“You know him?” he asked you.

Words couldn't come out. They just stayed trapped in your throat as you looked between him and Phinks, your breathing becoming short and harsh.

That had told Corey everything, as he stepped in front of you and addressed Phinks firmly.

“Sir, please leave now. We're going to call the police.”

With Corey now in the way, you couldn't see Phinks. But when he spoke for the first time since entering, you could sense just how much angrier he had become at Corey's actions.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he hissed.

Corey turned back, reaching out to you as he said “go call nine-”

Faster than either you or he could even think, Corey was pulled over the bar and brutally thrown across the room, crashing into one of the tables, the wood surface splintering and the chairs on top flying.

“Don't fucking touch her.”

Phinks' attention was on Corey now, and he stepped away from the bar. Corey was groaning and disoriented. There was blood dripping down his face as well as his arm, and he was shaking so violently that he couldn't push himself up off of the floor, instead collapsing over and over again onto the bits of broken table.

Phinks stood before him and reached down to pull him up by the collar of his shirt.

Corey pushed away his arm and stumbled backwards, hitting the edge of another table. You could see his eyes now, and the way he looked at Phinks in terror and confusion.

“Pathetic,” Phinks spat.

The blonde rolled up the sleeve on his right arm, and began to wind that arm in a clockwise motion.

That was familiar, you realized, as a horrible memory was brought back.

A man had tried to cut the strap of your purse as you and Phinks were walking home one night. Phinks had noticed and pulled you out of the way, but not fast enough, and you had ended up with a large gash on your arm.

“You think I'm scared of you?” the man had said when an infuriated Phinks approached him, winding up his arm once, then twice and then three times.

Phinks punched him and the man went flying; across the empty street and into the side of a building. The impact had left a dent in the bricks and the man's blood smeared on the surface as his body slid down onto the pavement.

Your mind had gone hopelessly blank at the sight of that, the wound on your arm you had been nursing forgotten as you stared wide-eyed at your boyfriend, who quickly returned to your side and chided you for taking pressure off of the cut.

“Ph-Ph-Phinks,” you stuttered.

“Yeah?”

“You..... You killed that man.”

Phinks' gaze narrowed.

“What's your point?”

He was going to do it again.

That brought you out of your stupor, and you rushed to the edge of the bar as you yelled out “Phinks! Please! Don't kill him!”

More pleas for Corey's life were about to spill from your lips when he glared back at you, a silent command for you to shut the hell up. That look made you freeze up again, and you stood by helplessly, holding on to the edge of the bar as you watched Corey struggle to stay upright.

That murderous aura that had been around him was now stifling, and it affected Corey to the point that he was having trouble breathing.

You counted at least twenty times that Phinks had rotated his arm, the aura increasing every time he did it.

Phinks glanced back at you again, and rotated once more.

He punched Corey in the face.

And Corey's entire upper half exploded.

His head was completely gone, face caving in on itself where Phinks had punched until it burst out through the back of his skull. His chest and arms were blown to pieces from the impact, the smaller bits of muscle and organs ripping out of him and sticking to the walls while the larger pieces of meat slid down with the copious amounts of blood and collected into the booths below. His lower half that remained mostly intact slumped beneath the table he had been leaning against, the remainder of his insides spilling out onto the floor while one of his legs still twitched. There was a fine red mist in the air over what remained intact, slowly settling down and soaking into the dark carpet.

You couldn't move.

You just stood there, keeping your hold on the edge of the bar, occasionally tensing and untensing your fingers as you looked at the piles of red slush and bone that had been your coworker.

Phinks had already walked away from it, coming towards the bar. But he passed by you, slamming the door to the kitchen open and letting it swing shut as he entered. You could hear movement, the sounds of his shoes scraping on the brick-red tile of the floor, glass clinking, him cursing to himself, a faucet being turned, and a familiar sound of water filling up a small container.

But you still stood there, unable to take your eyes away from the horrific scene. Minutes, no, seconds ago, that had been a person. Corey had friends, family and aspirations. And within a single moment, that person had been reduced to a mangled corpse that would only fill half of a body bag. How would they identify him? Whoever cleaned him up, would they be able to get everything? Or would bits of him be left behind and stay forever buried in the cracks and crevices of the bar?

You had seen Phinks kill before and it had made you sick then, but nothing had ever been anywhere near as terrible as this.

Corey's leg had stopped twitching, but blood that had hit the wall continued to trickle down in small streams.

You heard Phinks let out a loud sigh as a glass slammed against a metal counter top.

“Okay,” he called out, “I think I've calmed down now.”

Those footsteps in the back became louder and the door swung open again. Phinks appeared by your side, and when he gently put a hand on your arm, you finally looked away from Corey.

Phinks opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he glanced over to the mess he had left.

“... Lets go to the back,” he said after a moment.

He pulled you with him into the kitchen, and you didn't fight him on it. He still looked angry, but it was considerably less than when he had first entered.

Phinks leaned against the rim of the sink, one hand staying on you as you were positioned to stand in front of him.

“Been a while,” he said quietly.

You didn't respond.

He tsked.

“Goddammit. I find you again after months, and now you can't speak because of that asshole out there. Look, I know I overdid it, but after seeing the way that guy touched you I couldn't control myself.”

His eyes narrowed and he continued “why the fuck did you let him get away with touching you like that?”

Somehow, you managed to find your voice.

“I-it.... It was an a-accident.”

Phinks' free hand came up to lightly slap the side of your head. It didn't hurt, but you flinched regardless.

He had used that hand to end Corey's life; he could easily do the same to you.

“Stupid. You actually thought a move like that was accidental? That bastard was taking advantage of you and you were laughing it off.”

That wasn't true. It had been an accident. But instead of volunteering those thoughts, you bit down on your lip as it began to quiver, tears starting to form in your eyes.

“Don't cry. Sorry. I shouldn't have hit you,” he said, his hand going back up to where he hit, softly stroking your hair.

“I'm just so fucking pissed at how gullible you are. What do you think would've happened if someone smarter had tried taking advantage of you? Fuck, some guys wouldn't need to be smarter; they'd just need to be strong enough to pin you down. Do you even realize how many ways you could've been fucked over before I found you? Did you even think about that? Or was that just me, because I'm actually capable of having some fucking sense?”

His hands settled on your shoulders and his grip became tighter.

“I've been stressed out of my mind trying to figure out where the hell you went, how the hell you managed to get away, or what condition you'd be in when I found you. I couldn't find you and I swear I was going insane. And after all that, when I finally manage to track you down, I have to see you letting some piece of trash grope you?”

Those hands slid up until they were around your neck, and his grip became tighter still.

“It would be so easy,” he murmured, “to just snap your neck and be done with it. Then the constant headache I get from worrying about you would go away. If you're going to fight and run away from me than what's the point?

“Maybe it'd be better for me if you were dead.”

It was deathly quiet in that kitchen.

Phinks still held that grip on you, and you were certain he could feel how fast your heart was beating through the pulse in your neck. You stood there, stiff and quiet as he looked you over, thinking to himself.

He really was considering it.

Any wrong move from you, and there would be two corpses to be found in the morning.

After a few painfully silent moments, he sighed again.

“But I think that if I killed you, part of me would die, too. Maybe that sounds stupid, but it's the truth.”

Finally taking his hands off your throat, he pulled you against his chest to embrace you.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” Phinks said, “but I'd be even more miserable if I didn't have you. Does that make sense?”

Your face was pressed against the front of his tracksuit and you found yourself focusing on the patterned colors of white, red and green.

“I've heard it said a lot that being in love means that you also have to suffer,” he continued, “do you think that's true?”

“..... I don't know.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper and was muffled by the way he pressed you against his chest, but he still managed to hear your answer as he actually chuckled, rubbing the top of your head.

“'I don't know'. Big surprise there,” he said sarcastically, “you haven't changed a bit.”

When he pulled you away he was smiling, wiping away your tears with his thumb as he told you “don't cry anymore. I'm taking you home.”

Hearing that only made you want to cry more.

“Go get your bag and anything else you brought in,” he continued, “I already went to your apartment and packed up your stuff there. Once we're done here we can head out.

“We'll be back home before you know it.”

[rosy-cheekx]

Alone Again, Naturally

Three times Martin should have called for help.

(I twisted my ankle on Sunday and was bummed bc I missed my partner so…this happened…oops.)

-

1.

Martin’s phone was missing, though he was pretty sure he knew where it was. That thing, that wormy, writhing mass of a woman had it. Destroyed it. His only chance of rescue from this nightmare. Replaying the image of dropping the phone, abandoning it as he ran, would do him no good. His coworkers hadn’t noticed he was missing, or if they had noticed, they hadn’t stopped by. And they shouldn't, of course, it would only put them in danger. But still, it stung a bit, to know that he’d been gone for what, three days now? and no one cared.

He could become a statement from this, Martin realized, his death narrated in Jon’s smooth, clipped voice, and then they would finally learn what happened to that large, oafish researcher who was transferred to the archives with them and disappeared overnight.

Martin sighed through his nose noisily, as if he could expel the dark thoughts with the sound. “Christ, Blackwood. Getting awful morbid there.” Talking to himself had become a staple of his isolation. For one, it drowned out the ever-present knocking on the door and the squelching rustle of the worms. He honestly wasn’t sure whether the sounds were still real or if they had become such a constant that his brain just filled them in anyways.

His voice was the only other sound available to him with his computer not working and his phone gone. His clock radio had played static on every channel, and he had been grateful for the white noise at first. But the longer Martin left the radio on, the sound began to morph from the hissing of dead air to a choir, indecipherable and haunting. There were no words and yet he could understand the message: come home to us. We need you, we miss you, let us show you how much we love you. With us, you’ll never feel lonely again, we promise. Martin had come to, hand on the doorknob to his flat, radio in hand. After that, he had removed all the batteries from anything that could make noise. Since then, he could only trust his own voice; everything else was a trap.

The can opener, unfortunately, had been electric too. He had been so proud of his purchase, a real attempt at adult cooking. (He never seemed to use the manual ones and could never get the grip right.) With the power out, assumedly caused by Prentiss, he had to get creative when it came to “making dinner.” For Martin, this meant sawing open a tin can with a serrated knife, eating it with a fork, and praying no metal shavings were lurking in each mouthful. Tonight’s feast: another can of tinned green beans and the last can of pineapple. He didn’t even like green beans, why had he ever bought these?

Martin gritted himself against the awful sound of metal on metal as he cut into a tin of beans, hissing sharply through his teeth and letting his mind wander. Maybe he could strain the beans? Let them dry? It would probably be better than the wet and soggy mush he was bound to find. Maybe he could put some crackers on them for a crunch? Pretend it’s a bad soup? As he was finishing his indelicate surgery, Martin tipped the can into the sink a little, hoping to strain the bean juice and improve the meal even a little. As he removed the last of the lid, he saw it.

There, in the sink, wiggling its way out of the drain. Another worm. Martin shrieked and jumped back, dropping the can in the sink with a clatter. He grabbed a roll of paper towels and began to stuff them down the sink, plugging up the drain as best he could. For extra measure, he plugged the faucet as well, suddenly terrified of accidentally swallowing one in a glass of water. Once the adrenaline rush had passed, Martin felt it: a stinging in his palm. They must have jumped at him, must have bitten him. It would be over soon, he knew it. He would be like Prentiss, a mass of tiny bodies. He braced himself to feel something, but nothing changed. Martin frowned, chewing on his lip in confusion, and hazarded a glance down to his hand. There was no worm in his palm, nothing wriggling and biting deep into his muscle, just a slice along the flesh of his thumb, dripping blood from where he must have cut himself on the tin can.

Sheepishly, Martin rolled his eyes at his defeatism. Did it hurt like hell? Yes. But he wasn’t going to become a worm monster. Not today. Grabbing a few more sheets of paper towel, Martin hissed in pain as he pressed them to his wound, making his way shakily to the paltry first-aid kit he kept in his bathroom. He was clumsy in his wound care, only able to use one hand to open the kit and the individually wrapped plasters, while the other pooled blood in his palm uselessly. The antiseptic had stung like hell and the plaster was off-center, but eventually, the job was done. Martin had managed.

“See?” He asked himself softly. “All better. We didn’t want the green beans anyways.” Martin was alone, but he would be fine. He could take care of himself.

——

2.

Martin’s phone had become less and less useful since his time in the Archives. Sasha and Tim had been distant in the end, their group texts dwindling into occasional messages regarding whether not someone had contacted so-and-so regarding their statement. He and Jon had called and texted quite a bit, before the Unknowing, when Jon had been in China, America, and wherever else Gertrude’s breadcrumbs had led him. But since the explosion, their messages lay at a standstill, a “good luck! come home safe :)” still waiting to be sent to “Jonathan Sims--Boss.” He used to call his mother every week, but the outgoing calls had dwindled as she returned less and less of them, until he received an apologetic voicemail from Steady Waters Care Home a few months ago.

Now, the only messages he received were his work emails and an occasional text from Peter with a request or two regarding The Magnus Institute. Not even spam calls reached him anymore. That was all fine by Martin. He was busy running the institute; he didn’t have time for social calls, even if he wanted any, which he didn’t. Martin had taken to leaving his phone in his work office, knowing he wouldn’t need it outside the building anyways. It was becoming something like a desktop mouse to him in its versatility.

It was a Thursday, and it was late--Martin’s watch read 11:09. Thursdays were Martin’s days to deliver paperwork to the archives. He could only ever do it at night when he was sure Jon had either gone home (or was asleep at his desk at the very least). Peter Lukas had been working Martin to the bone with all the paperwork he would hand off with a wave of his hand and an “I’ll be back next week Martin. Please don’t call me,” and this week’s stack of statement requests, financial approvals, and quarterly reviews would fall to Martin instead. Who knew running a front for feeding an all-seeing eldritch deity would require so many business expenses?

Martin. Martin knew. He had reviewed and approved each and every one.

It was the week after Halloween, so the list of those eager to give a statement was longer than usual. Hellweek, Tim used to call it, a grin on his face as Jon would frown and shake his head. The stack of folders Martin carried in his arms eclipsed his eyesight as he carefully made his way down the hall, the Lonely silencing his footsteps and the shuffle of his clothing. The elevator was broken this week, thanks to a visit from one of the Fairchilds. Martin clumsily opened the door to the stairwell, turning to the side slightly to see the steps that descended into the basement he knew so well. Cautiously, he began his way down the stairs, arms clutching the stack of paperwork and binders tight to his chest. The basement was eerily silent; even Martin’s muted steps echoed in his ears.

The door to the Archives creaked slightly, and Martin realized his mistake: he hadn’t propped the door. The thin streak of light that painted his way down the steps thinned and faded in time with the slow squeak of the door. The click of the latch sealed his fate: Martin was in the dark. He didn’t mind the dark, in principle, though his new awareness of the Fears heightened his concern considerably. He stepped down slowly, feeling for the steps with his foot as he went.

Halfway down the stairs, Martin heard a soft flutter as a few papers shifted in his stack. He hoisted the pile and tried to readjust it as he stepped once more. The combination of the changes in the balance of the papers and his weight combined were too much for his brain to process at once and he overcompensated on his step, putting his weight down a little too early. Martin felt the rush of adrenaline as he tried to catch himself, hands clutching uselessly at the paperwork in his hands as if it could save him and he felt himself tumble to the ground. Falling sideways, he hit his shoulder hard on the steps, momentum carrying him down the remaining steps to the floor. The loose papers not held in binders and folders scattered in what Martin was sure was every direction.

Martin was frozen on the floor, pain pulsing through his shoulder. He sat up tentatively, patting himself down as he set down what remained of his stack of folders. He wasn’t bleeding, but his ears were ringing and his arm hurt like hell. Listening carefully for the sound of anyone reacting to his presence, he rotated his shoulders carefully, wincing as throbbing radiated up his arm. He must have dislocated it. Patting his legs down, Martin found his phone in his pocket. He must have forgotten to put it on the charger. He...he could call someone, should call someone. His shoulder was dislocated.

He could call Jon.

He pulled up his text messages, the cursor blinking back at him, blinding in the dark. Jon was surely awake, he knew that man’s sleep schedule was worse than his.

good luck! come home safe :)

safe :)

safe.

“Shit.”

He couldn’t call Jon. It would undo everything he and Peter were trying to build up. It was all for Jon anyways, to keep him safe, to keep them all safe. No. He had to do this alone. It was best that way.

Martin sat himself up carefully. He had taken enough first aid courses (rather, he had watched them for free on the internet) to know how to set it back in place and he knew it would not be pleasant. He drew his right knee up, and clumsily unknotted his tie, using it to secure his arm to his knee. Martin closed his eyes tight and leaned away from his knee, rotating his shoulder as he stretched away, wincing in anticipation until he felt the wet pop of his arm slotting back into place. Sparks shot through his vision, his only grounding point in the dark, and he huffed out a cross between a moan and a curse.

He carefully made a fist with his re-set hand, tensing the muscles in his arm. Determining it to be good enough, Martin felt his way to his feet and grabbed the wall to steady himself. He knew there was a light switch somewhere--ah.

