#the sound of his bristly cheek against her skin when he looks at her

[missbubblesoda]

early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (16)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (26) | (27)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 3.8k

The sharp hissing threatening to split your skull open was all you could hear at the moment. That, and the violent palpitations of your own heart, accelerating as you rushed up the stairs. You didn’t hear the sound of your footsteps hammering on the wooden floors of the hallway, and neither the loud bang of the office door slamming shut behind you. The only thing you could register was the sight his bedroom door, slightly open, was allowing you to see: Him, sitting on his bed, blankets pulled all the way up to his waist, head turned in your direction, lips putting on a smile the moment your eyes met. But you didn’t return it. Instead, you rushed to his side.

Your hands reached for his face, and when his warm skin met your cold fingertips, that’s when the hissing finally stopped. That’s when all the other sounds started to become audible again, including the words you had been chanting like a mantra since you had arrived at the base just moments ago: I’m sorry.

He remained silent through your apologies, and not a single second did he stop smiling for you. However, his demeanor made you think of a wilted vine, starved of sunlight, clinging to the fence in the same feeble, dejected way that smile was clinging to his lips.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” You repeated, hands still cupping his cheeks, which were bristly from the overgrown stubble that had taken over his face while you were away. But it was your lips that realized, as they covered his face with kisses, that his body wasn’t actually warm: It was burning.

You stared into the dull, lackluster sapphires that were looking back at you, and wished this was just another one of those unpleasant dreams you had been having lately.

“Commander, I would have come sooner.” You really would have. You were doing nothing at home but staring at the ceiling, night after night, wasting your sanity and energy in stupid, useless thoughts. While he… he had been lying here, in agony. Mourning not only the loss of his men, but that of one of his limbs as well.

You glanced at the spot where his right arm should have been, but in its place, there was nothing but layers and layers of bandages, saturated with red, wrapped just below his shoulder.

“I should have believed you when you said it was going to be a harsh winter.” He said, and all you had for a reply was an anguished, sorrowful laughter. The sad smile he was still putting on for you tugged at your heart strings, and tore them one by one, causing a frustrated cry to come out of you, as you leaned forward and planted a soft kiss to his lips.

You let your lips linger against his, eyes squeezed shut, and not a single muscle of your body moved as your hands held his face. You felt like the most selfish of souls, enjoying the good company of your parents, playing draughts with your father after dinner, revisiting your favorite childhood treats with your mother in the kitchen, basking in the sweet nostalgia only her cooking could provide, and even having the mental space and freedom to entertain pointless thoughts like the Commander’s ex-lover and whether he still had feelings for her or not.

“I’m so sorry.” You said again, apologizing for both the disastrous series of events that had ensued while you were away, as well as for your own selfishness.

You buried your head in the crook of his neck, where you found the comfort only his perfume could provide.

But you also found guilt and shame there.

Because you realized that, in this moment, when his mind, body, and soul were all weakened and exhausted… you were doing nothing but taking away from him. Draining and demanding, even if it was just his pleasant scent or his reassuring warmth.

But you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help feeling at home every time he held you against his chest, nor the way your body craved, and needed, his soothing, loving touch. That’s why, when his fingers started drawing calming, reassuring patterns on your back, you allowed yourself to melt in his embrace.

“…told you there was something between them.”

“You mean I told you.” For a brief second, you thought the voices you were hearing came from inside your head, as a byproduct of distress. But, when you turned around and locked eyes with the source himself, you realized that wasn’t the case. “I caught Erwin staring at her too much, often at unnecessary times.”

Captain Levi.

“Well, they spend so much time in each other’s company, it would be weird if it didn’t happen.” Your eyes traveled a little to his right where they found Captain Hange, who was giving you a wide, nose-wrinkling, and very contrived smile, convinced that she was speaking low enough you couldn’t hear.

But it didn’t end there, because next to her you discovered the awkward, and very stiff, faces of Armin and Jean. Both trying their best to look anywhere but at you.

You stood up abruptly, immediately assuming a straight posture, as if saluting had the power to erase from their memories the scene they had just witnessed.

“I guess we’re done here.” Captain Levi finally said, his characteristic dead eyes giving him an unfazed demeanor, which completely contrasted the mental state you were currently in. “Erwin, we’ll discuss the remaining details in next week’s meeting. And, if you try to get up again I’ll personally destroy your ankles with my bare hands.”

Not once did his tone of voice changed to match the menacing words that were coming out of his mouth. And without looking back, he proceeded to exit the room.

Captain Hange, on the other hand, stole a couple of glances back as she was leaving. And a part of you wondered if she considered them to be discreet, or if, like Captain Levi, she just didn’t care.

Jean and Armin followed close behind, and you stared at their backs as they disappeared out the door, not knowing where to begin processing everything that was going on at the moment. But, before your brain could start making an attempt, you heard Armin’s timid voice.