The light clicked on and he winced at the sudden change, letting his eyes adjust behind the safety of his lashes. When he opened his eyes again, he surveyed the mess of his paperwork, gathering it methodically. It took him another half hour, back against Tim’s old desk, to resort his files before setting them in the file basket he had installed on the door to the Archivist’s office, the rest going on the desk of Jon himself. He would see them all in the morning. At least Jon was home, resting.

When Martin emerged from the Archives, he glanced down at his watch, wondering if it was too late to hail a cab. He frowned at his watch; the face was cracked, the hands stuck at 11:11. He must have cracked it in his fall. “Make a wish,” Martin mumbled to himself, rolling his eyes. He was pretty sure his wishes were out of reach, hopeless. As long as he would be safe after all this, Martin could sacrifice a few wishes.

——

3.

Martin was on a walk. He had been doing that a lot, since his and Jon’s escape to Scotland. There was something comforting about the long stretches of rolling hills and rocky cliffsides, utterly devoid of menacing fear entities or bosses hellbent on destroying the world. Jon would come with him sometimes, especially in the early days when leaving each other’s presence was challenging to say the least, but Martin sometimes just needed the space. He loved Jon, he knew he did, and Jon did too, but sometimes the presence of another would build up and stifle him, an unbearable heat radiating off of Jon until Martin had to just go for a bit.

It was raining today, a bassy rhythm beating down on Martin’s umbrella as he walked a familiar cliffside path. He could see a rocky beach below him, waves made of roiling ink, more black than blue. The rain was comforting to him, distinguishing this ocean spread before him from the ocean of the Lonely and drowning out any thoughts that passed through Martin’s head. He stepped around a patch especially muddy gravel, glancing down and seeing a ghost of a reflection staring back at him.

Martin had been in a cold place today, withdrawn from the rest of the world. He had felt the fog blossoming over his mind and had known he needed to go for a bit, center himself, remind himself he was real. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither would his sense of self again, though he was making progress. Jon understood that sentiment, perhaps better than anyone else in the world, and had kissed him softly at the doorway, squeezing his hand in an unspoken promise. Martin tensed his own hand in a fist, still feeling the heat of Jon’s calloused palm under his, reveling in the idea that someone loved him the way Jon did, that someone loved him the way Jon did and that Martin loved Jon back. Martin felt his body solidifying under the rain, felt the wind buffet against him rather than pass through him.

Martin was thinking about going home when it happened.

Home, or Daisy’s safehouse, was a humble affair: reinforced windows, minimalist, a few guns hidden in the floorboards, lots of fresh fruits and vegetables from the village down the hill. It had been easy to reassign this place in Martin’s mind as home. He hadn’t felt at home since...well, definitely not since Prentiss. Maybe not before either.

The rain was letting up, and the brolly was forgotten in favor of letting the rain drop down into his hair, sopping his curls and plastering them to his skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so content to be in the rain. Things weren’t good, but they were the best they’d been in a while.

The next thing Martin knew he was on the ground, ankle twisted and both shins scraped, blood and dirt mingling on his legs. He tried to stand up and cried out as his ankle immediately gave way, the hope of putting weight on it dashed on the rocks of the beach far below him.

Martin Blackwood crawled to a tree, leaning his back against it, not minding the dirt that was sure to collect on his back and rump. He winced and massaged his ankle, already feeling it begin to swell under his fingertips. With his free hand, a silver scar shining between his forefinger and thumb, he reached for his phone from his jacket pocket, hands shaking as he clumsily dialed the only number in his list of favorites.

“Martin?” Jon’s voice was warm through the tinny speakers. “I hope you’re well.” It was carefully not a question, though Martin caught the notes of careful concern.

“Tch-” Martin sucked air through his teeth. “I fell, Jon. I twisted my ankle, I think? Can’t-ah-can’t walk.”

“Oh. Martin, dear,” Jon’s voice was softer, and Martin could practically see his love’s fingers, itching to do, to fix. “Do you need me to—I can come get you, if you like. I haven’t…I haven't looked. But I can, if you want me to.”

Martin smiled despite himself, hearing Jon’s cautious phrasing. “Please, yes. I’m pretty sure I’m near a picnic park, if you want to drive there and get me? Not sure this is a drivable trail.”

“Did you pass anyone?”

“…no?”

A pause. Martin heard static crackling through the phone. “No one will be there. I Know where you are, Martin. I’ll be there soon.”

Ten minutes and enough ice packs to ease the pain of a full rugby team later, Martin was laying in the back of Jon’s small car, heat blasting on him to dry his now-soaked clothing. There were perks to having an all-knowing partner, it turned out.

Later that evening, Martin was tucked into the couch, his head pleasantly nestled in cushions and his feet in Jon’s lap, who was carefully massaging his feet and ankles, probing for any long-term injuries with his Eyes. A mug of tea grasped between his hands, Martin sighed softly and felt warmth flood his face. He hadn’t been alone this time. He wouldn’t be alone ever again.

[bevioletskies]

dream a little dream of me

summary: Ryunosuke had never been one for gloomy, rainy weather, had always preferred the comforting warmth of a clear, sunny day. When a particularly heavy rainstorm keeps him and Kazuma in bed for hours on end, he finds himself slowly starting to think otherwise.

word count: 2.4k | read on ao3

a/n: For @asoryuu-week, day four of seven (prompt: "domestic"). This fic takes place post-Resolve; mild spoiler warning for Adventures and Resolve, where events may be alluded to but not described in detail. All names and honorifics are taken from the official localization, with the exception of Sherlock and Iris.

Fic title is from the song Dream A Little Dream Of Me by The Mamas & The Papas.

“Remind me, Ryunosuke, what is it they say about a heavy head? Because yours is certainly making it harder for me to breathe.”

Ryunosuke sighed, lifting his supposedly heavy head from his partner’s chest to level him with a sleepy glare. “Good morning to you, too. Must you demean me before we’ve even gotten out of bed?”

Kazuma’s warm, slightly raspy laughter soothed Ryunosuke somewhat, though he still couldn’t help but feel slightly irritated. “Well, it’s hardly my fault you’re so fun to tease. No one else reacts quite like you do.” Then, Kazuma cupped Ryunosuke’s jaw in one hand, running his thumb across Ryunosuke’s mouth. “And I mean that in all manner of things, if you get my meaning.”

“You’re terrible,” Ryunosuke informed him, though he allowed Kazuma to kiss him anyway, grunting slightly when Kazuma rolled over to straddle him, sinking his entire body into Ryunosuke’s, fingers digging into his sides. “Mm...Kazuma, th-they’re waiting for us downstairs - ”

“Let them wait,” Kazuma murmured, playfully nibbling Ryunosuke’s bottom lip. One of his hands had now moved to Ryunosuke’s thigh, caressing him teasingly. “It’s been too long since we’ve had some time to ourselves.”

“You were only here two nights ago,” Ryunosuke said breathlessly; Kazuma’s mouth had quickly made its way from his neck to his collarbone, leaving a heated trail of kisses down the length of his throat. “Remember? That’s when I finally agreed to - ”

“Ry-u! Kazz-y! Won’t you be joining us for breakfast?”

“Damn,” Kazuma muttered, reluctantly climbing off so he could smooth out the front of his jinbei. Despite Ryunosuke’s continued annoyance at Kazuma’s insatiable nature, if he wanted to put it kindly, he also couldn’t help but admire how flushed Kazuma’s ears, neck, and chest had become in the last few minutes alone. “We’ll be right there, Iris, sorry for keeping you!”

“That’s okay!” Iris called back, her footsteps already beginning to fade away. “Just as long as you’re both properly dressed, alright?”

Ryunosuke groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “This is all your fault, you know that?” Kazuma merely scoffed, rifling through his bag so he could find the fresh set of clothes he’d packed for his overnight stay. “Though I suppose nothing will ever be as bad as the time you pulled me aside in the middle of an investigation and - ”

“I thought we both found that to be a thrilling and memorable experience, but fine,” Kazuma said with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll see to it that we won't try anything that adventurous ever again.”

“We almost got caught!” Ryunosuke exclaimed, agitatedly flapping his shirt in Kazuma’s face. “Don’t you realize how much trouble we would’ve been in?”

Kazuma stared at Ryunosuke in complete and utter disbelief. “...Ryunosuke, you’ve committed treason. You’ve implicated so many government officials, exposed so many government secrets - ”

“...all the more reason not to take a chance?” Ryunosuke offered sheepishly. “Anyway, let’s get dressed before they come looking for us again. I swear I can hear Susato-san’s footsteps coming up the stairs.”

A little over an hour later, Ryunosuke, Kazuma, and Susato returned to the attic, pleasantly sleepy from the generous meal that Iris had prepared for everyone. The rain was still thumping against the windowpane, an erratic tap-tap-tap that filled the entire room, rendering the three of them barely able to hear themselves or each other.

“I know you were planning on returning to your own flat, Kazuma-sama, but I would advise against it in a storm like this,” Susato mused, momentarily brushing the curtains aside so she could look out over the soggy, sorry state of London’s streets. “And I’m sure Naruhodo-san wouldn’t complain if you stayed.”

“I’m sure as well, though Ryunosuke is clearly in no position to answer either way,” Kazuma said dryly, gesturing in Ryunosuke’s direction, where he was currently curled up on the floor by Susato’s tea set, half-asleep and hugging his daruma to his chest. Susato watched, giggling, as Kazuma walked over to gently prod Ryunosuke in the shoulder with his foot. “Come now, Ryu, don’t make me carry you back to bed.”

“We both know you’d like that,” Ryunosuke mumbled. Susato only just managed to refrain from rolling her eyes at them - she’d been privy to far too many of their supposedly private conversations for her liking - instead electing to pat Kazuma on the arm.

“I think this is the perfect weather for a nap, personally,” she said, looking at him meaningfully. “If you plan on returning to bed as well, I can let Iris and Mr Holmes know not to disturb any of us until dinner.”

“That would be great, Susato-san, thank you,” Kazuma said sincerely, though he secretly suspected she just wanted to leave them be. Once she disappeared back down the stairs, he looked down at Ryunosuke with an irrevocably fond sigh. “Ryunosuke…”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m getting up,” Ryunosuke yawned, reluctantly pulling himself to his feet. “Bed?” Grinning, Kazuma wordlessly took Ryunosuke by the hand and led him towards his bedroom - their bedroom, really, given how often he stayed over these days. Moments later, they clumsily tumbled back into bed, having changed into their sleepclothes once more.

“You’ve still got a bit of egg on your face,” Kazuma observed, wiping Ryunosuke’s cheek. “How does this keep happening to you?”

“Eat too fast,” Ryunosuke murmured, turning to kiss the palm of Kazuma’s hand. “Food...good.”

“Your grasp of both the Japanese and the English language is incredible,” Kazuma drawled, carding his fingers through Ryunosuke’s hair. He then pulled him closer, burying his face into Ryunosuke’s neck. “I thought you went back home to finish school, did you not? Surely you can do better than ‘food good’.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Ryunosuke said, sighing, letting out an exaggerated exhale directly in Kazuma’s face. Still, he turned over so he could wrap his arms around Kazuma’s waist, snuggling contentedly into his chest. “I really should just kick you out and make you go home.” Laughing, Kazuma kissed the top of his head.

“Not in this weather, you wouldn’t,” Kazuma replied. As if to illustrate his point, there was a loud, thunderous crack that practically shook the entire room. “If this storm keeps up, I might have to live here indefinitely.” Ryunosuke merely grunted in response. “Well, you don’t have to sound so pleased about it.”

“Oh - no, it’s not that,” Ryunosuke reassured him, sitting up somewhat so he could look Kazuma in the eye. Despite Kazuma’s typical brusque, yet affectionate nature, he could tell that Kazuma was slightly hurt. “I was just thinking about how much I dislike storms. Rain is fine on occasion, but...it seems as if London is in a permanent state of misery sometimes, you know? And it makes us miserable all the while.”

Kazuma’s clouded expression cleared up instantly. “It’s been ages since we’ve had sunshine,” he agreed, now dropping his head to rest on Ryunosuke’s shoulder. “It would’ve been nice to go for a walk together before I leave...whenever that is.”

“Like we used to do before class,” Ryunosuke said quietly, nodding. “You could never convince me to join you during your morning exercises, though.”

“Forget morning exercise, I had to literally drag you out of bed sometimes,” Kazuma snorted, tangling their fingers together. “I hear Susato-san hasn’t had any luck with getting you to exercise more, either.”

“I exercise enough,” Ryunosuke huffed, pinching Kazuma’s side; much to his dismay, Kazuma merely laughed in response. “I do plenty of pacing up and down during trials, you see.”

“I do see,” Kazuma teased. “I should look for permanent scuff marks behind the defense bench and the witness stand the next time we’re in court. You have a tendency to drag your feet, after all.”

Rolling his eyes, Ryunosuke made a show of yanking his hand out of Kazuma’s grasp and turning over with his back to him, pulling his side of the blankets over his head. “...I’m really starting to think you have nothing nice to say about me at all.”

Even when he wasn’t looking at him, he could tell Kazuma was smirking. “Oh, I think I praise you plenty. But in case you were wanting to hear it…” In one quick motion, Kazuma swept the bundled-up Ryunosuke into his arms, Ryunosuke’s back pressed against his chest, his breath ghosting the shell of Ryunosuke’s ear. “...I love you, Ryunosuke. And I’ll say it as many times as you’d like; all you need to do is ask.”

“Wonderful, now I just sound needy,” Ryunosuke said, sighing yet again, though he craned his neck to kiss Kazuma anyway, tossing the blanket around his shoulders so they were both enveloped in its warmth. Kazuma slowly lowered him onto his back, onto the mattress, knees braced on either side of Ryunosuke’s hips, fingers digging into Ryunosuke’s waist.

“You can insult me back, I don’t mind,” Kazuma murmured, sucking a bruising kiss along the crook of Ryunosuke’s jaw. Though they’d crawled back into bed for a nap, Ryunosuke was starting to feel more and more alert by the second. “Do your worst.”

Ryunosuke hummed, thinking. “...sometimes, you try too hard. You need to relax more, Kazuma. There have been some jurors and witnesses who’ve been intimidated by you, even though you aren’t trying to be malicious.”

“Fair enough.” Kazuma’s voice was low, raspy, sending shivers up Ryunosuke’s spine. “Anything else?”

“You have a bad habit of interrupting people,” Ryunosuke continued, prodding Kazuma in the chest with an accusatory finger. “Even Iris seemed annoyed with you last night, when she was asking us about our latest trial. I know you think you were helping, but I can speak for myself just fine. We’re not in school anymore.”

“...ah.” Kazuma looked humbled, almost remorseful. “I...I’m sorry, Ryu, I didn’t realize. I honestly thought we were just telling them about what happened together.”

“And you need to stop biting me like I’m a piece of meat - ”

“No one can see them!”

“Kazuma, you're doing it again - ”

“Doing wh - oh.” Kazuma burrowed his face into Ryunosuke’s chest, cheeks burning hot with shame. Ryunosuke couldn’t help but laugh; it wasn’t often that he got to embarrass Kazuma and render him speechless. “I...see that I’m not quite the partner I’d thought or, or hoped I was.”

“Last, but definitely not least - ” Ryunosuke abruptly took Kazuma’s face in one hand, squeezing his cheeks until his lips puckered “ - you don’t need to be quite so dramatic, either. I still love you all the same, Kazuma.” He smirked. “And I’ll say it as many times as you’d like; all you need to do is ask.”

Kazuma stared down at him with wide, imploring eyes. Then, he cocked his head to one side, his frown melting into a warm, radiant smile. “...again.”

“I love you.” Ryunosuke kissed Kazuma’s cheek, then the tip of his nose, then finally, his lips. Beaming, Kazuma kissed him back, a little sweeter this time, a little less sensual. “Especially because you’re a little needy, too.”

They fell silent for a few minutes, save for the steady sounds of the rain and thunder and wind whistling past their window, exchanging slow, languorous kisses and simply enjoying one other’s company. Though Kazuma spent more nights at Baker Street than not, in a way, it still felt as if they had months, even years, of lost time to make up for, even though they hadn’t been apart - or a part of each other’s lives, for that matter - for that long. It was times like these that Ryunosuke found himself reminiscing about their university days, the early days of their companionship, when they’d have spirited debates that ended in spirited laughter and meandering conversations about nothing in particular.

“I can hear you thinking, partner,” Kazuma murmured, brushing Ryunosuke’s hair out of his eyes. “Something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” Ryunosuke said, pulling away momentarily to yawn. “Only that we were supposed to be taking a nap, and instead, we spent the last ten minutes poking fun at each other. Though I suppose that’s just an extension of the way we speak to each other in court at times.”

“Susato-san has been scolding you about that as well, has she? Perhaps we do need to - I need to be more careful,” Kazuma corrected hastily when Ryunosuke leveled him with an impressively Kazuma-like glare. “Though we’d be in even more trouble if I were to, say, openly comment on how handsome you looked in court just last week, when your hair was a little bit longer in the back. I thought it suited you.”

“Why do we need to be in trouble at all?” Ryunosuke retorted, elbowing him a little harder than necessary. “I’d rather we do our jobs like the proper lawyers that we are - ”

“Well-behaved schoolboys, you mean,” Kazuma teased.