“Sh-should I close the door or leave it open?” He was looking at you, asking you, as if this was your room and not the Commander’s.

“Just close it.” Captain Levi’s voice answered from the office.

You stared at the door Armin had just closed, before slowly turning to the Commander, and the moment your eyes met, your vision started to get blurry, tears threatening to spill if you did so much as to blink. You could see the blues in his eyes, as well as all those things you had seen after the 57th expedition last summer, they were all there again. And his eyes started to narrate a story that was too disturbing for the lips to tell.

_

You woke up after what felt like the worst of naps. Not only because you were arguably more tired than before you had fallen asleep, but also because of the sharp, burning pain now present in your neck. Luckily, however, the fingers now playing with your hair were distracting enough to make you forget about the discomfort.

You rose from the position sleep had found you some hours ago: Sitting on a chair you had placed by his bed, head resting on his lap. By force of habit, your hand automatically went to his forehead.

“You’re having a fever again.” You noted, rising up from your chair. “I’ll go get some water.”

But before you could take a step, he grabbed your hand, and you tried not to think about how weak his grip was.

“Commander, for the last time, I won’t go to my room.” He opened his mouth, but before any words could come out, you answered the question he hadn’t even had the chance to ask. “And no, I don’t need to sleep. You on the other hand…”

His condition was far from optimal, but even so, it wasn’t concerns about his physical health the ones taking up all the space inside your head. The doctor, whose constant visits you found very reassuring, had been very honest: healing would take time. Lots of it. It was meant to be a painfully slow process, and as long as you followed his instructions, which you were doing very strictly, the Commander would heal.

Physically at least.

It was his mental health, however, the one keeping you up and by his side at night. You couldn’t peek into his head and supervise how the healing process was going in there. But, in your experience as a human, you knew that the moments you were alone with your thoughts were the worst. That’s why you didn’t like to leave him to himself for long periods of time, and even if it was a simple trip downstairs to the kitchen, you tried to make it as short as possible.

You came back a few minutes later, with the water jug you had promised, as well as the herbal infusion you had brewed for him. And, even though he probably had the energy to hold the mug to his lips, you didn’t want to test it, so you placed a hand under the warm porcelain for extra support, in case he needed it.

“The doctor said these type of fevers are expected.” You reassured him, as well as yourself, and gently pushed the sweaty hair out of his forehead as he drank. “And you’ve already began to sweat it out. Mother says sweating is an indication that your body is slowly recovering.” You caressed his head lovingly, composing a smile that, in your current mental state, felt very unnatural. “She taught me this recipe. It’s not as pleasant as your favorite lemon tea, but it’s very effective.”

“What do you mean? I would drink this every day.” He joked before taking another sip. “I should thank your mother later.” His voice, sounded just as feeble as his grip, and his labored breathing made it seem as if words were made of lead, and it took everything in him to say them. “Speaking about that, how’s everything back home?” His eyelids looked heavy, and you felt like they could fall closed any moment now, which would be good, actually. “Your parents must have been happy to have you back home with them.”

You needed him to close his eyes and rest, but you figured a little distraction from the distress he was going through would also help his body in some way. So you geared up for unleashing a very long, and hopefully sleep-inducing, summary about your Winter.

You remembered telling him about your embarrassing losing streak in draughts against your father, about your mother’s new obsession with creepy garden gnomes, about the week you spent in the countryside visiting relatives, and about the rum cake recipe you learned from your grandmother, all while very carefully omitting the part where you obsessed over his relationship with Commander Nile’s now wife, as well as the awkward details about that time your parents tried to arrange a marriage for you.

You also remembered telling him about the horror novel you had started reading, and even came clean about your struggles to fall sleep alone in your room after finishing chapter eleven. And you also remembered him chuckling at your confession. You remembered all that conversation.

However, what you didn’t remember was climbing into bed with him, and neither cozying up to his side under the soft, comfy blankets. You didn’t remember your muscles relaxing against his warm chest, nor your eyes closing. But you did remember the beating of his heart against your ear, and how safe it made you feel, whether it was in the middle of a mission gone wrong in a forest full of titans, or in the middle of the night in his bed, next to him.

The gentle sun rays of the early morning were the first thing to greet your eyes when you opened them again the next day.

And the second thing, was the sleeping figure beside you. You smiled to yourself, both because of the pleasant warmth of his embrace, and also because you were relieved to finally see him rest. The tea you had given him last night was one of your mother’s effective brews for pain. Maybe, and you said this with the type of maybe that is full of hope, his wound wouldn’t hurt as much today.

You had to get ready for work but you couldn’t move without risking waking him up. So you decided to be a few minutes late that morning. In your position, with his arm around you, holding you close, it wasn’t a difficult decision really.

He was so beautiful. There was something about the steady rise and fall of his chest, something about the sunlight and the way it traced his defined jawline, his high cheekbones, the prominent bridge of his nose, all the way down to his Adam’s apple; something about the way the morning light sparkled into the room, the nostalgic shadows it drew on the stone walls and timber floors, the illusion of warmth it created, even though outside everything was covered in a thick, white blanket.

It all made you think of a warm cup of chocolate on a snowy day. Sipping on it while watching the snowflakes fall, sitting by the window, your head resting on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around you in the same comfortable, pleasant way a wool blanket would be wrapped around the two of you.

It also made you think of the last picnic of the fall, sitting under a tree in the middle of some faraway woods, his back resting against the trunk and yours, against his chest. The chilly breeze making the crunchy leaves whisper about the two of you, as his mellow, pleasant voice would read you his favorite story.

And most of all, it made you think about how much you wished your mornings looked like this every day. Waking up to the comfort of his body next to yours, to his strong muscles under your head, better than the softest of pillows.

But there was also something about sunrises and their ephemeral nature, something that reminded you of how distant that future seemed, if possible at all. In a world as uncertain as yours, everything could, and most likely would, abruptly change. One day you could be yourself and the next day… a titan even.

You had read Captain Hange’s reports, both about the weird monkey-like creature they had come across, as well as what happened in Connie’s hometown. According to those papers, there was new evidence that suggested titans could actually be… human. Humans trapped in flesh-eating, cannibalistic monsters.

But, if that was the case, what criteria needed to be met in order to become one of them? Was there a possibility you could turn into one then? You squeezed your eyelids shut when a sudden tide of guilt washed over you, leaving you feeling selfish and inconsiderate. There you were, thinking about yourself when others had actually died, lost a part of themselves, or their whole family like Connie had. All while you were spending the holidays happily with yours. But, could you blame yourself? You didn’t think you could. It was a valid concern to have in a world filled with more questions than answers. A world as uncertain as yours.

And then, there was also Reiner, Bertolt and Ymir. You hadn’t been the closest of friends, but Reiner was like a big brother to everyone, including yourself, even though he was actually younger than you. There was no way he was the Armored Titan, there was no way him and good-natured Bertolt were the spies that had been living under the same roof as you all this time. And Ymir, was she even alive at this point?

“You look beautiful when you sleep.” His voice pulled you out of your head, and you looked up to find him smiling at you through drowsy eyes. Goodness, his morning face was so adorable. So soft. So vulnerable. The huskiness of his voice made you think of how much you wanted to become the first person he talked to every morning.

“Just when I sleep?” You joked, smiling as you propped yourself up on your elbow and brought your face close to his.

He shook his head, hand reaching for your face, lovingly brushing a strand of hair away and tucking it behind your ear. You leaned into his touch, caressing the rough, bristly skin of his cheek with the back of your fingers. As his eyes stared into yours, you saw all those things you wanted to do with him later, the ones you had been dreaming about just moments before he woke up, all those scenes from the distant future you wanted to have with him, and you wondered if he saw something similar in your eyes as well.

“You need to shave.” You said, smiling as your fingers stroked his chin.

-

You glided the sharp steel gently along his skin, losing yourself in the repetitive nature of the task at hand. There was no need to think about anything, none of that complicated stuff, just about moving the blade up and down, in short, smooth motions, always mindful of the pressure you applied, so you wouldn’t hurt him. There was no need to think about anything but his handsome features, nothing to do but memorize his remarkable bone structure.

And, any other day, you would have been glad to do just that, but not today.

Not today when his eyes were that dull and his lips, that pale.

You studied his distant, empty stare. This was the moment where, in any other situation, one would be compelled or socially required to ask ‘what’s wrong’. But, it was pretty obvious in this case, wasn’t it?

It was too much.

It was all too much.

You sighed, momentarily placing the blade and the basin on a nearby table.

“It wasn’t your fault. It is never your fault. Do you understand?” You asked, cupping his face with both hands, so he couldn’t look away. He nodded, but the way his eyes looked everywhere but at yours told you he actually didn’t understand.

Or agreed.

You held his face for a while, trying to find the right words to say, trying to think of a way you could help lighten the burden. In moments like this, putting your thoughts on paper was incredibly helpful to you, but that was not something you could suggest to him. The titans had even taken the ability to write away from him.

You started to wonder if it was better to have this conversation later, when his body had healed a little more.

Reluctantly, you let the moment go, and wiped the blade on a towel before proceeding to add the finishing touches to the other half of his face.

After some minutes of silence, however, his lips parted slightly.

“They are hum-”

“That’s something we don’t know.” You rushed to remind him, before he could finish his sentence. “There’s no conclusive evidence.” Your eyes were completely focused on the skin in the left side of his face, but your mind, on what he had just said.

“I found it exciting.”

“Sorry?”