“ - and come home at the end of the day, where we can do as we please,” Ryunosuke finished.

Kazuma looked at him consideringly, his gaze impossibly soft. “Ryunosuke Naruhodo, are you implying you’d like me to move in someday?”

“What? I - ” Ryunosuke stared at him, momentarily stunned. Then, he relaxed, his head dropping back to his pillow, where Kazuma followed him down, their eyes still locked. “I, er...I thought that was a given. Though I worry that...that people might talk, as they’re wont to do.”

“Professor Mikotoba lived here with Mr Holmes for some time, did he not?” Kazuma pointed out. “Besides, even if people talk, why listen? All that matters is what we think of ourselves, as trite as that might sound.” He leaned in close, pressing a lingering kiss to Ryunosuke’s forehead. “So, just know that whenever you decide to ask, you already have my answer.”

“Then I think I’ll make you wait for just a little bit longer before I do...if only to get back at you for two nights ago,” Ryunosuke added with a smug smile, laughing when Kazuma glared daggers at him in response.

“And you think I’m the cruel one,” Kazuma muttered, pulling Ryunosuke into his arms once more so he could hold him rather possessively, their legs loosely intertwined beneath their mess of blankets. “You told me you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did, believe me,” Ryunosuke grinned, blushing faintly at the sudden vivid memory that had come to mind. “But just this once, I’d like to have the upper hand.” He then leaned in to kiss Kazuma’s exaggerated pout. “Anyway, we really should be getting to sleep now, or it’ll be time for dinner before we know it. I can barely keep my eyes open at this rate.”

“Agreed,” Kazuma said, yawning. He shuffled closer, dropping his forehead down to rest against Ruynosuke’s. “Good...morning, Ryunosuke.”

Ryunosuke shot him one last sleepy, fond smile before letting his eyes drift shut. “Good morning to you, too, Kazuma.”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my fourth entry for Asoryuu Week 2021! We've moved on from sad Kazuma hours to semi-horny Kazuma hours, I guess? Blame it on Kazuma talking about getting Ryunosuke off and holding his hand over a hot plate and finding ways to shut him up; you can't tell me he's not doing this at least a little bit on purpose. Anyway, I always love writing plotless cuddling fics where they basically talk about nothing. I could've made this way, way longer, easy, but we've still got three more days to go!

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and I hope you're all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

#MountainLife

Summary: When a typical winter storm sends her car into a snowbank, Y/n finds herself face to face with her favorite actor. Will Jensen be able to dig her out or will the day have other plans for them?

Pairing: None, purely platonic

Word Count: 2.7K+

Warnings: Language, very minor car accident (no injuries)

Author's Note: Single-digit temperatures, lots of snow, and one wily Brit (@winchest09) gave me the idea for this mess. Also, Jensen in those damn sweats didn't help either. But in all honesty, I don't think I've been warm for three weeks. This helped make me smile through the shivering and I hope it does the same for you. xoxo Alex

Check out Alexandra's Library for more works by yours truly!

The chill that had settled in her room overnight roused the woman before her alarm had the chance. Y/n tucked herself further into the heavy blankets that she adorns her bed with every winter, but it was no use. The cold had successfully awoken her for the day, and not even the pocket of heat her body had created under the mountain of cotton could protect her now. 

With a huff, she climbed from the fraction of warmth her bed provided and slipped on her heavy robe. Her feet shuffled as she made her way to the large bay window on the south side of her bedroom and tugged open the curtains. The expanse of her backyard and the woods that lay just beyond was blanketed in a thick layer of snow, large snowflakes continuing to fall as she observed the scene in front of her. Y/n smiled at the undisturbed white that shone brightly against the beginnings of the early morning sunshine, her tired eyes trailing to the back porch and the pile of snow that rested against the beams. From the sight, she could guess they had accumulated a foot so far, a little less than the evening news had predicted. 

Since she was young, she had always had a loved winter and the unique beauty and serenity that heavy snow would bring. Some of her best memories were playing in the snow all day only to come home, chilled to the bone and pink in her cheeks, to a piping hot mug of cocoa. But as she grew older, that love had turned a tad sour when snow days turned into digging her car out and stressing the whole drive to work about the idiots on the road who act as if they have never seen snow before. She still basked in its wonder and beauty, but she hated having responsibilities that forced her to deal with its less than fun side. 

Considering where she was located, the woman knew she would need to give herself extra time to get to work this morning, seeing as her drive and the main road would not be plowed by the city. Even though she had woken early, it still wasn’t enough time to pull out her snowblower and do the entirety of her drive. It was up to her SUV to get her into town in one piece. 

With that thought in mind, she was quick to make it through her morning routine. She made sure to cut time wherever was possible. A shower that didn’t include washing her hair which allowed her to leave it down to frame her face, lighter than normal makeup, and one cup of caffeine instead of her normal two. Y/n decided against packing a lunch today and made sure to bundle up in heavy layers. 

With enough time left to nearly double her commute, she headed out the door and into the SUV. The cabin was warm, the heat running full blast from when she started it ten minutes earlier and she sighed as she settled into her seat. The driveway met her with instant resistance to the spinning of her tires, but it was nothing the rubber couldn’t handle. The woman was cautious, taking the gradual incline of her drive at a slow pace to give her time to react to any sign that the tires were slipping. 

Once she hit the main road, things were not much better. It seemed that most of the blanket that covered the mountainside had remained untouched, making her drive the first to lay down tracks. She could hear the snow brushing the underside of the vehicle, causing her to slow her pace even more to avoid any possible damage it may cause. At this point, the car was crawling down the hillside, barely rising above 25 miles per hour as she reached the valley. 

Y/n made her usual left turn towards the city and where she worked, the back road winding up through the mountains before leveling off in town. It could be treacherous this time of year, but it wasn’t a path she hadn’t taken before. Having grown up in the area, Y/n had learned how to handle the slope and the snow from the moment she walked out of the DMV with her license at seventeen. In fact, the night before her driver’s test, they received over a foot of snow. If she could pass under those conditions, she was set. But not even the years of experience could have prepared her car for the hidden patch of ice that had settled beneath the snow. 

The tires slipped against the smooth surface as she turned the corner, sending the rear of the SUV fishtailing to the right. Instinct had her correcting the path of the car before she could think about it, the turn of the steering wheel flipping the direction the vehicle was careening in. 

“Fuck,” Yn hissed as she worked to fix things, making sure this time to not overcorrect her car. Her grip on the leather wheel was tight as the realization that she had to let whatever was going on happen, bracing herself as the car continued to slip into a snowbank on the side of the road. Luckily, at her low speed, the impact was minimal and she prayed the damage to her fender would reflect that. With a sigh, she pushed slowly on the gas, attempting to see if her car would get back onto the road, only to feel the familiar slip of the tires. The vehicle was only able to find enough traction to give her maybe an inch, but the incline was unforgiving. 

“Well, shit,” she grumbled, pulling her phone from her purse before shutting off the car and hopping from the heated cabin. The snow crunched under her boots as she rounded the car to see if there was anything she might be able to do. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the tools in her trunk that would even come close to digging her out of the trouble she had gotten into. The frustrated woman kicked the rim of her tire, knowing full well it wasn’t her car’s fault she was in this mess, but it made her feel a tad better. She rounded back to jump back into the waning heat of the car to make the necessary calls to work and a tow truck. A voice rising behind her halted her hand on the handle. 

“Hey! Are you okay?” The deep voice carried across the open street and to the troubled woman. Y/n spun her head to the sound, certain she recognized that distinct timber of the person calling out to her. Sure enough, as she blinked through the thick snowflakes falling through the air, she was greeted by the visage of the very last person she had ever expected to see. He wasn’t wearing much for a cold snowy day, just a pair of heavy sweats and a thick green henley topped off with snow boots, a beanie, and a pair of gloves. The tall man skidded to a halt a safe distance from her, a snow shovel hanging from one hand. 

“Ma’am, are you hurt?” the return of his voice snapped her back to the reality that he was indeed standing in front of her. She was quick to straighten her features, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way her jaw had dropped. 

“Uh, yeah… I mean no, I’m not hurt at all,” she fumbled over her words and silently cursed her lack of finesse. He visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping and a small smile gracing his lips. 

“I didn’t think anyone would try and get into town today,” his brow rose as he attempted to hide the amusement on her face. Y/n was a good sport though, nodding her agreement to his assessment. “I heard the commotion from my porch and came running.”

“I can see that,” the woman took in the flush to his nose and cheeks and the way his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, the hot air from his mouth swirling into a white mist before disappearing above his head. With a giggle, she pointed to the shovel in his right hand. “Is that for protection?” 

“No, I was clearing my porch thank you very much,” he tilted his chin at her. “You want some help getting out?” Y/n turned to look back at the mess behind her, a grimace returning to her face. 

“You can try, but I’m pretty sure it’s hopeless.”

“Start her up, I’ll shovel,” and with that, he scooted past her and began to dig out the snow around her tires. Y/n suspected it was useless to argue and went back into her car. Most of the heat had faded by now from the inside, allowing the bitter bite of the mountain air to creep back in. She turned the engine over and waited for his signal. He appeared back at her door, slightly out of breath from his exertion and Y/n had to fight biting her lip at the sight. 

“Try her out, let’s see if that helped,” he panted, his lips parted as his chest heaved. With a nod, she put the car in gear and pressed against the gas. The vehicle rocked underneath her, but the tires still struggled to gain any traction. He disappeared to the rear, attempting to push the car to give her the extra power needed. But it was no use. The snow was too deep and too heavy. 

“It’s over,” Y/n sighed and put the car back into park before turning it off. The annoyed woman hopped back into the cold morning air. “Seriously, thank you for helping but I think my only option is calling for a tow.” 

“You might be right.” Y/n watched the gears turning in his head through the faded green eyes she had dreamed about many times before. He pursed his lips, still trying to come up with a way to get her out and the woman wasn’t sure her nonchalant demeanor would last much longer in his presence. She bit down on the tip of her tongue and fished her phone from her pocket, looking up the number for the local tow service. 

“Thank you though, for helping out a total stranger,” Y/n lifted the phone to her ear. 

“No problem, honestly. I’m Jensen by the way,” he indicated, not offering his hand to her considering the state of the country, and to be honest most of the world, at the moment. 

“Oh-” An automated machine picked up after the first ring, halting her reply. The message indicated the state of emergency the governor declared meant they weren’t taking calls until the weather let up. The shivering woman grimaced and hung up the phone. Jensen raised a brow at her, taking in the clear downstroke of her mood. 

“The governor declared a state of emergency,” she answered his unasked question. “I guess I better call work and let them know I won’t be in, I hope it does leave them too shorthanded because with the state of the roads that wouldn’t be good. And I should probably call my insurance company, but we will see if they even answer considering,”

“Ma’am?” Jensen interrupted her ramblings.

“Y/n, please,” she corrected. “I was rambling wasn’t I?” The worried woman hadn’t realized the words were coming out of her mouth, the anxiety over her current situation overtaking her mind for that brief moment. 

“A little,” he confirmed. “Listen, do you live close?”

“Not exactly. I’m about five miles down Sierra Trail.”

“Join me then?” Jensen suggested, indicating the drive that assuredly led to his house. Panic rose in her gut at the suggestion and her instant reaction was ‘that’s not happening’. The man standing across from her, no matter how many times she blinked, remained, and yet she still didn’t believe this wasn’t all a dream. 

Of course, she had recognized Jensen as soon as his voice registered in her brain. He was only the one man she had spent more time watching on her television or scrolling past online. The man had saved her life and he had no idea. The last thing she could do was just waltz into his home when he didn’t have all the facts. He deserved to have all the facts.

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” 

“I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything. My wife and kids are doing some finger painting in the kitchen as we speak and we haven’t left the house in weeks,” The man’s face softened as he looked at her, trying to convince the wary woman.

“It’s not that,” Y/n chuckled, earning a confused look from her favorite actor. The woman chewed on the inside of her lip, contemplating how to phrase the next thing she wanted to tell him. 

“I-” A smile spread on her face as she got an idea. Y/n held up a finger to him and stepped to the rear of her car. She raised a gloved hand to brush away the accumulation of snow on the small side window to reveal the anti-possession decal that clung to the glass. She turned back to him with a sheepish grin, “I’m actually a huge fan. I just thought you deserved to know that before you invite me into your home.” 

The numerous expressions that flickered past his features finally settled into a soft smile. “Well, thank you, that’s very kind. If you are a fan then you probably know that even if you planned to steal my underwear and sell it on the internet later, or even keep it, that I can’t let you stay out here on the side of the road and in the freezing cold for who only knows how long.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, you are welcome to stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” she sighed, her heart glowing in her chest at his offer. The fangirl inside her was losing her mind and trying to piece together what specific alternate reality fanfic she had fallen into. “I promise not to steal your underwear then.”

Jensen let out a snort, his head rearing back in laughter. “Well, I’ll make sure to count them before you leave, just in case.”

“Deal,” Y/n grabbed her belongings from her car and secured the vehicle before following Jensen. They crossed the road and dredged up the gentle slope of the Ackles’ drive. Y/n was finally beginning to feel the bite of the winter against her exposed face as the house came into view behind the heavy trees. The design was typical of the area and not much different from her own, well besides the sheer size of it. 

The stairs were sprinkled with salt and half the porch held evidence of his attempt to clear it, only for the still falling snow to already destroy his efforts. The sound of children’s chatter filtered from the house as Jensen pushed open the front door. He toed off his boots onto a matt behind the front door and Y/n moved to follow his lead. 

“Here,” he held his hand out to take her bags as she copied his action. “I’ll find something for you to change into and we can put your wet clothes into the dryer.” 

“You really don’t have to do that,” her instinct to refuse anything offered to her was too strong to stop. 

“Y/n, just relax. You are not sitting in wet clothes all day and that’s not just because I want to protect my furniture,” Jensen joked, also taking her coat as she shrugged it off. 

“That’s easy for you to say,” she grumbled, following behind him further into the house. The voices of his family grew louder as they went and the woman was sure even at his distance, the actor could hear her heart thumping inside her chest. 

As he passed under an archway, the tiny shriek of ‘Daddy’ met their ears, halting her in her steps. Y/n let her eyes close and took a few gulping breaths in one last-ditch attempt at steadying herself before she would spend her day with the Ackles’. 

Somebody should pinch her...

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[leisurelypanda]

Imagine pre-serum Steve visiting his local pool to learn how to swim properly and get his strength up, trying to avoid getting too distracted by the gorgeous blonde musclegod who serves as lifeguard. One day, the lifeguard approaches Steve as he's catching his breath, introducing himself as Thor and offering to help with his lessons. He's a friend of the owner, he explains, and can get Steve in after closing so that he won't have to deal with the crowds. Steve agrees and returns the next evening, his heart racing when he sees Thor waiting for him in the water, muscles bulging and glistening, wearing a tight red speedo that leaves little to the imagination. He's profoundly grateful that he has the lessons to channel his pent-up desire into, the two of them becoming friends as the weeks pass and Steve gets better and better.

One evening, they're making great progress, with Steve breaking his record on the number of lengths he can swim. He's resting with his arms folded on the side of the pool, out of breath, but glowing with pride and adrenaline, when he feels Thor come up behind him, arms braced on the pool's edge to box Steve in. He feels Thor's cock, hard as a rock and so thick and long, pressing against his ass through the thin layers of fabric. His heart in his mouth, Steve slowly turns his head back to meet Thor's hungry gaze as his hands move, one tilting Steve's chin up for a searing kiss as the other pushes down into his shorts to start stroking his cock.

Mmmm yes, this is lovely! I love the idea of Thor being super proud and having a competency kink for pre-serum Steve improving his skills. 

I imagine Steve being 18 or 19 here, and having spent his high school years being picked on because he's so scrawny. However, now that he's graduated, he has a bit more time on his hands, so he decides that he wants to get stronger somehow. Weights have never been his thing, though, so he starts learning how to swim. He doesn't have the money to spend on swim lessons, so he just goes to the local pool to teach himself.

The only problem is the presence of a lifeguard who's distractingly handsome. He looks like he's a few years older than Steve, maybe 25 at the oldest.. He has a gorgeous smile that he directs towards Steve every time they see each other. Steve can't help but wish that he could learn how to swim from this man.

It takes about 2 weeks of regularly going to the pool for the lifeguard to introduce himself. Steve has just finished swimming a few laps and he's pretty tired. His name is Thor. His father and the pool owner are friends, so he offers to help Steve learn how to swim after hours so Steve won't have to deal with people getting in the way. Steve agrees immediately.

The first thing Thor does is teach him stretches to help himself warm up and cool down. Steve can't help but be distracted, especially since Thor is wearing a bright red speedo. Everything is on display, from Thor's impressive shoulders, chest, and arms to his long, muscular legs. And of course, there's his glorious ass and the package that bulges against the poor, innocent fabric of the speedo. Steve can't look away, but he somehow manages to do the stretches every night.

Thor is a surprisingly good teacher, even considering the fact that Steve finds him distracting. He's patient and thorough. He teaches Steve freestyle first, then the backstroke, the breaststroke, the sidestroke, and lastly, the butterfly. Steve struggles with the butterfly the most due to his lack of upper body strength. He prefers freestyle and he's not surprised that Thor is amazing at the butterfly.