“I found it exciting, when Hange told me.” His eyes were staring straight into the fireplace behind you, as if he was talking to the flames and not to you. But, unlike the wood, that started to reply with crackling and popping noises, you decided to remain silent and listen. “When she told me that titans could possibly be humans, I felt excitement.” He then turned to you, blue eyes piercing into yours, and you could have sworn that you saw them sparkle for a brief second. “I felt excitement and anticipation, before I felt guilt or remorse.”

You didn’t say anything, and instead, started to wipe the soap off his face with a wet towel. His eyes were glued on yours, silently waiting for a reply. But, after it never came, he opened his mouth again.

“And that’s-”

“Selfish.” You completed the sentence for him, and he nodded, seemingly satisfied you had finally said what he expected you to.

“I can’t cling to my selfish, comfortable motivations forever.” He said, eyes resuming the conversation they were having with the fireplace behind you.

“They’re selfish.” You spoke again, as you finished wiping the lather off his cheeks, still not looking into his eyes. “But they’re not comfortable.” You glanced at his missing limb. “And it’s you clinging to those motivations, whatever their nature, what has gotten us all this far.” You traced his jawline with the back of your hand, evaluating your own work. It was so soft.

He stared at you in complete silence as you rinsed the blade on the basin. His eyes followed you around the room as you placed the tools back in the drawers you had taken them from. You could feel his eyes fixed on you, but you could also feel that he wasn’t thinking about you. At least not exclusively.

“It’s only a matter of time.” You heard him say from behind you. “Before the wall between us and the truth falls.”

You turned to look at him before walking towards his bed, where you sat on the edge. “And you need to be there when it happens. So, please, get some rest.” You asked him softly, placing a hand over his.

“I had plenty of sleep last night. I can get to work now.”

“Nice try, Commander.” The doctor had been very clear: plenty of rest and no strenuous physical or mental activities. And, although the latter was pretty much a lost cause at this point, you would make that wouldn’t be the case with the first one.

“I really feel like I could go back to work today.” You heard him say just as you were about to leave.

“I’m not going to have to take Captain Levi up on his offer, am I?” It had sounded more like a threat than an offer, but for all practical purposes, it was the same. “You stay here, read or something. Or even better, sleep. I’ll go do our work, and if I have a question I’ll come ask you.”

And you closed the door before he could try to convince you.

-

next chapter

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[littlefreya]

Beard Burns

Request / Prompt:

Face sitting? 👉👈 ah henry making the reader sit on his face and grind against his tongue even when she’s overstimulated !! him gripping her hips and guiding her cunt against his face !! henry spanking her ass whenever she stops moving because Daddy makes the rules and he didn’t say she could <3 

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader

Warning: 18+, Face riding, oral sex - female receiving, slight spanking. 

Words: 778

A/N: This prompt was ready eons ago but a lot some drama kept me from posting. So sorry about that Nonie, but better late than never and I blame @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ for getting my all wet for the Walter looks. Beta’s by my gorgeous muse @agniavateira​

Title: Beard Burns

There were only a few things which you and Henry disagreed on: one of them being the state of his facial hair. Henry rather hated growing a beard while you found it undeniably attractive. The authoritative look made you weak, drifting an aphrodisiac display of maturity and intense, brooding energy.

Not to mention, the coarse hair scratching the most intimate areas of your body brought on new heights of pleasure.  

Luckily for you, a recent role he took demanded him to grow a full scruff. Every day when he returned from filming, you were surprised and ecstatic to see him with that thick beard and messy dark curls.

It was a quiet evening at your temporary apartment. The big bear was sitting on the sofa, going through some last-minute script changes while your feet rested on his lap. His thumb pressed at the base of your foot, kneading and massaging you with care.  

His loving ministrations were supposed to relax you. Yet there you were, nervously nibbling your bottom lip and throwing over some wanton looks. The way you twirled your hair and stared was not lost to him. Crooking an eyebrow without raising his head from the script, the left corner of his mouth twitched into a slanted, knowing grin.

"What?"

Languidly, you released your lip from your bite and breathed in a sigh, "That look, that beard, it suits you."

His smirk deepened, and he shook his head with amusement. "What am I going to do with you?"

Before you could answer, the hefty document fell to the wooden floor. Your waist caught between Henry's stark hands, holding you straddled over his thick thighs.

You immediately ground against him, slowly yet firmly, feeling the heat emitting from the collision at your groins.

"I can think of many things," you retorted sultrily, bracing your hands on his shoulders before leaning in to steal a slow, loving kiss. His thick facial hair tickled your supple skin, the dark, bristly curls giving off an animalistic musk that pervaded into your lungs.

When Henry kissed you, he took no prisoners. It was always intense and meaningful, leaving you a tingling, fluttering mess, and endlessly begging for more.

His tongue invaded your mouth. The rich sound of his baritone vibrating into your throat as he hummed with pleasure, making low, blissful noises to prove how much he loved tasting your lips. He made the same sounds when he kissed between your legs.

Both of you were out of air as he broke the kiss, panting loudly. Yet Henry had no intentions of stopping. His fingers were already working on the button of your jeans, and after a swift battle, you were bare from the waist down.

"I want you to sit on my face," he growled. Without waiting for an answer, he hauled you up with disturbing ease and hooked your knees over his shoulders.

"Hen!!!" You yelped, an intense spike of joy shooting through your spine as his bushy face met your inner thighs. Wide and skilful, his tongue licked across your folds while his beard grazed your engorged flesh. With one long slip of his tongue, he swiped from the bottom up, ending with a twirl around your clit. His fingers dug into your cheeks, squeezing and parting them as he slid his tongue over again to elicit loud cries of ecstasy from your throat.

Trying to regain control, you squeezed his shoulder while one hand reached below his head, giving you a counter as you attempted to ride his face and meet his vamping mouth. Nips and passionate kisses encouraged you for more, penetrating your juicy cunt and delving deeper as you bucked your hips and cried his name.

Pleasure drove through your body in an instant. The heat of your orgasm spread and intensified as his long tongue curled inside your canal and pressed at the familiar spot that made you see stars.

"Henry!!!" You whined, closing your eyes and shaking your head, only to be answered by the same pretentious hum. Alerting you that he enjoyed the tremors of your body around his mouth, just as much as you did.

Still raw from your orgasm you shivered, slightly embarrassed by how wet his beard was below your groin. The muscles of your thighs quaked around his neck while you tried to climb down. 

Yet Henry leaned back comfortably with no intention of letting go.

"Henry... I..."

The sharp sting of his hand met your ass, catching you mid-sentence and making you squeal. Looking below, you met his piercing, icy glare that only meant one thing:

He was far from done playing with his food.

[luv-eddiediaz]

Oh god. No. Not here. Not now. Not with these people. Eddie can't breathe, but he can't let them know he can't breathe. He loosens his tie just a little bit - the one Ana went back for after Eddie was discharged from the hospital.  His nervous laughter is really a way to suck some oxygen back into his lungs, and when a heavy hand touches his elbow, and the smile on its owner’s face distorts. He's going to pass out if he doesn't move, doesn't flee from this spiraling, spinning disaster.

"Could you, uh, could you excuse me?" He asks and plasters on his best charming smile, hoping his voice isn't as high and squeaky as he thinks it is. 

He catches Ana's eye from across the room as he moves through what feels like a sea of strangers. She's worried, but Eddie doesn't stop to explain anything and continues his way to the bathroom, where he locks himself inside and lets himself fall apart the way his body was begging to. 

His fingers curl tight the porcelain of the sink, and he tries, tries to slow his breathing. Finally, he tells himself to stop it in the mirror, even smacks himself across the cheek, but nothing changes. 

There's a soft knock on the door, and Ana's gentle voice comes through the cracks, "Eddie? Are you okay?"

"Fine," he grits out.

"Are you having another attack?"

"I said I'm fine!" his anger and frustration echo too loud against the tile of the bathroom. , get a grip, Diaz. "Can you just get Chris some cake? I'll be right out." 

Ana's fading footsteps are the only answer he gets, and Eddie focuses back on himself. He tries to remember what the pamphlet from the hospital said, or rather, what Buck said it says the night he found it buried on Eddie's counter and read it to him, but his brain is just a white-hot sear of nothing. Eddie pulls out his phone and dials Buck - no time to look for his name in the phone book. He doesn't answer, and Eddie nearly throws the phone into the sink.

"Damn!"

But it's Sunday, and Buck said something about Taylor coming over on Sunday, so, of course, he isn't answering. Eddie thinks for a second, in desperation, he'll call Bobby, but then his phone vibrates, and he sees Buck's smile fill the screen. He rubs his thumb over it before swiping to answer. 

"Buck?" He answers.

"Hey, you called?" Buck asks on the other end of the line, slightly fuzzy, but Eddie can hear the smile in his voice, and the vice around his heart loosens just a little bit.

"Buck?" He asks again as if he can't process anything else. 

"Uh, yea. Are you okay?" 

"No. Panic attack."

"But aren't you at that christening?"

"Yes."

"Shit."

"Buck, help.” He hates how desperate he must sound, but Buck’s already seen him at his most desperate, trying to hold onto his life and knowing, instinctively, that Buck would help him. He would save him.

Buck always saves him. 

" What have you tried?" Buck asks.

"Not much. Nothing. I just, I called you.”

"That’s good. Where are you?"

"Bathroom."

"You need to focus on something besides the panic. So, find me four things you see, Eddie. Try to be specific."