Steve gradually becomes stronger and grows in endurance. The longer the lessons last, the more they learn about each other. Steve learns that Thor has been swimming and training his entire life to be an Olympic swimmer. He’s been giving lessons ever since he was 16 and been a lifeguard since he was 18. He missed making the Olympic team four years ago due to a minor foot injury that kept him from attending the tryouts. This year, though, he intends to make the team. 

Steve fully believes he can do it. One day, Thor takes him to a different pool (that his dad’s friend also owns, because that’s apparently his thing). It’s far longer than the pool Thor’s been teaching Steve how to swim in. It’s 50 meters long, for starters, and 3 meters deep. It makes diving fun, of course, and watching Thor dive into the pool and swim to the other side as fast as he can is always incredible. Their lessons start taking place here and Steve always arrives early to watch Thor practice. When he asks how Thor still has the energy to teach him, Thor merely laughs and tells him that the lessons are essentially a way to cool down for him. 

A few months after their lessons started, Steve is able to exceed his previous record. He’s not very fast, but he’s been able to build up his endurance. He’s able to swim 1000 meters one evening without Thor’s assistance. it took him a while, but he was able to make it. He’s exhausted by the end of it, but when he stops, he clings to the pools edge in the shallow end of the pool. As he’s catching his breath, he feels a pair of arms surround him from either side. He doesn’t have to look behind him to know it’s Thor. What he wasn’t expecting was for him to feel Thor press his cock against his ass, or for it to be rock hard. 

A moment later, he feels Thor’s mouth on his neck, sucking and kissing against him. Thor murmurs his praises into Steve’s ear as his hands wander down Steve’s body. Steve is gasping for a whole different reason now and he doesn’t want to stop. 

Thor takes care of everything. It’s after hours and they’re the only ones in the pool now. They’re the only ones in the building. Their kissing each other passionately without a care in the world, particularly not about the fact that they’re technically supposed to be closing up. 

Thor’s cock is even bigger than Steve expected it would be. The stretch as it enters his ass is indescribable. Steve is sure that he won’t be able to walk tomorrow. He can’t bring himself to stop, though. He pushes back against Thor, down onto his cock. He sucks on Thor’s fingers as he moans and he can taste the chlorine from the water. 

It’s impossible to say how long they fucked in the pool. If Thor wasn’t holding him, then Steve was clinging to the edge of the pool, bent over as Thor hammered into him. The water sloshed over them, making shallow waves from their movements. Finally, when Thor comes, he shoots his load deep into Steve’s ass. Steve comes at the same time, his own come bursting out into the water. 

They’re both gasping for breath now. Thor’s cock is still inside Steve’s body, still hard. He grins warmly as he congratulates Steve on beating his record. 

One unexpected result of their little sexcapade is that they’ve both lost their swimming gear. There’s a certain thrill in having to swim naked to retrieve them from where they had floated to the other end of the pool. Thor doesn’t bother putting his on, though, and walks completely naked to the locker room. Steve decides to follow suit. They dress together and close up the pool. Thor leads Steve to his apartment, where they pick up where they left off. Neither of them swims that day, but they get other forms of exercise. Steve appreciates seeing how well the muscles he’s developed from swimming come in handy in Thor’s bedroom as he rides Thor’s cock all night. 

Thor does eventually make the Olympic swim team. Steve is there to cheer him on. Thor makes waves during the next Olympics both for being an impeccable specimen and for proposing to Steve immediately after he wins the gold medal in the butterfly. The two of them become an internet sensation overnight, and they celebrate by having sex once again in a pool, though a private one, this time. 

[morros-writing-blog]

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖

𝑎 𝑥𝑖𝑎𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑖𝑐 𝑏𝑦: 𝑛𝑦𝑥 𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑑

As the bard’s feet finally touched solid ground, he let out a sigh of relief, his borrowed wind gliders folding against his back once more. He gazed up at the Inn, bracing himself for a rather difficult conversation — but, it was what he got for taking on the form of a young boy rather than a full grown adult. It was worth it to him.

Venti wasn’t quite sure how long it had been since he was in Liyue, but he certainly didn’t remember this place here when he was. Though, change was rather fast and sudden, so this didn’t come as a surprise either. Snapped out of his musings by the bark of a dog, he dropped his gaze to the entrance and headed over. Hopefully he wouldn’t be declined too early.

People curiously eyed him as he made his way to the elevator, but he paid them no mind, fully used to getting looks. After all, Venti couldn’t be the best bard in Mondstadt without getting stared at, could he? He rested his back against the corner of the elevator as he waited, tilting his head at just the perfect angle to watch the setting sun.

Though, he wasn’t entirely sure if any of the rooms were open — the Inn was quite popular from the looks of it. Venti guessed that many people came here while traveling to and from Liyue Harbor, considering it was the perfect place to stop overnight. He could also tell the staff tended to the area well, either this or the people that stayed were clean in general.

The bard shuffled through his pockets for any Mora as he got off the elevator and continued to walk towards the front desk. He silently wondered if he could play a song for them as payment, just as he’d managed to convince Master Diluc to let him do back at the tavern. It seemed he may have to try though, as he doubted he had enough Mora to pay for a room. Venti should have come more prepared.

Venti cleared his throat to catch the attention of the boss stationed at the desk. He headed up to her, his gaze landing on the cat cleaning itself on her desk before flitting away again — hopefully his allergies wouldn’t be bugged too badly.

“A room for overnight, please,” Venti requested, accompanying his words with a gentle smile.

His smile fell slowly when he noticed how he was being eyed by the boss, a sort of astonished recognition in her eyes. Venti hesitated, his thoughts tracing back to try and recall if he’d ever been here before. He didn’t remember the Inn itself, so unless the boss was another of Rex Lapis’ Adepti, then he doubted she knew him. Though, as he parted his lips once more to mention this, she seemed to process she hadn’t responded quite yet.

“Oh— um, yes, of course,” the boss replied, sitting back in her chair to shuffle through the keys. As she did, her gaze flitted to Venti once more, and she eventually tugged out a key.

Venti guessed he’d have to explain how he didn’t have enough Mora, and hope she’d accept his replacement (even if he knew he was the best bard of Mondstadt, she might not believe it). “I didn’t bring enough Mora,” Venti admitted finally, subconsciously looking away.

“That’s fine,” she replied, surprising Venti as she slid the key across the wood towards him. “Its only overnight, after all. Your room is on the very top floor, the balcony has a good view,” she continued.

Venti hesitated a moment, unsure why he was being given an exception — as well as why she was acting so bizarre towards him — but eventually nodded. He tucked the key into his pocket for safekeeping as he went up the stairs, temporarily holding his breath as he walked by the cat as if that would somehow help. When he reached his room, he silently noticed it was the only one on the floor which made things even weirder.

Slowly, Venti shut the door behind him, and headed over to the bed. He doubted he’d be able to sleep tonight now that he really thought about it; any exhaustion had been interrupted by thoughts about his previous encounters. It was fully dark outside now, and he eventually decided to head out to the balcony. Surely, since the boss mentioned it had a good view, it wouldn’t be a waste?

༄༄༄༄༄

He couldn’t believe it.

Venti stared in shock, one hand resting on the doorframe for stability. He hadn’t been seen yet, but he could see all of him. After so long, was it really Xiao? Everything looked the same, but with all the memories plaguing his mind in the past few months, how could he be sure this wasn’t a trick?

Xiao was leaning on the railing, his arms loosely crossed and elbows resting on the wood. His head tilted up slightly, his eyes partially closed in a peaceful contentment — oh, how Venti missed the color of his eyes. A gentle breeze blew through the area at a steady speed, stirring his hair and clothes. Xiao looked.. more calm than Venti thought he would be for a long time.

Maybe it was just a dream? Venti really didn’t want it to be, so he didn’t try to check, moving without really thinking. He slowly put a foot before the other, nearing Xiao with bated breaths. What was he supposed to do? What if Xiao didn’t want to see him anymore? What if he'd been forgotten?

These thoughts didn’t stop the ache in his chest as he gazed at his boyfriend, the longing in his arms when he realized Xiao could be in them soon. Venti was surprised he hadn’t been seen yet, usually Xiao was more alert than this. He might need to say something first. Maybe Xiao was just paying attention to something else.

“Xiao..” Venti whispered, ignoring the tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. “Is — is it really you?”

Venti kept walking, mesmerized by the idea of being with his lover again, after hundreds of years apart. He wanted to feel Xiao in his arms again, he wanted to be the one to coax those small purrs from his sleeping body, he wanted to feel Xiao’s hair as he stroked it to calm the poor Adepti down. He would give anything to be with Xiao again, even if that ‘anything’ was his entire nation. And there Xiao was, waiting for him.

At first, Xiao didn’t reply, though it was clear Venti had been heard when the yaksha’s shoulders and arms visibly tensed. He could see Xiao was too scared to breathe, but he wasn’t looking at Venti, and so the former God persisted.

He ran the rest of the distance, his arms looping around Xiao’s waist and pulling their bodies flush against one another. Venti buried his face in Xiao’s shoulder, basking in the sudden warmth of his long-lost lover. He didn’t care if he was crying anymore, what mattered now was convincing Xiao he was real.

“Venti,” Xiao breathed out, the simple whisper of his name ringing in Venti’s ears.

That was it, that was his lover’s voice. The voice Venti ached to hear for so long, the voice that whispered sweet nothings to him at night whenever nightmares of the Archon Wars plagued his sleep. He tugged Xiao closer — if that was even possible anymore — and no longer cared if his tears fell and soaked the other’s shirt.

Xiao slowly melted into the hug, saying nothing for a long moment. He did move a hand to brush over Venti’s face, the back of his fingers running along the skin as if he couldn’t believe it was really him. Venti could feel him stiffen, and his heart ached for the other boy, knowing how hard it must be now.

“500 years,” Xiao choked out, grief lacing his voice and making it crack with unspilled tears. His hand fell back to his side, shaking slightly. “You were gone for 500 years, I-.. I was alone for—”

“I know,” Venti replied, interrupting the other, his own tears now a consistent stream. He pressed his face into the crook of Xiao’s neck, a bitter and sorrowful laugh escaping his lips. “I’m so sorry. I wish I was here with you, I really do.”

Xiao was quiet again, and Venti feared he’d messed up even more, until Xiao’s shoulders started shaking too and the silent tears became obvious. He shifted to give the other room to turn around when he realized what was needed, leaning back slightly on his heels. Xiao turned and hugged Venti this time, his head landing on the bard’s shoulder.

Xiao’s pretty golden eyes were bleak with raw emotion, tears spilling from them and soaking into Venti’s clothing. He was never much of a public crier, always the type to break down when he was alone instead. So either Xiao changed, or it was really that much of an emotional moment that he no longer cared.

Figuring that out could wait, now it was time they were completely reunited.

Venti raised his hand not occupied with holding Xiao to brush through the other’s hair and gently untangle some of it from the earlier wind. He turned his head afterwards, resting it on too of Xiao’s and moving his hand back down to accompany the other. Xiao’s eyes closed, and he finally melted completely into Venti’s touch.

He was home.

“I love you,” Venti whispered, not even really sure if Xiao would hear him.

The smallest “I love you too” came from Xiao though, and then peaceful silence overtook the pair.

It all made sense to Venti now. Xiao talked about him, and Verr Goldet recognized him from the description. She had deliberately put him in this situation to reunite the pair.

“Thank you,” Venti thought silently, reminding himself to pay back her act of utmost kindness later.

[jinkicake]

Jealous, Much?

Bakugo is a needy brat when you don’t give him all your attention.

Bakugo x Reader

I present to you another Bakugo creation. After rewatching the third season and meeting Kato, all I could think about was how cute would it be to see Bakugo jealous of a child. Personally, I think he could be soft with children... right? LOL Also, the reader has a water quirk kinda like Juvia from fairy tail. Second also, the reader and bakugo aren’t dating per say but they’re really close with one another and obviously like eachother. 