"Okay,” Eddie looks around the bathroom. He sees a million times too many things, and it takes him a second to focus in on something, “Uh, a pink shower curtain,” like your pink sweater that you say is salmon, but Buck, it’s pink. “white rugs,” dazzling white like your teeth when you smile, and that patch of skin that sometimes peeks through under your waistband. “a bristly hairbrush,” god, you’re hair is always so perfect, “and, and curtains on the window. They’re sheer; pink too,” just like that sweater.

"Good,” Buck soothes, “now, three things you can smell."

"Umm, vanilla soap,” sometimes you smell like vanilla, and sugar - like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day, “cinnamon toothpaste,” like in your bathroom, crumpled up in the corner, “my cologne,” you bought me this bottle for Christmas.

"That’s good, Eddie. Two things you can hear." 

"I hear people - outside the door."

"Not them,” Buck tells him, “Two other things. Ignore that sound."

"I hear - I hear crickets outside the open window, and I hear...you. Your voice in my ear, your breath,” I always hear you, even when I don’t want to.

"One thing you can touch," Buck says quietly, and Eddie takes a shaking breath, presses his hand over his chest.

"My heartbeat."

"Is it slower than before?"

"Yes."

"Good. Do you think you're okay?"

“Yea. I um, I’m probably just going to go home, sleep it off.”

“Good idea.”

“Thank you, Buck.”

“Of course.” 

Eddie hangs up and slips his phone back into his pocket. He isn’t panicking anymore, but he doesn’t feel great. He splashes his face with water and tries to smooth down all the places he’s rumpled before he opens the bathroom door and finds Ana on the other side, Christopher sitting next to her on the floor with a plate of cake in his lap.

“Are you okay?” she asks, putting a hand to his cheek, and it burns where there was just cold air against the drying water.

Eddie nods, “I’m okay. But I think I’m probably gonna go. In case it happens again.”

“Let me get my purse.”

“No, you stay. It’s your family. Just tell them I got sick.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yea,” he leans down and kisses her cheek before helping Chris up. 

Neither says much to the other in the car, but Eddie chuckles when Chris rips his suit jacket off the moment the door is closed. He sees the silhouette on the front steps against the fading sun before he gets the truck parked and shakes his head at the realization it’s Buck. 

"What are you doing here?" he asks when Buck jogs up to him.

"I didn't want you to be alone when you got home,” Buck answers quietly and then turns his attention to Christopher once the back door is open, and he’s climbing out, “Hey, buddy, did you have a good time? You look pretty handsome in that suit."

Chris rolls his eyes, "that's what everyone kept telling me. But then they said I would have looked better if I cut my hair.

“Well, you know what? I like this long, floppy look,” Buck ruffles his hand through Chris’s hair. It had definitely gotten long, and maybe a little out of control, but he didn’t want to cut it, and Eddie only remembered being dragged to the barbershop every five weeks to have his hair clipped, no matter how much he begged to keep it just a little bit longer. 

Chris smiles, “thanks, Buck.”

“Do you think you could give me a minute with your dad?” Buck asks when they all get inside the house. Eddie flips on the lamp by the door, and Christopher nods and leaves for his room, closing the door behind him.

“I’m fine, Buck,” Eddie says, walking further into the house, turning on lights as he goes. 

“Okay, but do you wanna talk about what happened?”

“No.”

“Was it too many people?” 

Eddie huffs out a laugh, “I’m half Mexican, Buck; I grew up going to huge parties, family and friends always over on the weekend. That wasn’t it.”

“What was it, then?”

“Why does it matter?” he doesn’t mean to sound as exasperated as he does, but sometimes Buck just brings it out of him. 

“Because if you can figure out what’s triggering you, you can figure out how to control the panic better.”

“I don’t panic.”

“You didn’t, but now you are. So let’s try and figure out why.”

Eddie sighs, “can I have a beer while we do it, at least?”

“If I get one too.”

They go into the kitchen, and Eddie takes two beers from the fridge and cracks one open before handing it to Buck. He watches him take a long, slow sip. Eddie’s hands start to shake around the glass, and he forces himself to look away, down at the shine of his shoes to keep whatever is trying to rise pushed down.

“Was there like some kind of a loud noise?” Buck asks. 

“No. It isn’t - loud noises have never bothered me.”

“Things have changed a little bit, though.”

“I don’t think they have anything to do with being shot. I know no one wants to believe me, but I’m fine about that.”

“Maybe no one wants to believe you because you were shot. That doesn’t happen to most people even once, and it’s happened to you twice.”

“I know, but I swear to you, I’m okay. I don’t think that’ what this about.”

“If you say so. Let’s recount the night then. What happened right before it started?”

“Ana’s great aunt, she - she said I was perfect for Ana -  a good addition to their family.”

Buck takes another swig from the bottle; his eyebrows are knitted in thought. If Chim or Hen were there, they’d make a joke about him not straining himself, and they’d only be kidding, but Eddie knows Buck has a lot of thoughts, a lot of good, deep ones, that maybe Eddie is the only one to have ever heard, “And didn’t you say the first time was after the salesman referred to Ana as Chris’s mom?”