WC- 1,829

~~~

“Alright homeroom is dismissed, but,” Aizawa glances around the room before his eyes fall on you. “(Y/N) I need to speak with you for a moment.” Subtly he motions towards the door and walks out the classroom with you trailing behind, ignoring your classmates making noises to instigate.

“(Y/N) I don’t like being the one to ask you this, being forced to be the middleman, Shino wants to know if you can watch Kato tonight. I understand that it is such short notice but she has a last-minute mission and they trust you with him.” Aizawa explains, his eyes darting to the side as he loses interest in what he is saying. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, lifting your hand you cover your racing heart.

You thought he was going to say something about your grades.

“Of course I’ll watch him tonight, don’t worry!” You smile before turning back towards the classroom.

“Also you’re falling behind in Japanese literature so try your best to keep up.” Aizawa adds and you momentarily freeze, the slice of truth hitting you in the back of the head. Dejectedly you walk back to your seat with your head low, wanting to forget the existence of the hell that is Japanese literature class.

Later that evening Bakugo stalks toward your dorm, his hands fisted in his pockets and his shoulders hunched over. It’s not like he cares about you or anything, it's not like he’s worried about what happened in class today. That's not it at all, he’s just coming over to see if you want to train. Train on a Friday night. He halts his actions when he gets to the front of your door, he lifts his fist to pound on your door but freezes when he hears your laugh.

“Stop! You’re so cute.” He hears you coo and his eye twitches in annoyance. Before he can control himself he knocks heavily on your door and steam flushes out of his ears.

“Open up idiot!” Bakugo growls and reverts back into his irritated stance of hunched shoulders with his hands shoved in his pockets. When you finally open the door and poke your head out, Bakugo pushes past you into your room. His red eyes widen at the futon beside your own bed and his eyes nearly fall out of his head when he notices the small child resting on it. “What is this?” He asks dangerously and you raise an eyebrow at his reaction.

“I’m babysitting.” You pause, watching him carefully. “What are you doing Kacchan?” Crossing your arms over your chest you tilt your head at him, his red eyes still trained on the small boy in front of him.

“You have a boy in your room?” He accuses and you continue to stare at him.

“Katsuki you’re also in my room.” You try to explain and he yells out.

“Overnight?!” Bakugo looks agitated and you want to smack the side of his head.

“Yeah I’m babysitting him, also you’ve stayed in my dorm overnight so why are you-“

“That's different!” He almost shouts and you sigh before stepping in front of him.

“We’re going to watch a movie or something, are you going to be quiet and join us or are you going to leave?” You ask, trying to be careful but also lifting your hand threateningly and Bakugo can hear the water roaming over him. He darts his eyes between you and the kid, he doesn’t want to look so attached to you but he will be damned if he leaves you alone like this. With a spoiled face, the blonde pushes past you and sits on your bed, his arms crossed over his chest and a glare locked on his face.

You give Bakugo a pleasant smile as you lean down to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before turning back to focus your attention on Kato. The kid looks at Bakugo wearily and the older boy can only sneer at him in response.

“Okay so I can put on a movie or a tv show, what do you want to do?” You talk gently, face softening at the delicate child. Bakugo turns his face in annoyance, his heart flipping at how gentle you are.

“Can we go see Midoriya?” Kato asks timidly and you hear Bakugo mutter ‘Deku’ under his breath.

“Sure, let me call him first.” You smile at the small boy before leaning over to where your phone is charging on your bed. Cautiously you watch Bakugo’s actions, his demeanor unusually calm. With an irritated sigh, you sit next to him, close enough that you’re nearly pressed into him, in a small effort to calm him down. Flipping through your contacts you find the name of your classmate, glancing over at the simmering blonde once more before clicking and bringing your phone up to your ear.

“Midoriya?” You ask and Midoriya softly responds on the other end of the line. “I’m watching Kato tonight and he wants to come see you, can we come over or can you come to my room?” You tap your foot against the floor softly and Bakugo wants to rip the phone out of your heads to throw it out your window.

Midoriya, on the other hand, is looking at Uraraka with a guilty expression. The brown-haired girl is listening in since his phone is on speaker, she only gives him a reassuring nod in response.

“Oh, I can come over. Can I bring Uraraka?” He asks and you have to contain a squeal at the mention of your two friends hanging out. Your eyes light up and you hit Bakugo in the chest, his eye twitches in response before they fall down to where your fist is gripping his shirt.

“Of course! Of course, I’ll see you guys soon!” You hang up and your phone is knocked out of your hand as Bakugo pushes you back onto your bed. His hands bracing on either side of your head and he dips his face down close to your own.

“What are you so excited about?” He watches your facial expression, his voice is low and dangerous. You open your mouth to respond but close it shut when Kato releases water to hit Bakugo’s head.

“G-get off her!” The young boy yells out, his voice wavering. You can only laugh at Bakugo’s now damp hair before moving out of his arms to sit next to Kato on the floor.

“Our quirks are so alike, smart water boy!” You coo and scoop him into your lap, pressing your cheek against the side of his head. Bakugo only slowly turns around to face the two of you, his eyes dark and sparks are now lighting up his hands. “No Bakugo not in here!” You scold, moving your own hand to drop tiny amounts of water into his palms to cool him down. Bakugo is about to yell until his heart's content when a knock on your door interrupts him.

“What the hell do you want?” He growls towards the door and you quickly stand up, carrying Kato, to open the door. The younger boy’s face flushes when he notices Midoriya in front of him.

“Midoriya, Uraraka! Come in, would you guys like anything?” You offer and open the door for them to enter. Uraraka ends up walking into her crush’s back as he stops in the middle of his steps. An angry-looking Kacchan huffing on your bed is enough of a warning to send him back running to his dorm.

“Midoriya lets watch a movie!” Kato nearly jumps out of your arms and drags Midoriya to the futon on the floor, he hands the other boy the remote and tells him to pick something.

“I’m sorry I interrupted your time.” You apologize to Uraraka, her face flushing bright red in response.

“I-its okay, we were just studying!” She stampers and you raise a brow in response, bringing your face closer to hers.

“A study date?” You instigate and she covers her hands before she starts floating to your ceiling. You grab her wrist and drag her back down to the ground, quietly laughing at her cute reaction. You end up stumbling back when Bakugo roughly brushes past you, Uraraka watches him with concerned eyes as he slams your door after leaving.

“Can you watch Midoriya and Kato for a moment please, I need to deal with him.” You mutter, feeling slightly embarrassed, and Uraraka nods understandingly. “Kato I’ll be right back, be good okay?” You yell over your shoulder before running out into the hallway, chasing after the brooding blonde.

“Leave me alone.” Bakugo growls when he notices you’re right behind him, he stands in front of his own door and you want to sigh at his dramatic antics.

“Wait.” You make the mistake of grabbing his arm when Bakugo clearly didn’t want to be touched because he quickly pushes you off of him. “Katsuki.” You groan when he grips your wrist and applys more pressure than necessary to get you off of him. He doesn’t make any effort to stop, already opening his door and moving inside. The door is pretty much slammed into your face but you were able to make it through the slight creak as you turn your body into water.

“Why are you being such a baby? Do I need to be babysitting you instead?!” You ask angrily, resorting your body back to normal, and resting your hands on your hips as you glare down at the blonde who’s now laying across his bed. Bakugo only darts his eyes to stare at the wall and you take his silence as an answer. 

“I can call you when Midoriya and Uraraka leave. We can have a sleepover with Kato.” You gently lower your voice, sitting down on the edge of his bed, looking over your shoulder at him. He doesn’t respond and you want to punch his face for such brattiness.

“You're such a brat.” You whisper softly, and Bakugo tchs in response before you lean down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I’ll call you when they leave.” You tell him and then you’re up and out of his room, walking back to your own.

A few hours later you find yourself once again in your room babysitting not one but two boys.

“Be nice to him.” You scowl as Bakugo continues to glare down at the small child. With all the strength you can muster you push the blonde back down onto the bed and turn off the lamp beside you. “Kato if you need anything just wake me up okay?” You tell him and hear him let out an audible ‘okay’ while Bakugo groans that he better not wake him up. Once again you shush the boy beside you before wrapping your arms around him and leaning your head on his chest, squeezing him tightly when you get close enough to him.

[whitewolfmoving]

Boston Burning Part One

Pressure

Summary: After the ceiling caves in leaving Nika Stan trapped and injured on an emergency call, she's ordered to take mandatory sick leave until her injuries heal. She can think of no better place to rest and recuperate than in Boston with her (and her brother's) best friend.

Warnings: very minor description of injuries

Word Count: 1459

A/N: Here's chapter one of part one of my two-part crossover series! For a setup chapter, I personally think it sucks a bit. But I hope you like it. This story was born of my love for firefighters, my need for d/Deaf representation, and dreams no one needs to know about but that I told one of my best friends of anyway (hehe). Happy reading!

New York born and raised, Nika Stan had always been her big brother's little shadow.

When 13-year-old Sebastian loudly declared one warm evening at the dinner table that he was going to grow up and be a firefighter like the one he'd seen on the way to school, a chubby-cheeked 4-year-old Nika proudly echoed, "Me, too!" And when her big brother leaned over with his dark ocean blue eyes to kiss her forehead and whispered gently in her ear, "Of course, you will, my little Sunspot!" Nika knew then that she was born for greatness.

For Nika, that greatness took the form of many things throughout her life; from saving kittens stuck in trees and helping her neighbor Mrs. Jenkins across the street after school, to following in her brother's footsteps all the way to the National Fire Academy. Sebastian always taught Nika that she could do and be anything she put her mind to, he was her number one fan and biggest supporter. Whenever she needed a little extra encouragement, he was right there to give it to her. Likewise, Nika did the same for him.

The call that changed their lives came just after 2 AM.

Sebastian was out of bed, dressed, in the car, and walking through the doors of Brooklyn General within the hour. It was late, the emergency room was empty save for the Squad, Engine, and Truck members huddled in the far corner of the waiting area. Before he could make his way to the reception desk to inquire about his sister's whereabouts, the Squad Lieutenant intercepted him.

"Hey, man. They're treating her now and Brooklyn PD is taking her statement. Chief's with her, but she's been asking for you. Straight back, first room on the left."

"Thanks. All of you, for being here. I'll update you when I know more."

The whitewashed walls of Brooklyn General were never Sebastian's thing; he belonged on the outside, keeping people from having to enter its doors. Now, though, he carefully wandered its hallways looking and listening for the one person he never wanted to see taking up residence in the massive building — Nika. The Chief had assured him that her injuries were minor but he wouldn't believe it until he could see her with his own eyes. He continued down the hall to the first door on his left, and knocked before heading in.

To Sebastian's surprise — and the credit of the doctors on call late that night — Nika didn't look too worse for wear. He breathed a sigh of relief and acknowledged Chief Jackson briefly, before he settled in the chair at Nika's bedside.

"Frate mai mare," she greeted softly. She looked up at him with glazed honey-colored eyes, no doubt a result of the mild sedative they'd given her to help with the pain. White gauze poked out from under the right shoulder of the clean hospital gown she wore, her wrist had been placed in a hard cast and propped up on a pillow in her lap. She looked so tiny beneath the blankets.

"Sora mai mică," Sebastian answered in kind. He gently pushed a hand through Nika's hair. watching closely as her eyes fluttered shut at the comforting contact. Once he was certain she'd fallen asleep, he turned to address the other men in the room. "Did she say what happened?"

"She was clearing the top floor, called out and received no response. When she turned to leave, the owner ambushed her from the next room. The ceiling came down on top of them," Chief Jackson told Sebastian calmly. "The only thing she remembers after that is waking up here."

Dr. Fuller handed Sebastian a copy of Nika's x-ray. He hated this part, they all did. Everyone loved the younger Stan sibling as much as Sebastian did, seeing her in any sort of discomfort put them all on edge. "She's got a broken radius and second degree burns on her shoulder and across part of her chest. We'll keep her overnight for observation, just as a precaution. She can go home tomorrow afternoon but it's in her best interest to keep her off duty until her wounds heal."

Sebastian chuckled. "She's not going to like that. Thanks, Doc, I appreciate it."

"Unfortunately, the owner of the house fled the scene before we got there. But from what Nika and a few of the guys were able to give us, we have enough for a rough sketch. I'll keep you updated when we have more information, Seb. We'll find out who did this." Detective Brighton firmly clapped Sebastian on the shoulder before following the doctor and chief from the room, leaving the siblings alone.

Nika slept soundly for three days which the doctors assured Sebastian was normal for the small amount of trauma her body had endured. On the fourth day, he was growing increasingly concerned for his sister's well-being. As he weighed the pros and cons of waiting it out against going to ask Dr. Fuller to recheck Nika's vitals, Sebastian paced back and forth at the foot of her bed.

"Bas, you're going to wear a hole in the floor," Nika said. Her voice sounded rough and scratchy from sleep, but at least she was talking.

Sebastian sighed, relieved. His fingers curled around the two small devices in his right jacket pocket, she wouldn't be able to hear him without them but maybe that was for the best right now. He withdrew his hands from the comfort of his jacket pockets, stood at the foot of Nika's hospital bed and braced himself for the flood of emotion and attitude that would soon pour from his sister like rolling thunder.

"Hey, Sunspot. Glad to see you're awake," Sebastian moved his hands with such a calm fluidity when he signed. He'd learned for Nika when no one else would, it often made moments like this a lot easier for them. "How do you feel?"

"My chest is sore, but it's not too bad. Ready to get the hell out of here, honestly. Hospitals wig me out."

"You're good to go today, but you're out of work until your wrist and burns heal."

Nika rolled her eyes and scoffed indignantly at her brother's instruction. Not working wasn't something she knew how to do, firefighting was in her veins. She sighed.

Sebastian chuckled. "Look, Nik, I know you don't want to hear this. But you need to take some time off, to rest, to heal. Do it for me. Please?" He knew he had her with those last five words; Nika would do anything for her brother.

Two days later, Nika stepped off the plane at Boston Logan International Airport.

She walked through the gate with the crowd, happy to be in a place where her brother wasn't for the time being. She loved Sebastian, loved that he wanted to protect her, but his concern lately had been stifling. Nika needed a break, needed a change of scene. As soon as they'd left the hospital, she called Chris and told him what happened. Without a second thought, he told her to come to Boston, said he'd be there when she landed.

She waded through the sea of people heading for baggage claim, keeping an eye out for Chris's tall frame. She was tired, sore, and just wanted to be somewhere she could relax without thinking of the accident for a while. She needed to take her medication, the dressing on her shoulder and chest needed to be changed, and she desperately needed a drink.

"C'mon, Evans. Where the hell are you?" Nika was just about to break down and call him, when she felt a strong hand wrap around her waist from behind.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to stand around by yourself in an airport?" Chris's smooth Boston accent said in her left ear. He had her backpack slung over his shoulder and her rolling suitcase in his hand. His bright blue eyes sparkled as he smiled down at her. "Ready to go?"

She nodded, signed back, "Ready for the pressure to stop. Thanks for letting me stay with you for a few weeks."

Chris grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, then kissed the top of her head. His voice met her ear once again. "Ah, Nik. What are best friends for, huh?"

Nika hummed. She missed her brother, but she knew she'd be safe with Chris, too. Being out of the game wasn't going to be easy for the youngest Stan sibling, she was used to the fast pace of firefighting; she counted on it as much as she counted on her brother to have her back. Without it, Nika wasn't sure who she was or who she could be.

Till The End of All Things Taglist: @arrowsandmixtapes @pinknerdpanda

[nukyster-blog]

Changing course chapter 17) under the skin

.-.-.

Communication was out of the question. Overnight, Ivar’s embarrassment had grown to the size of a boulder and that huge rock of sweltering shame rested upon his chest, making it rather difficult to breathe. 

Ivar was glad he’d been dragged back into the mud of the pigsty, as he could not bear to be around Piglet. With both their secrets stripped bare, neither were able to look the other straight in the eyes. 

Amongst the pigs, Ivar tried to recollect his damaged ego but managed it poorly. A form of hopelessness took hold of his shoulders and hindered him from keeping his chin up. 

The mundane labour and damp wind kept Ivar’s thoughts from spiraling down, the Dietsch autumn was merciless; losing her beauty and warmth faster every day. It would not take long for frost to claim the soil and turn the entire pigsty into a shallow lake of muddy ice. 

Ivar wondered how he was going to survive, once winter announced itself with snow and freezing temperatures. His clothes were no match for the upcoming cold and the way he scraped through his makeshift knee pads, during his day to day odd jobs, made him dejected. Because how on earth was he going to move through thick layers of snow? He’d freeze to death, with his poor rags for clothing, soaking with icy water. 

Piglet quite literally shoved him out of his thoughts. The young woman dashed over the wooden fence of the pigsty and crawled her way towards the pigs enjoying their breakfast. She managed to squeeze her body alongside the fat bellies and disappeared from view. 

Almost simultaneous to Piglet’s free dive between the grunting animals, a carriage arrived. The tough Lancewood shafts were carved; decorating the sides with elegant flowers and biblical images. The transport device was the size of a decent house and had windows made of actual glass. 

The imposing carriage stopped near the well, it’s driver scratched the back of his head and looked around a little lost and anxious. 

“Ivar,” Piglet hissed and threw a clump of mud in his direction splattering one side of his face. Before he could yell at her, she indicated very firmly to get his head down and mouth shut. 

Curious, Ivar did what was told but instead of hiding, he crawled through the pigsty and peeked through the missing border of the fence. 

By then, the driver had managed to spot one of the linen maids, the girl made a small bow and started pointing with her hand, giving him the proper directions to the main entrance. 

Intrigued by the whole incident, Ivar sat up and traced the glass windows. What type of master would be sitting on the other side? By the imposing impression of the carriage, it was not a commoner. Would it be an Earl? A famous healer? A king? 

“Hamar!” Piglet sank her nails into his shoulders and dragged him down. Ivar let out a harsh breath of frustration and gave her a hard shove back.

“Just because I’m no longer planning on murdering you, doesn’t mean you can treat me like a scurvy dog,” he growled and plucked on the collar of his shirt to fix it before craning his head back towards the carriage. 

A young fair maiden had stepped down the iron footplate of the carriage and seemed just as lost and puzzled as her driver. She was nervous too, although she managed to keep a blank expression, her fiddling hands gave it away. Her fingers played with the embroidered laces of her long, fur coated cloak. 