“Yea,” Eddie says quietly.

“Do you think maybe you’re just having a hard time with how serious your relationship is getting?”

“It’s not getting that serious.”

“Eddie, she introduced you to like all her family, you went to an important family event, her great-aunt thinks your excellent husband material.”

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat, and he coughs, trying to force it out, but it sits there like a bubble trying to choke him, and the kitchen starts to spin, turquoise spiraling into stainless steel, spiraling into Buck. 

“Stop, stop saying things like that,” he sputters out.

“You’re starting to panic again, aren’t you?” Buck asks.

“When the hell did it get so serious? I was just - I don’t know what I was doing. I liked her, but I didn’t mean-”

Eddie backs against the counter next to the sink, he tries to loosen his tie, but he can’t make his fingers work. Then Buck crosses the space between them and replaces Eddie’s hand with his own, pulling down on the knot and unbuttoning Eddie’s collar. “Breathe; breathe,” he whispers to him and puts his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, and he’s so close Eddie has no choice but to look at him. He feels his hand in Buck’s, slowly pressing against the other man’s chest.

“Breathe with it,” Buck says of his heartbeat, and Eddie closes his eyes. It takes a few moments, but soon his breath is in sync with Buck’s heartbeat, and he’s not sure he’s ever felt this kind of calm before.

“Okay?” Buck asks. 

“No, but yes.”

“I’m gonna ask you something, and I need you to be honest - not for me, but for yourself.”

“O-okay.”

“Do you want Ana to be in your future? Your far future?”

“No,” he answers quickly, but it’s a question he’s asked himself before and was just too afraid to say out loud,  “but -”

“But what? Chris likes her?”

“Yes!” Eddie shouts.

“Maybe he does, maybe he even loves her a little, but he loves you more, and he wants you to be happy, and he knows you aren’t happy, and he probably knows it’s because of her.”

“He does?”

“Yes,” Buck takes Eddie’s hand away from his heart, but he doesn’t let go of it,  “your heart knows it too, and it’s screaming at you, Eddie, but you aren’t listening.”

“I wanted to be ready, to move on from Shannon, not just after she died, but long before that too.”

“I know.”

“Am I never going to be ready?” He can feel the wet of his eyes as he blinks up at Buck, vulnerable once again in front of him.

“I think you are, but not with Ana, and that’s okay. I mean, she’s the first person you seriously dated besides your wife, Eds. So it’s okay that she isn’t the right fit, and it’s okay if it takes you a little while longer to find who is.”

“Is Taylor your right fit?” Eddie blurts out, and it makes Buck let go of his hand.

“Whoah, we’re talking about you here.”

“Is she? It’s been four months, and you’re still together; she’s still actually here.”

“Yea, she hasn’t run away from me yet, and ya know, we have a good time.”

“She makes you happy?”

“Y-yea. I mean, am I ready to ask her to marry me? No, but I gave her a drawer last week.”

“A drawer?”

“Yea. She’s only got a few things in it; honestly, she lives more in the news van than anything.”

“You gave Taylor a drawer. In your loft?”

“Am I mumbling or something? A drawer, yes. In my loft.”

“That’s uh - that’s cool.” But, damnit, Eddie can’t do this for the third time. He doesn’t have the strength left. He grips the dishtowel hanging from the knife drawer just to ground himself to something.

“You okay?”

“Yep, yep.”

“You’re looking a little panicky. Maybe it’s not just Ana. Maybe you’ve just got a real fear of commitment thing going on. Even if it’s mine.”

“Shit,” his chest hurts this time, and his whole body is hot, but he’s shivering.

“Put your hand back on my heart.”

“No, no! God, that’s going to make this worse.”

“What? Why? It worked last time.”

“Exactly. And in the bathroom, it was you, so much you,” Eddie’s knees are weak now. He isn’t sure how much longer he can stay upright, and suddenly everything, fucking everything, smells like Buck.

“Eddie, you’re not making any sense.”

“I need you to go. Can you go, please?”

“I’m not going to leave you like this.”

And, of course, Eddie knows Buck won’t leave him. Buck will do just about anything Eddie asks, but he won’t do this. He won’t leave Eddie when Eddie needs him so badly. 

“Buck, please, you’re making things worse.”

“How am I making things worse?”

“Because you’re the only one who can make them better!”

“Eddie, Eddie.” Buck wraps Eddie up in his arms before he can fall to the floor, probably hitting his head on the way down. The instant calm he feels with Buck’s body pressed hard against his, his soft breath hitting the curve of Eddie’s neck terrifies him. It isn’t a new fear, but it’s one he’s been feeling so much more lately, one he can’t seem to ignore. He’s so tired from his body trying to run away from everything; his bones ache, his chest is sore. Finally, he closes his eyes and gives in to the fear, stops trying to fight or flee, and just lets Buck hold onto him. His fingers rake through Eddie’s sweat-slicked hair as Eddie’s breathing starts to slow.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Buck whispers into Eddie’s throbbing temple.