Oh, she came from wealth, with her pale cheeks that have hardly been kissed by the sun. 

Her fingers found a new distraction, they played with a loose lock or her long blonde braided hair as soon as master and mistress de Haar approached her carriage. 

To Ivar’s surprise and annoyance, Piglet’s tormentor tottered behind them, sour-faced and in a black mood.   

Between the four aristocrats, came a stiff introduction in which the fair maiden gave a brief bow towards the master and the mistress. Piglet’s tormentor managed to lisp a few words and hastily placed a clumsy kiss on the back of her hand. 

As the four of them strode back to the wealthy part of the castle, the young man gave his arm for the fair maiden to take and Ivar realised the purpose of her arrival; an arranged marriage. 

“Ludolf de Haar,” Piglet whispered closely to his ear and dug her nails into Ivar’s wrist with the strength of a wild cat. Her act was not provoked due to Ivar, no it was an extension of the fear she held for that particular young man. 

“Bad man,” she pointed to the young couple, “bad man…” 

.-.-.

From his warm lungs, came white puffs of clouds with every breath he exhaled. Ivar tried to brace himself for the night as the cold started to set into his muscles and bones. He’d managed to hide most of his body underneath a thick layer of hay, but without a proper bed, the cold crept up on him from the flooring. Knowing that in the morning, his legs would cause him agony, made it hard to fall asleep. 

And with the dreadful event of last night still fresh in his memory, sleep seemed completely out of the question.

Although he created the illusion of being fast asleep, his whole body was on edge and his ears wide open. If that croaked-lipped bastard decided to come back, he wanted to be wide awake. His companion must feel the same, usually she was the first one to drift asleep, indicated by her calm deep breaths and occasional snoring. 

Ivar overheard her tossing and turning, all while her breath remained shallow and fast. Both were destined for a long sleepless night while being plagued by the penetrating cold. 

Approaching footsteps made both their breaths catch in their throats. Ivar’s eyes narrowed and for a moment, he closed them completely. The footsteps had the wet sound of someone walking in mud, someone who hadn’t learned to walk quietly and instead, relied on verges to muffle their steps. Each footfall was chaotically spaced from the last, no rhythm at all. They lacked confidence and cunningness. 

The footsteps most definitely belonged to Ludolf de Haar.

Piglet was aware of this too and before the keys could click inside the lock and open the door, she flung herself over the fence that separated their boxes and sought shelter alongside Ivar. 

It felt strange, for her to be so close in the twilight. Never before had she willingly crossed her makeshift line, but with such a predator on the verge of walking in, all rules were fairly broken. Ivar hastily crafted a plan. Without a word, he tucked Piglet’s body underneath the hay and crawled close to the trough.

The second Ludolf set a foot in their doorway, Ivar shoved his middle and index finger in the back of his throat and started hurling. Tears burned his eyes as partially digested chicken spewed out of him. His unwilling stomach contracted as he forced its entire content up and out. His fingers crawled around the edge of the trough and turned his knuckles white. Lurching forwards once more, Ivar choked and coughed. The pungent stench invaded his nostrils as he heaved until there was nothing left. 

He knew he was a mess, a dirty, sweaty, smelling, disgusting mess. He’d learned from the best. When he flung his head up, his heart leapt as he watched Ludolf’s lop-sided lip curl up from repulsion. 

Continuing to his act, Ivar clumsily crashed onto his stomach and in the process knocked over the trough. 

The youngest descendant of de Haar did not know how fast he could flee from the shed, as splatters of vomit rained down onto his leather boots. 

Although his entire stomach was empty, Ivar felt content and victorious. He’d conquered the enemy without lifting a finger and saved Piglet’s virtue, at least for another night. 

Indecisive, he turned back to the quivering pile of hay. Piglet had morphed back into a sniveling mess and that form of a woman was foreign and appalling to Ivar. He much rather fight the Giant with both his hands tied to his back then to retreat to the end of his box. 

But he was cold and damn exhausted from being in a continuous state of alertness. So even though Piglet’s soft weeping was off putting, he crawled back, stole half of her hay and lay down beside her. 

“Shut up Piglet,” he growled at her, shifting on his side with his back towards her. Although the warmth of her body was rather welcoming, he did not want to give her the impression he was growing soft on her. Ivar could cope with blood, pain and violence, but any form of gratefulness coming from a woman, chilled him to the bones. Such gratitude might give her the impression she mattered something to him, which evidently would give her power over him. And he did not want to be used simply for being a longing weakling, because he did not crave her approval nor care. 

Ivar certainly did not want to feel loved. 

“Shukraan,” she thanked him soft and humble and draped her arm over him, pulling herself tightly to his back. Ivar’s body stiffened by her uncharacteristic forwardness and bit the inside of his cheek so hard he drew blood. Her upper body fitted perfectly against his and he could feel her heartbeat jitter rapidly. For a moment, he wondered which one of their hearts galloped faster.

Ivar inhaled a deep breath and blew out slowly: “shut up piglet,” but his words lacked its intended venom. 

She reeked, she had absolutely no respect for him and Ivar tried to think of many other reasons why he should not find so much relief in her embrace. But the truth was, her warmth and closeness gave him more comfort than any blanket or fur coat ever could.

And so he clenched his jaw over and over, sucked on the inside of his bloody cheek and remained stiff-backed and wide awake, because he could not swallow the fact that a reeking savage managed to continue getting underneath his skin.  

.-.-.

A/N: ok I know this was a ‘preventing a rape’ chapter, but I think those two together are cute af. As I mentioned before, I really like to torture Ivar and I think Piglet’s embrace comes pretty close to the many times the Giant beat the shit out of him. He simply cannot deal with kindness. I’d like to thank a few readers in particular: @youbloodymadgenius, @xbellaxcarolinax, @shanntgoatgruff, @pieces-by-me, and @readsalot73. Who’ve all been so motivational and I can’t thank you enough for all your kind words<3 My personal life is very time consuming, so I’m not sure when I’ll be able to update this story, but know I’m doing my very best to continue! 

Xoxoxo Nukyster 

The tagged ones:

@youbloodymadgenius

@xbellaxcarolinax

@saldelys

@shannygoatgruff

@pieces-by-me

@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa

@readsalot73

@lauraan182 @conaionaru

@sarahh-jane

If you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

[rhetoricalrogue]

Wayhaven Week, Day 7

For Wayhaven Week 2020, hosted by @otomefandomevents. Thanks for having this week, it’s been so much fun seeing what everyone comes up with and getting back to knocking the rust off my own writing.  I haven’t completed a fandom event in some time and it feels really nice to contribute to all seven days!

Prompt: Mend Pairing: Mason/Zoe Dawson Warnings: in-book level violence, slight injury mention, tiny Book 2 villain spoilers Word Count: 1,662 Summary: Take a hike in the woods, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Worst. Date. Ever.

There was something to be said about a warm shower after being soaked to the bone from getting caught in the rain. Zoe curled up in her bed at the Warehouse, the duvet draped over her shoulders like a cape, and concentrated on the material in her hands.  Rain still pounded against the windows, but she was grateful to be indoors instead of out in it.

There was a sharp knock on her door and she turned her head in time to see Mason come in, a mug of something in his hands. “Thought you might need it,” he offered, handing it out to her.

She took a deep inhale, enjoying the scent of freshly brewed coffee as the warmth of the mug seeped into her hands. “Thanks.” She pat the side of the bed. “There’s room enough for two over here, you know.”

Mason smirked, but didn’t hesitate to slide into bed with her. “Just can’t wait to get me in bed with you, could you, Sweetheart?”

Zoe rolled her eyes and set the mug on the bedside table to concentrate on what she had been doing. “That is such a tired line, Sunshine.”

“And yet it still manages to work.” He rested his chin on her shoulder and looked down at the material in her lap. “Is that my shirt?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing with it?”

She held up the needle and thread. “Well,” she started, continuing to stitch as she talked, “you have a hole in your shirt where a hole doesn’t belong and I’m patching it up for you.”

“Didn’t know you knew how to sew.”

“Brace yourself: I also know how to embroider.” She smiled at his soft snort of laughter, his arms casually draping around her to bring her back flush to his chest, his legs bracketing her hips. “You should check out my Etsy shop.”

“I really don’t see you as the type to do those Live, Laugh, Love or Home Sweet Home type samplers.”

“No, but do you see me being the type to do elaborately done flowers surrounding Fuck this Shit or Don’t be a Dick on it?”

His arms tightened around her waist. “Yeah. Yeah, I totally see something like that coming from you.”  He silently watched as the long gash on his shirt’s sleeve was mended, Zoe making stitches so small that he had a hard time trying to see where it had been cut in the first place. “I’m okay.”

She froze, hands reaching for the travel sized pair of scissors in her mini-sewing kit she had brought along with her in an overnight bag once that had managed to just eventually stay at the Warehouse. “I know you are.” Her fingers smoothed over the mended material. It was drying, but she had scrubbed the sleeve to make sure she got all his blood off before she started sewing. “Why wouldn’t you be?” She closed her eyes, desperately trying to tamp down on the fear that had seized her earlier that evening.  She and Mason had been on patrol on the outskirts of town, following up on a tip that some leftover Trappers had made a temporary base of operations somewhere in one of the many abandoned industrial buildings that dotted the countryside.  It was supposed to be a quick reconnaissance only mission, just observe and take note of their whereabouts and then report back so the entire unit could go neutralize them.

And the evening had been incredibly quiet too. The two of them had made their usual banter as they hiked, but Zoe had stopped to simply enjoy the peaceful look on Mason’s face the further they got from town. 

And then the bottom had dropped out of the sky. It had looked like rain all day long, but then again, it had looked like rain for the past week without anything to speak of, so neither of them had expected the sudden thunderstorm to hit.  Luckily, they had been close to the old abandoned steelworks that hadn’t seen anyone in it since probably the seventies. Zoe’s foot had slipped in the softening dirt and while she had wrenched her ankle pretty badly, at least Mason had saved her from a face full of mud by catching her and slinging her over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes as he sprinted the last few feet towards shelter.

Unfortunately, they hadn’t been the only ones to find the steelworks. Zoe was hopping on one foot while cursing her ankle when she realized that Mason had gone absolutely still, the sound of his warning snarl warring with the rumbling thunder outside. She’d barely had a second to unholster the Volt from her hip before the Trappers they’d accidentally discovered attacked.  Luckily, even as outnumbered as they were, they’d had the slight advantage of being on their feet where most of the Trappers had been seated around a makeshift fire.  Mason had made quick work of most of them while Zoe had taken down her share, adrenaline making her forget about her twisted ankle.

She had been in the middle of cuffing the unconscious Trappers with their own supply of zip ties when she noticed Mason inspecting his forearm, his free hand digging into his back pocket for a cigarette before realizing that the rain had ruined what was left in the pack.  She wouldn’t have said anything, except she happened to catch the way blood dripped down his arm to spatter on the dusty concrete at his feet.  She’d hobbled to his side as fast as she could, hands ready to rip her own shirt to act as a makeshift bandage before Mason had shoved his sleeve up to his elbow, showing her that while the skin underneath was bloody, it was whole.

One quick phone call to Adam had the rest of Unit Bravo, accompanied by several other agents to transport their quarry, at their location within minutes. She’d protested, but Mason hadn’t listened to her as he scooped her up in his arms and settled her into the back of the SUV Adam had been driving. To his credit, he hadn’t argued when she plucked the cigarette from his lips that he had lit from the pack he found in the back seat console to smoke for herself, he merely sparked up a second one and reached out to grab her foot and keep it elevated on his lap for the remainder of the ride back to the Warehouse.

The debriefing had been quick, both of them tired of being soaked to the bone and their replies snippier than they probably both meant for them to be.  Blessedly, Nate had been the one to suggest calling it a night, seeing that they had gotten enough details for a preliminary report and they’d get back to it after a change of clothes and a good night’s sleep.  For her part, Zoe had shot Adam an apologetic glance before limping towards her room.  There was a silent sorry for being grouchy that was left unsaid between them, but she felt better when he sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly and his eyes softening as he nodded in understanding.

Mason had surprisingly left her alone to shower once he was satisfied that she was able to put weight on her ankle and move around by herself.  Luckily it hadn’t swelled much and after using a wrap from the first aid kit she found underneath the bathroom sink, felt a lot better than it had earlier.

“At least no one died this time,” Mason told her, his mouth muffled by her shoulder and bringing her back to the present.

“No one died the last time,” she countered, turning her head to look at him.  “Though you came damn close.”

“Still here, aren’t I?”  He held her closer, his chin nudging her oversized shirt’s neckline out of the way so he could press a kiss to her exposed shoulder, then another to the side of her neck. “You can’t let one time get to you.”

She exhaled. “I know. Letting things get to me means I become a liability.”  She frowned. “But I didn’t freeze.” In the moment, she had channeled all her fear at the possibility of Mason making a repeat performance of being overwhelmed with no one around to help them into pure rage, attacking hard and fast so the Trappers wouldn’t have an opportunity to hurt him.

“No, you didn’t.” There was a thread of pride in his voice as he shifted closer.  “You did good, Zo.”

“You weren’t too shabby yourself, Mason.” She held up his finished shirt. “Even if you did get tagged in the end.”

He made a dismissive noise against her skin. “Better me than you. At least I heal up without needing stitches.” Mason reached out and took the shirt from her hands.  “Damn, this is good work.”

“You think? I tried to make the stitches small so you wouldn’t feel them against your arm.”

Mason put his hand into the mended sleeve and try as he might, he couldn’t even tell where the rip had happened. “Can’t feel a thing.  I wish we’d teamed up earlier, you could have saved a bunch of my clothes from getting trashed after missions.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Well, I can’t have that. You look damn hot in this shirt.” She moved so she could set her sewing materials on the nightstand next to the now-abandoned mug of coffee. “Though you look damn hot out of it too.”

Mason chuckled. “You flirting with me, Sweetheart?”

“Fucking trying to, Sunshine.”  Zoe laughed when Mason tumbled them both across the bed, somehow pulling the duvet out from between them in the process.  He grinned against her mouth as she tangled her hands in his hair and it wasn’t long before the two of them were lost in the other, the thunder and rain outside muting the world around them.

[vintage-story-time]

Family Games by Ray Todd

Chapter 8

Glynn was up early, unable to sleep. He spent a long time in the shower,

enjoying the hot water, soaping himself thoroughly. When he was dry, he

inspected his face in the mirror, thinking that perhaps he had grown more beard

overnight. He sure felt a lot older.

Standing before the sink he thought about what he had done the night before, and

felt tingly all over. It hadn't been another wet dream; he had really, actually,

fucked his mother. True, he hadn't been able to spend the whole night with her,

and hadn't gotten nearly enough of that glorious pussy, but she had fucked him

back. She had loved his prick and played with it and fed him her tit. She had

talked dirty with him and told him that even though his father's cock was much

bigger than his, she dug his prick just as much.

He looked down and saw his shaft rising, the head spreading as if it could feel

the magic caress of his mom's velvet cunt. Those sleek, long legs and the way

she moved her crotch, the way she rolled her terrific ass -- Glynn got hard all

over and his balls began to ache.

It was Saturday, he remembered, and his dad wouldn't be going to the

construction outfit he owned today. Damn, Glynn thought; he wanted to fuck some

more, and he wanted his mom, not Lorena. Not right away with his sister, anyhow.

Mom had promised to teach him a lot of things about sex, like how to eat her

cunt, and he was more eager for that experience than for anything else. Maybe he

could get Lorena to take dad out of the house for a couple of hours; he sure as

hell couldn't wait until night.

Trying to whistle, he went downstairs and headed for the kitchen, his stomach

growling. He had already downed a glass of juice and had bread in the toaster

when she came in. Glynn looked up at her, thinking that his mother was

fantastically beautiful in a red robe that clung to her hips and outlined the

high mounds of her fine tits. The robe swung away from her molded legs when she

walked, too, and the glimpse of them made his mouth dry up.

Her coal-black hair swung loosely down her back, and she wore red lipstick that

made him somehow think of the lips of her cunt, those soft, soft lips he had

never actually seen up close. He blushed when her eyes caught his, and felt like

some kind of nut because his face turned red. But she smiled at him, her lashes

half lowered over sultry dark eyes, and he perked up immediately.

"Good morning, dear," she murmured. "Did you sleep well?"

"Kind of," he said. "But I wanted to be in your bed."

She came to stand close and lift a scented hand to his cheek. "I know, lover; I

wanted you there, too. Maybe there'll be a chance today. Would you like that?"

Damn! He wanted to grab her and rub his stiffening cock into her belly, to hold

her by the cheeks of that alluring ass and to bury his face between her tits. "I

have to screw you today, mom; I have to."

Her smile widened, and she dropped her hand to squeeze his prick. "So eager and

ready. Just as soon as it's possible, darling; I promise."

She left him standing there with his shaft paining, and made a pot of coffee

while he watched every movement of her superb body with avid eyes. It was still

hard for him to believe he had gotten into her cunt, that he had pumped her hot,

juicy snatch full of his come, and that she wanted more.

When he heard somebody else coming, he hurried to the table and sat down, to

hide his erection. It was Lorena, looking fresh and supremely happy, dressed in

tight cutoffs and a floppy but thin bandanna shirt that showed the bouncy

movement of her tits. She looked a question at him, and he winked. She winked

back, and grinned broadly.

His sister was really a cute girl, he thought, one that any guy would be lucky

to screw. And now she had fucked their father; the experience had made her glow,

he saw, and wondered if he looked as joyful this morning.

"Hi, everybody," Lorena said, skipping over to the stove and putting her arms

around her mother's waist to kiss the back of her neck. "Morning, mom."

"My, isn't everyone chipper this morning," Arlene said. "I hope your father is

in a halfway good mood."

"Oh, he will be," Lorena said, and blew a silent kiss at Glynn.

Glynn wondered how she had managed it; his sister couldn't have held down his

old man and practically raped him when he woke up. And how had she taken that

prick, the one mom said was so much bigger than his own? He guessed a girl's

pussy could stretch as much as was needed. Lorena brought the toast and ducked

her hand beneath the table to nip his shaft, laughing when he flinched.

Then Eric Johansen came down to breakfast. It was the only meal he shared with

the family, Glynn thought, staying away at lunch on business and not coming home

for dimmer because he didn't want to.

"Morning," his father said gruffly, and Glynn sneaked a glance at him to see if

he could read anything on the craggy face, but the man wasn't showing anything.

"Better hurry, dad," Lorena said. "Remember you promised to take me out and show

me the construction site today?"

Arlene Johansen turned from the stove, one eyebrow going up. "Oh? At this late

date, you're showing an interest in your children?"

"Don't start," Eric said and took a cup of coffee from his daughter. "I thought

it was time they both got to know a little about the business, but one at a

time."

Glynn met his mother's eyes in mute, intent appeal, and she nodded slightly.

"All right, then; Glynn and I will manage to take care of ourselves. That is, if

you have nothing on, son?"

He half choked on a piece of buttered toast. "N-no, mom; guess I'll stay home

and help in the yard or something."

His father only grunted, and Glynn knew a vast feeling of relief, then a

sensation of exultation. He was going to be alone with her, with his lovely

mother; they would have most of the day to themselves! The knowledge shook him

to the core, and he clamped his legs together to keep his cock from jumping,

crazily. Right in the living room, he thought -- with the drapes drawn and doors

locked; right there on the floor, with both of them stripped naked.

Somehow, Glynn held himself together until they left. Gathering up purse and her

weird hat, his sister leaned close to him and said softly, "Have a lot of fun,

little brother. Dad and I are going to a motel, so you'll have plenty of time."

All he could do was nod his head and smile weakly. Lorena really had it rolling,

and the day ought to be a ball for both of them. For all four, he corrected

himself; their parents would dig the action as much as they would, he was sure.

He listened for the station wagon to pull out of the driveway, and sat for a few

seconds after he was certain they were gone.

"Mom," he said, "can I help with the dishes?"

"I'm putting them in the washer," she answered quietly. "They can wait, but I'm

not so sure I can."

She held his hand as they walked into the living room and they separated only to

close the drapes. But he wanted some light, so he snapped on the bar lamp as she

turned to him with her hands by her sides and her chin up.

"Here, darling -- not upstairs in bed?"

He shook his head. "Here on the floor, mom. I've watched you here, peeping under

your skirt when you got careless with those fantastic legs, making pictures in

my head how you would look all naked, trying to make believe that you would

drink too much and pass out and nobody else would be home. Now it's all coming

true, and I want to screw my hot, beautiful mother in the living room."

"Of course you can," she murmured, and reached to undo the belt of her robe.

He sat on a barstool, knowing a trembling in his legs, and watched her open the

robe. The red of it made a bright frame for the long, willowy body exposed to

his view, and he gazed enraptured at the creamy expanse of woman flesh she

showed him. His mom's tits quivered at the least movement of her shoulders, and

he stared at them fixedly as she dropped the robe.

They were rich and heavy, round and firm, with those long, brown nipples

sticking out invitingly. She cupped them in both hands, offering them to him,

and her voice was low in her throat when she said, "Hadn't you better get out of

your jeans, dear?"

Fumbling at his zipper, he dropped his eyes over the smooth planes of her belly,

down to that prized treasure between her full thighs. His mother's pubic hair

was black as midnight, curled tightly, thickly grown in an entrancing vee whose

tips narrowed and spread themselves up into the delicate creases formed by her

groin and the upper reaches of her incomparable thighs.

"You -- you're so beautiful, it hurts my eyes," he mumbled.

Her smile was warm and bitchy, her tongue darting out pinkly to wet her red

lips. "Do you really think so, Glynn? I'm so glad; I want to be beautiful for

you, hot for you."

Her hand left her breasts and slid insinuatingly over her hips, down across her

belly, and her slim fingers toyed with her mound. "Here I am, lover. Here's what

you want."

Glynn kicked out of his jeans and whipped his tee-shirt over his head, not

knowing or caring where it landed. His stiff cock stood erect, the head of it

glistening, and already a tiny droplet of fluid hung there.

But when he stepped down and went toward her, his mother drifted back. "Just a

second, dear. You said you wanted me to teach you something, and I will. Here,

let me take a sofa pillow."

Uncertainly, he stood with his prick thrust out while she stooped to place the

pillow upon the floor. "There, Glynn; there are two ways for a man to eat a

woman, and I'll show you the first one. Lie down, darling, and put your head on

this."

Obediently, for he would do anything for this woman, he stretched out on the

carpet with his head braced. She moved over and put one shapely foot on each

side of his rigid body, so that he looked up into the hairy nest he adored.

Glynn could see the lips of her cunt then, peeping shyly pink from the black

furry thatch. It was like a mouth, he thought, but far more lovely, and

beckoning him to know its richness.

Slowly, she crouched, bending her body bit by bit until she was kneeling over

him. Her knees snugged his hips, and she rubbed them up and down tenderly,

swinging her hips, making the round white globes of her breasts sway

provocatively.

"Your body is so smooth," she said, "and very appealing, Glynn. I'll bet the

young girls go wild over it."

"I -- I only had one, before you," he said. "And I wish you could have been the

first, mom."

"You're sweet," she said, and moved so that her cunt came down upon his belly,

hot and softly wirey, crispy but somehow soft moss. Working it around, she made

him wiggle, and he reached for her hips.

But when he touched them, his mother slid up to his chest and gave him a few

moments to revel in the intimacy of her pussy on his breastbone. As he stared

into the dark, shaggy forest of her pubic hair, she said, "Just do what comes

naturally, lover. Kiss it and love it, and run your tongue right on inside the

lips. Up near the top, when you feel around, you'll find my clit; it's a little

nubby thing like a pea. Work on that darling."

As she moved even closer, he caught the pungent aroma of her cunt, a perfume all

her own, musky and sensuous, like some night blooming flower. Crisp and

beguiling, her mat was at his nose, and with a sigh of happiness, Glynn stroked

her ass cheeks and nuzzled into the tempting fleece.

It was woolly against his face as he went into it, and right away he found the

sweet honey of her labia. He pressed his own lips against them, panted into

them, and as his mom rolled her ass in his hands, he pushed his tongue down

through the softly spiked hairs into her body. Shuddering as he did so, Glynn

shoved his tongue between the hot and slippery lips, on into her vagina.

His teeth pressed to her pussy, he began to lap like a puppy dog, luxuriating in

the taste of her, in the spicy flavors of his mother's steamy cunt, drawing her

oily lubrication into his mouth and swallowing hurriedly. He wanted to chew her,

and he did, gnawing the pussy lips tenderly while she moaned and rocked her

crotch down against his head.

"That's right -- oh baby! That's the way to eat me -- oh yes, yes! I love it --

I love you."

Glynn sucked her cunt lips into his mouth, opening wide to bring them in. She

was sugary and blazing, and he sucked hard, drinking down her juices avidly,

rubbing his chin into her crotch. Letting her rubbery slot ease back into place,

he tongued into it again, reaching as deeply as he could. Remembering what she

had said about the pea-shaped thing, he felt along the wet silken lining until

he found it.

His mother quivered sharply then, and hissed as he sucked on it, as he worked

his teeth down to where he could chew it delicately. Her belly rolled over him

as she dropped to her hands, and her ass swung in quickening arcs while her

crotch stroked his cheeks, his chin. She was fucking his face, he thought

dazedly; his sexy hot mother was screwing his mouth.

"Uhhh!" she grunted. "Uh-uh -- oh, darling! You're terrific -- it's so good, so

wonderful -- eat me, Glynn. Eat your loving mother's cunt, son!"

He redoubled his efforts, snorting and chewing, licking and sucking, and her

movements grew more frantic. She thrust hard against his mouth and ground her

hairy wet snatch into it with almost brutal strokes. He clung to her ass, eating

the cunt he loved more than anything else in the world.

"C-coming!" she cried out. "Ah, Glynn -- you marvelous little lover, your mommy

is coming!"

He felt her vibrate, felt the sizzling tissues of her snatch tighten

convulsively, and knew an added release of her love oils. Holding to her,

continuing to lick her box, he rubbed his nose across her palpitating mound.

She sat up, shaky and weaving, balanced upon her knees. He wanted to keep

kissing her pussy, but she slid it wetly away from his searching mouth, moved it

down over his chest. "That was f-fine, lover. My head is still swimming."

Hiking her ass, she passed farther down his body, then lifted so that she was

poised above his heavily throbbing shaft. "Now we'll fuck," she said.

Glynn trembled when she wrapped her fingers around his rod, and went stiff, in

both legs as she steered the head into the drippy bush of her treasured pussy.

He held to her thighs when she started to lower her crotch, when the bulb of his

cock started to slide into the greasy lips.

In it went, easy and fine, penetrating deep into the clinging cavity as it

slipped deep. His mother dropped farther down, and yet more, until she was

sitting on it. He could feel the springy pressure of her hair upon his balls,

and the ecstasy of the cunt closed around his embedded prick. He was into his

mom again; he had his hard pole shoved up her opulent pussy and she was fucking

him.

"Such a young hard cock," she murmured, her palms flat against his chest and

grinding her belly, hunching slowly to him. "Fuck me, darling -- fuck your

mother and tell her what a great piece of ass she is."

He stroked it up into that fabulous cunt, into the hot, wet velvet grippings,

feeling his cockhead reach bottom. "You're the greatest, mom -- the finest piece

of ass anywhere. Fuck me the same way you fuck my daddy."

"Your daddy -- your father -- " she gyrated her ass and made his prick head

touch every tingling spot within her vagina. "He used to f-fuck me a lot, but no

more -- no more. Oh, feed me that young meat, Glynn!"

Glynn shoved it to her, lifted his ass every time she dropped hers, and heard

the suctioning noise his prick made going in and out of her oily cunt. Back and

forth it squished, his balls getting soaked with the hot liquids.

"I'll screw you forever," he gasped. "Your sweet cunt is mine, now -- all mine,

and I'll fuck it day and night. I love your pussy so much -- love your ass and

your tits and the way you screw me. Oh, mom -- mother darling -- you hot-assed,

beautiful mom -- "

She slammed it to him, making short, rapid strokes that circled briefly around

his hard-driving prick. "Go ahead, dear -- let it go! I'm going to come again

with you -- "

He moaned and clenched her ass, trying to spread her apart for the final,

twisting thrust that nailed down her womb. Then his cock turned into a long,

slim volcano spitting fiery lava throughout her scissoring pussy. A gush of

semen spurted up into her, bathing her cervix, raining greasily down to flood

his stilled prick.

His mother's breath gusted from her open mouth, and she threw back her head. Her

thighs clamped violently against his hips, her torrid cunt nibbled down upon his

glans. She was coming in undulating waves of rapture, rolling her ass and

beating her small fists into his chest.

Glynn thought they had made it fine.

[salexectrian-heir]

Loki: Chapter 11

Pairing: Solavellan Rating: E* 

Summary: Lavellan rescued a mischievious sphynx kitten outside her work who loves her dearly. But his destructive habits start to get out of hand when he steals her attractive neighbor’s underwear… repeatedly. 

 [Previous Chapter]  [Start at the Beginning]  [Read on AO3]

Chapter 11

Anise awoke the next morning to find Solas curled around her body with his face buried in her hair. How he was breathing she wasn’t quite sure. She rolled to face him. She untangled herself from his limbs as gently as she could. Apparently she didn’t need to have done so, he literally didn’t budge or notice at all. Out of curiosity, she picked up his arm and let it flop back down. Nothing. She couldn’t stop the smile that formed, nor the quiet bout of laughter that followed. He was dead to the world. She dressed herself, placed a chaste kiss on his forehead, and snuck out the front door--leaving it unlocked so she could get back in later.

No one had bothered her clothes in the laundry room, thankfully. Added to her luck, no one was using any of the machines. The snow must have had everyone taking a day off. She was able to switch everything over into two machines, leaving the others available in case someone did feel like doing chores too. Her stomach grumbled as she shut the last machine door shut.

If she was hungry, then her kitten most definitely was. Poor Loki. She was sure he was used to her being gone for periods of time by now, with her chaotic schedule. But it still stung she hadn’t even said goodbye.

And most likely her lover who lay unconscious and softly snoring where she left him would be hungry too--whenever he decided to return to the waking world.  She decided she wanted donuts and coffee but that would mean braving the snow outside. Which meant warmer clothes were called for.

Loki was excited to see her, needless to say.  When she cracked open the door to her apartment, his little face was right there. Nose pressing in the slight crack she had made, sniffing loudly and mewling to be let through.

“Silly boy, the door opens inwards.”

She stuck her foot through the crack to block off his point of exit. If he got out, he most surely would get the zoomies and tear up and down the hall, and take up more of her time catching him. She kept him at bay with her foot until she was inside and had the door secured behind her. His little paws immediately found purchase on her pants. He stretched, clutching the fabric and sliding along the floor as she waddled deeper into her apartment. When she got to the kitchen he finally let go, only to weave between her feet demanding to be held. After a few solid minutes of affection, playful bites, and incredibly loud purrs, she set him down to feed him. While he was distracted, she began to bundle up for her trek to the cafe down the street. Adding extra layers on top of her pajamas, a pair of extra thick socks, hat, earmuffs, scarf and boots. She was just able to make it out of her apartment with only one loud mewl of protest.

Her feet sunk into the fresh snow all too easily once outside. It was at least three feet deep, making it more difficult than she expected to maneuver. The street had been plowed, and a few fresh tire tracks suggested people were out and about. She had been lucky to have the day off, after having spent over 120 hours in it last week.  

Though the worst of the storm had passed, snow continued to fall. Large flakes floated delicately from the light gray sky at a leisurely pace. The urge to stick her tongue out and catch one was incredibly strong, but she refrained. For all she knew Vivienne could be watching from out of one of the many glass windows at the Hospital just across the street as she passed by. She couldn’t risk it. At least until the hospital would be mostly out of sight.

She let her mind wander as she waded down the sidewalk. The snow continued to fall, the hospital continued to operate, and the world kept moving. Life always kept going. She thought about all the choices that led her to where she was now, how drastically her life had changed, much like the snow changed Haven overnight.

Tipping her head pack, she watched the snowflakes on their descent. Diving off clouds, down to earth, scattering across the wind to where they eventually would find the ground. Or her face. She had risked everything, taking her own dive. Leaving her homeland, her family, an engagement, all for her dream, for her passion. A risk that paid off more than she could have ever imagined. And perhaps most important of all she felt she had truly found herself in the process...  she wouldn’t trade that for the world. Despite what it cost her. Her breath came out a wispy cloud in front of her face, going the opposite direction of the snow, disappearing up into the sky.

But she gained so much, too. A new family of residents and their antics, interns and their pestering need to be helpful, and attendings with their drama. Her patients and their faith in her, and her team. A purpose. A loveable nightmare of a kitten that she loved nearly as much as studying medicine.

And even a neighbor who… might just be more...

Memories from the night before flooded her mind. The way he felt as she fucked him, and the sensation of coming completely undone atop him. Her ears burned at the thought, and she shook her head to clear it. It was way too early for that kind of thinking. Even if he did just call her vhenan…

His heart.

She buried her face in her mittens and rubbed her cheeks in circles.

He called you Vhenan. It must have been a mistake… he was tired, and so out of it. He probably won’t even remember having said it...

Vhenan was not a casual pet name. Nor would you call the neighbor you were sleeping around with anything remotely close to that.

And yet.

She had gotten so lost in thought that she arrived at the cafe without realizing. She was just standing in front of the door, hands on her cheeks, taking deep breaths like some bizarre crazed idiot staring vacantly through the glass. For how long, she didn’t know. It could have been two seconds, or two minutes. She pulled herself together and braced for the awkward conversation she was about to inescapably having with the barista.

She couldn’t just casually say, “Oh, don’t mind me, just panicking because I might be falling in love with my old soul of a neighbor who comes with a fuckton of emotional baggage that just might outweigh my own, whom I only met a few months ago, that I met by chance when my kitten stole his underwear while he was doing his laundry” and expect that to go over well.

It even sounded insane in her head.

Graciously, the barista had been on their phone and had not noticed her mental crisis happening just outside. Or perhaps they were pretending and sparing her dignity. She ordered her usual (sixteen ounce vanilla red eye), and paused. For Solas, she eyed the specials...wanting to go with something extremely sweet and decaffeinated. Come to think of it, she had never actually seen him drink coffee before, so she wasn’t even sure if he liked it. He didn’t strike her as someone who particularly liked bitter flavors, given his love for insomnia cookies. She played with a piece of hair that had slipped out from under her hat before finally deciding on a decaf dulce de leche latte (with whip), hoping he would enjoy it.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she left the cafe, with their breakfast in hand. The walk back didn’t last nearly as long, despite the snow coming down a little bit harder. By the time she had gotten back up to his apartment her socks were wet, her hair was wet, and her hands were cold. But still she decided it would all be worth it to get to spend a lazy morning inside with him.

She stomped the snow off her boots outside his door and left them in the hallway. She doubted anyone would steal her size seven sopping boots. Once inside, the distinct sound of the shower running reached her ears. Perfect , she had time to set everything up.

He entered the kitchen dressed in a cotton shirt and a pair of comfortable looking jeans a few minutes later, just as she was pouring her coffee into a mug. He stopped mid step, surprise spreading across his face as he looked at her, then to the table, then settling back on her.

“I thought you had left.”

“Technically, I did,” she gestured to the food. “I figured why not treat ourselves on a snow day.”

“You...” he glanced out the window at the snow that was continuing to dance and swirl its way past the glass, “Anise.”

He appeared by her side in a flash, arm wrapping around her waist, tucking her in close. His body was so warm, heating lingering on his skin from his shower. She practically melded into him.  “You should not have, you are freezing,” he kissed her temple and pulled back abruptly. “And wet.”

“Apologies,” she said, a bit breathless if she was being honest. His proximity, the press of his lips, his warmth… would she ever get used to it? Or was her heart always going to react this way when they touched?

He pulled away, taking his wonderful body heat with him. “One moment.”

“Where are you--”

He disappeared and came back with a change of clothes. A sweater and pair of sweatpants. “You might find these more comfortable,” he smirked, “and dry.”

She opened her mouth to protest. Her apartment was only a couple feet away with her own clothes, but… her mouth clicked shut. The chance to wear his …. that wasn’t something she was going to pass up. She went to reach for them, but he set them aside on the counter, eyes locked on her.

He grabbed the hem of her pullover and began to ease it off her. Together, they peeled off each wet layer, him sneaking a chaste kiss each time one was pulled over her head. As she pulled off the last layer, his hands drifted over the bare skin of her stomach. Her breath hitched at the contact. One settled onto her hip, thumbs tracing circles over the dip of hip bones, causing goosebumps to ripple over her skin. The other grabbed the change of clothes.

Right after getting her head through the sweatshirt, his mouth brushed along the shell of her ear before nipping at her bottom lip. “You are far kinder than I deserve.”

She shook her head, pulling her arms through and tugging it down. “Stop talking like that. Let me take care of you, too.”

Luckily the sweatpants had a drawstring, otherwise she would have never been able to keep them up. Not that her pants falling down would be an issue, at least this point in time, given the expression Solas was wearing as he watched her hike them over her ass.

But she really did want to drink her red eye before it got cold.

She waited with baited breath as they sat together, and he took his first sip of his latte. His eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before widening. He took a more generous second sip.

“Do you like it?”

Solas blinked. “To my surprise, I do not hate it.”

She laughed, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“It’s sweeter than I expected.”

“It’s also decaffeinated. I wasn’t sure… I’ve never seen you drink coffee before so I figured it would be a safe option.”

“Yes, normally I avoid it, but I will gladly take this over tea.”

Anise made a face at him. She loved tea. “What’s wrong with tea?”

“I detest the stuff,” he said in a flat tone, but the edge of his mouth quirked up the tiniest bit.

Anise feigned a gasp and set aside her coffee. “I see. Well, I must be going then.”

For a fraction of second, confusion flitted across his features, before he realized she was teasing. “I can’t believe that is what would send you running, after everything else you’ve learned about me.”

She playfully bumped into his shoulder, “I jest. It just means more tea for me.”

Solas rolled his eyes and smiled into his latte. The subject drifted to how Anise had found the cafe as they sipped their drinks. She explained how everyone at the hospital hated the hospital coffee, how it always tasted watered down and stale, and how the machine almost never worked properly. And after one particularly grueling week as an intern, Anise had gotten so fed up fighting with the machine she stormed outside and went for a walk. And just so happened to stumble upon the hole in the wall cafe a few blocks down. They fell into companionable silence, finishing up their donuts.

“Anise.”

She met his unwavering grey eyes and her stomach started doing somersaults.

“Thank you, I cannot express enough of my gratitude to truly capture how much I appreciate…everything you do, and this,” he gestured to the breakfast before them, “but also… for last night.”

Heat crept into her cheeks. “You don’t have to thank me for that Solas, I wanted you too.”

He shook his head, smile creeping onto his face. “Not only for the sex Anise. For your presence. For… accepting me in the condition I was in. I was not ready to talk about it then, and you respected my boundary.”

Her heart clenched.

“Of course, Solas.”

He wrapped his slender fingers around the edge of his cup, and stared into its empty contents.

“There was an… incident at work.”

Anise placed a hand on his arm. “What kind of incident?”

She felt him stiffen beneath her palm.

“One between myself and the CEO.”

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

All it took was a gentle squeeze and he launched into the story of how he had been called into strategy meetings with the Vice Presidents and CEO.

“It was awkward, draining, and irritating,” he sighed, his tension evident in his rigid posture.“In theory, I shouldn’t have even been there given the level of my current position, but in reality they value my experience and tenure. If…I had made wiser choices earlier in my career, it would have put me on track to be in the Research and Development Vice President position.”

As if sensing her question, he cast a glance aside at her and said, “In layman's terms, it’s the highest position a scientist can hold.”

“I openly disagreed with our CEO, albeit a bit heatedly during the meeting. Perhaps I should have kept my opinion to myself, but I am not one for keeping silent when I believe I can offer a better solution.” He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Saying our illustrious leader disliked my outspokenness would be an understatement. So would calling what I said simply a disagreement, but I digress.” He pushed aside his coffee. “He cornered me after work. Tempers flared, I insulted him, and…”

It was hard to picture him being easily angered, he certainly never showed her that side of him. Snarky, yes. Annoyed? For sure. But she had never been the target of his ire before, she was still getting to truly know him. Cracking that reserved mask of his, one week at a time. She listened attentively, nodding for him to continue. When he didn’t, she prompted him. His brows knit together.

“He punched me.”

“What! Solas! ”

She was on her feet before she registered what she was doing.  She cupped his chin, delicately turning his face towards her. She scanned his face for bruising. How could she not have noticed? She was a doctor for fucking Sylaise’s sake.

“It barely landed. It was in terrible form, and didn’t leave much of a mark,” he reassured her, tugging her hand away from his face. “It happened on the second day, so I’ve had plenty of time to recover.”

“I hope you reported this,” Anise said, horrified.

She knew the answer to that based on his body language alone. “You didn’t… why not ?”

“I considered it, but…” he shrugged, “It happened outside of work. I fear it would only put more strain on the relationship I have with him. He clearly is not over what happened between his wife and myself. And...” Another mirthless grin. “I am prideful, hot headed, and foolish, Anise. I instigated.”

“I don’t approve but,” she leaned forward and kissed his forehead, “but I will stand by your decision. It’s not fair. You took the consequences of your actions in stride, he shouldn’t get to continue to act this way towards you. It’s entirely unprofessional.”

“It is. The rest of the week was just...” he shook his head, “painful.”

He stood and began to clean up their breakfast at the sink.

Following him over with their cups, “Why don’t you leave, work for a different company? One where you can be in the labs again?”

He took them from her and rinsed them out. “Letting go of the past is… easier said than done.”

She came up behind him, and wrapped her arms around his torso, placing her head between his shoulder blades. “I know. I just want you to be happy.”

He took a deep breath and turned around in her arms.

“When I am with you,” he smiled, and it was a genuine one this time, “ I am.”

[smarchit]

Do No Harm pt 2

READ IT ON MY AO3

Part 1 

It had been a few days since the Mandalorian had brought his son to Wynn's tiny hut to care for him. She had felt successful in how she treated her tiny patient, despite the Mandalorian's apparent apprehension.

Wynn had not heard anything from the unusual pair since he quickly left after giving her both a week's worth of food money and a new knife.

She hadn't needed the knife yet, thank the Maker, but the Mandalorian's words still rung in her head. 

They will come back.

The thought of those men from the Empire returning, coming into her home at night while she slept, bursting into her work while she was tending to a patient... It made her shudder in her boots. She would lay awake at night for hours with bated breath. She wanted to be ready for them. It felt like every shadow would be the one that slit her throat.

On the morning of the third day after the mysterious Mandalorian came into her shop, Wynn stood on her front porch as she swept the dust from her doorstep to prepare for the day. It was a bright, sunny day, the air already warm on her face. 

The sun seemed to vanish from the sky as a massive Imperial ship descended from the upper atmosphere. 

Wynn felt her heart stop as the broom slipped from her fingers. It clattered to the porch, forgotten, when the ship landed directly in front of her home. 

A flock of chickens scattered and clucked indignantly as the ramp shot out into the mud.

At least twenty Stormtroopers filed out, their guns drawn and aimed at Wynn, ready to fire. Some of them had flamethrowers and missiles strapped to their backs. They were prepared for war.

An intimidating man in a long black cloak appeared in the doorway and slowly walked down the ramp between the Stormtroopers. He pulled on his gloves and glanced up at Wynn, his face expressionless.

They had come back.

Mando had stuck around the small planet he'd found the young doctor on since he left her several days prior. He'd been monitoring the baby's condition and didn't want to be too far away from her should he get worse.

She had been right though -- his fever was down and he was eating. Mando was even more thankful that the kid was starting to sleep through the night again. If he kept it up, he may even be able to go back to work soon.

"Just a few more days of medicine, womp rat," he said affectionately as he stroked one big ear. "Then I'll go find you a big frog or something really gross with lots of bones."

The Child responded by blowing a spit bubble at his adopted father and clapping his tiny hands. His large eyes squinted with delight and he even flashed him a smile full of sharp little teeth.

An incoming call tore his attention away from his charge and he quickly pressed the button to answer it.

"Mando!" Karga barked, his expression sullied by a worried frown. "Where the hell are you?"

"Near that planet you sent me to with that doctor for the kid," he replied. "I can send you my coordinates. Something wrong?"

"Something is very wrong, Mando. This is bad - did you happen to see an Imperial ship pass by?"

"I'm well out of range for the hyperspace lane, so no. Why?"

Mando picked the Child up and set him in his pod before he started up the ship to high tail it away from the threat of Imperial discovery.

"How long were you on that planet?"

Mando thought for a second. "Overnight, just a few hours. Was I followed?"

"Yes."

Mando let out a soft curse in Mando'a. The girl.

"We intercepted a message the damn Imps sent out. Take a listen. Do what you need to. Rendezvous back here when you can. Be careful. Hope to see you soon."

As soon as Karga disconnected, another call came up with the intercepted Imp message attached to it. 

Mando pressed the button to play it and an icy chill slithered up his back when he heard that cold, distinct voice. Moff Gideon.

"Wynnlow Eshol, you have twelve hours to present to me the fugitive Mandalorian, Din Djarin, as well as the unknown species he carries with him. If you do not, I will have no choice but to destroy everything you hold most dear. It is your choice."

Mando swallowed thickly as he braced himself for the wave of panic that washed over him. It was the same fear and uncertainty he had when trapped in the cantina on Nevarro when he first discovered who Moff Gideon was and what exactly he was capable of doing.

It had very nearly killed him. He had to go back for the girl, even if it meant facing off against an entire army. Protect others who cannot protect themselves, this is the Way.

He swore again and sealed off the Child's pod before he set a course for the sleepy village he'd found Wynn in.

Six hours had passed since Wynn's village was overrun with Imps. She hadn't seen so many since she was a little girl. Her heart thudded in her chest - the last time she'd seen this many was the day her mother was killed, only hours before the Resistance chased them all out.

Wynn had managed, despite her trembling fingers, to pull up the floorboard in the hallway where she kept an old model blaster tucked away for safety. She pressed her hand against the pocket of her skirt to check for the vibroblade the Mandalorian had left her in case they came back.

"Kriff," she whispered as she peaked out of the window. She knew it wasn't possible as she heard no other ships arrive, but the Stormtroopers seemed to have doubled in number.

Wynn didn't want to know how many houses had been ransacked as they hunted down the Mandalorian. Din Djarin. Is that his name? He doesn't seem like a fugitive. He seemed like someone who wanted to help his son.

Wynn bit her lip. How did that man know who they both were? How did he know a Mandalorian came to her to care for his child?

She kept the blaster close to her chest as she crept across the floor on her knees to her living quarters. All that was going through her mind was getting out of there as fast as she could. Six hours left to come up with an escape plan. Even if she told the Imps that whoever they were looking for was not there, they wouldn't believe her. 

It was only a question now of how fast could she run. Could she outrun a well-trained military?

As Wynn hurriedly packed a bag, she threw worried glances over her shoulder at every little noise in her house. Every creak of the floorboards sounded like someone coming to get her. Sneaking up on her, waiting to catch her off guard.

Suddenly, a warm, firm hand wrapped itself over her mouth and pulled her close against cold armor. The scent of blaster smoke and leather filled her nose and panic began to set in.

Wynn gave a muffled scream and thrashed wildly in an attempt to get away from her attacker. She slammed her foot down on their boot and kicked her legs backwards at her attacker. 

"Stop," came a deep voice, warbled by a vocoder. The voice only reignited your fear and you continued to thrash around. The voice came again, rougher, more irritated. "I said stop. That's enough."

It occurred to Wynn that the voice was familiar. She'd definitely heard that voice before...

Strong hands turned her around and she was suddenly staring directly into an intimidatingly dark T-visor. She could see her terrified face looking back at her.

The Mandalorian. 

Once he knew she'd recognized him and wouldn't scream, he slowly moved his hand away from her mouth.

"I... What?" she stammered. Wynn could feel her knees start to buckle as the Stormtroopers outside her door shuffled into a new position. She could hear someone bark orders, but couldn't make out the words.

"We need to go," the Mandalorian ordered, his voice low as he leaned in close to her ear. "Now. They know I'm in here. Follow me."

His hand locked around her wrist like a vice as he lead her through her home like he was the one who had lived there for the last twenty-something years and not her.

Mando brought her into the kitchen where the door had been propped open just enough for him to get his wide body through. He pushed her in front of him and out the door into the garden just as a loud bang came from the front of the house.

Wynn screamed and Mando wrapped his arms around her to keep her steady as the explosion rocked the ground at their feet.

"Run!" Mando ordered. He grabbed her hand and took off towards the forest as fast as their legs could carry them.

Wynn felt the heat from the explosion as she ran, her hand still clasped in Mando's. Something sharp hit her back and leg before she made it to the edge of her garden. She stumbled over a large squash and dropped to her hands and knees with a cry of pain.

Mando stumbled backwards and hoisted her to her feet. He kept one hand around her waist as he hauled her from the mud.

"There they go!" one of the Stormtroopers yelled from behind the retreating pair. "Fire!"

Mando turned briefly to glance at the danger behind them before he roughly pulled Wynn into his arms.

"Hold on!" he shouted over the sound of blaster fire and explosions. 

He pressed a button on his cuirass and held her close as they quickly ascended into the sky.

Wynn could hear the blaster shots whizz by her ears, a little too close for her comfort. Some of their more accurate shots pinged off of Mando's armor, narrowly avoiding her uncovered skin. The pain in her back and leg was worse now that they were no longer on the ground and she wasn't running for her life. It stung and burned and she hissed in pain, her grip tightening out of reflex.

"Don't look down," Mando said quietly, his helmet pressed against the side of her head. "Keep your eyes shut. Focus on your breathing."

"What's going on?" Wynn asked, wincing a bit as her voice cracked. She dug her fingers into the space between his pauldron and back plate to steady herself as Mando adjusted his grip on her. "What's happening?"

"I'll explain everything later," he said softly. He sounded remorseful, if Wynn was any judge of his emotion. It wasn't an easy thing to do with that helmet and vocoder, but she was sure that was a tinge of sadness to his voice. "When you're safe."

A few minutes later, the pair descended below the treetops to where his ship was docked. It was well out of the way of prying eyes of the villagers and any potential scouts that would come along.

Mando released the latch on his jetpack and dropped to one knee as he landed. He loosened his hold on Wynn's waist as soon as he was steady back on terra firma. 

Wynn hissed in pain and almost immediately fell to the ground, clutching her leg. 

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Did you get hit?"

"Kriff," she grunted through gritted teeth. She pulled her hand away from her skirt, her palm and fingertips stained with blood. Quickly, she drew her skirt up her thighs and twisted her leg around to examine her wound.

Shards of transparisteel had sliced both her skirt and her leg open as she fled. When she hunched over to get a better look, Mando noticed some of the back of her dress had been shredded in the explosion and her exposed skin was covered in lacerations. His beskar had protected him from both blaster fire and shrapnel, and he was used to holding the kid in his arms for safety. But not another person - someone so inexperienced with battle.

"Can you walk?" he asked as he held a hand out to her. He bent low to scoop her into his arms when she shook her head no. "We need to get moving. Come on."

Mando set Wynn down on a crate in the holding area of the Crest before he disappeared up the ramp to the cockpit. He quickly readied for takeoff and didn't even bother to do his normal checklist before he gunned it to the closest hyperspace lane. He punched in the coordinates for Nevarro and flicked the autopilot switch before he sank into the seat with a sigh.

Mando briefly checked on the kid, sound asleep in his pod, before he sent a simple message to Karga: "Coming in tomorrow."

He stood and reached for the medkit under his chair and stopped by the fresher for an additional syringe of bacta. While he normally cauterized his wounds, he knew it wasn't ideal for everyone. It hurt and she was scared enough already without him even laying a hand on her.

Wynn was still right where he had left her seated on the storage crate. She had a faraway look in her eyes as she stared off at nothing in particular.

Mando knew that look. Shock. He knew how she must feel - alone, afraid, hurt. He saw her body tremble as the adrenaline slowly wore off. Those cuts were about to hurt a whole lot worse...

"Hey," Mando said quietly. He approached slowly, not wanting to startle her. 

She looked up at him when he was nearly in front of her. Her green eyes were wide with tears that threatened to spill down her rounded cheeks. She looked lost.

"You're safe," he murmured. He set the medkit down beside her and crouched down in front of the crate. "I need to look at those wounds."

Wynn's lower lip wavered slightly as she watched Mando prepare a bacta shot, his gloved fingers deftly readying the medicine. 

Mando lifted her injured leg up and placed her foot in his lap. He pulled off her shoe and noted how she winced when his hand brushed against her ankle.

"You tripped - it was this one, right?" he asked, gently squeezing the bones and tendons to check for any breaks or a sprain.

Wynn gasped sharply and tried to pull her foot away. The tears started to slide down her face as Mando tightened his grip and pulled her ankle back.

"It isn't badly broken," he continued. "Lucky for you. Two shots will heal everything with only a bit of scarring."

Wynn sniffled and looked away. The initial shock seemed to be wearing off now, soon to be replaced with either complete denial or anger. Either was fair game, Mando figured.

Before she could say anything, he swiftly injected the first shot into the soft muscle of her calf. It would sting for a few seconds before the relief spread to her injuries. 

"Gotta get your back now," he said, bringing himself back up to his feet. "Can you pull your shirt down?"

Wynn's head shot up so quickly it almost startled him. Her cheeks were stained with pink and the tips of her ears were almost the same shade as her hair.

Mando felt hot underneath his helmet and he wondered, briefly, if it had always been this kriffing warm in the cargo bay.

"Not like that," he grumbled as he took a seat beside her. He readied the second shot of bacta to inject into her shoulder.

The light caught a silvery scar along the back of her neck when she moved her hair aside, and Mando followed it below the collar of her shirt with his finger tips. He almost forgot himself until Wynn shivered slightly at the touch. Goosebumps broke out on her shoulders and he swiftly pulled his hand away, a cracked apology barely making its way through the vocoder.

Mando injected the second shot of bacta and almost instantly, Wynn's shoulders slumped in relief.

In a few minutes, she fell against his shoulder, too relaxed from the double shot of bacta to keep herself upright.

Mando kept a steady hand on her shoulder as he stood to scoop her into his arms for the second time that day. 

Wynn's head rolled against his chest plate as he carried her down the ship's narrow hall. She felt so warm through his shirt and even through his armor that it startled him. He hadn't been this close to another person in so long.

He took her to his small cot and laid her down on the thin mattress, taking care to remove her shoes and placing them within her line of sight when she woke. Mando also pulled down an extra blanket from the bin above the cot and threw it over her. Once the ship was in hyperspace for an hour or two, it always got extremely cold.

As he turned to leave to make his ascent to the cockpit, he sighed. 

This is all your fault, Din.