“It’s not okay at all.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m in love with you,” he rushes out in one broken breath, “it isn’t just that Ana feels wrong; it’s that you feel right. You’ve always felt right.”

Buck is quiet for what feels like a hundred moments before he finally seems to have something to say.

“Huh,” he breathes out from the back of his throat.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“What would you like me to say?”

“I don’t know. You could say that I’m insane, that you love Taylor, that you’re not into men, not into me.”

“I could say any of that, but then I’d be lying to you.”

“What?”

“Look, Eddie, I-I don’t know if I’m in love with you, but I feel something. Something more than I’ve ever felt with anyone, and I kinda keep thinking it’s going to go away, but it never goes away.”

“Huh.”

Buck laughs and gently sits Eddie up, tangled across Buck’s long legs, still safe in his arms, “are you okay?” he asks.

“I think I am.”

“Good.”

Buck presses a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose, and Eddie smiles before he tilts his chin, so Buck’s lips fall against his. It’s a slow, quiet kiss that lasts only a few seconds before they both pull away. 

Eddie is so tired he can barely keep his eyes open, so he lets them slip closed, lets Buck hold him closer in the middle of the kitchen floor until he falls asleep. 

[yespolkadotkitty]

Take What You Need

A special treat for the lovely @keeper0fthestars - a flimsy excuse to get railed into next week by Francisco Morales.

Warnings: SMUT. Porn with a flimsy nod to plot. Word count: 2300

Thanking @alwaysbethewest and @songsformonkeys​ for the beta!!

“All right! You heard the man, wheels up in thirty!” Redfly shouted across the small airfield. “Catch some sleep, eat, do whatever, but I want us all in that helo, in thirty.”

“Copy that,” Pope shouted back, heading off towards the thick bushes surrounding the hangar and aircraft. Ironhead followed, probably to try and talk some sense into him. Ironhead had always been the most sensible of you all.

In fact, it was William who had spoken up for you when Pope suggested you come along.

“She’s good with a rifle,” Ironhead said calmly. “And her Spanish is decent. Way better’n mine and Benny’s, anyways.”

Redfly - the infuriatingly traditional conservative middle-class American man - had ummed and aahed, and you knew it was because you had a vagina. 

But here you were, and you’d taken out two of Lorea’s guys from the roof with your rifle, so Redfly could suck your metaphorical dick.

The man in question loped back to the other side of the airfield, towards Pope’s informant, and started to talk to her about something.

“This is a clusterfuck of epic proportions.”

You turned at that voice. A little raspy, a little husky-edged, it sent a shiver up your spine. Always had, and probably always would.

Francisco Morales shook his head when you turned to look at him. His ballcap - dirty, soft - was pulled down low over his head. Hair the colour of milk chocolate curled out from underneath it. He met your gaze, and his own hazelnut eyes were so, so tired.

“It could’ve gone better,” you agreed, letting your eyes trail down his long, lean frame - a little soft in the middle, but you’d always liked his tummy.

Francisco - Catfish to you all, because during special ops training, he’d caught one almost the size of himself - was an enigma of a man. Soft, sometimes. Hard, sometimes.

You’d known him five years now, and during that time you’d seen him pull the trigger a foot from a man’s head without wincing, and you’d seen him comfort a three year old girl left homeless in a war zone, his voice soft, his touch gentle. The yin and yang of him fit, somehow.

Catfish scoffed. “Not sure how it could’ve gone any fucking worse.” He ripped off his cap, and your eyes were drawn to a deep cut on his cheek.

“What’s this?” You automatically reached up to touch his face. His tanned skin was rough under your fingers as you traced the edges of the healing wound. “It might scar.”

Francisco grunted. “Like that’s a concern right now.”

You grinned, dropped your hand. “It’ll be sexy. The scar, I mean.”

“You think?” He laughed without humour, wrung his cap in his hand, and you saw how drawn his starkly handsome face was, the patchy scruff around his jawline grey in places. God, had you thought about kissing that almost-beard, stroking your fingers over his bristly chin. “I wish being sexy was what worried me most. I’m fuckin’ losing my shit here. The scales are off the charts, the helo will never make it to the ocean-” he swore a stream in Spanish, and stuffed his hat back on. The frustration steamed off him in waves.

“Fish.” You braced your hands on his shoulders, looked up into his face, twisted with anger and fear. “We’ll be okay. We’ve had worse than this.”

“Yeah, but we’ve never had worse with you,” he bit off, shrugging off your touch and pacing away, shoving his cap back on, his hair curling at the edges. “Jesus fucking Christ, if anything happens to you, I’ll-”

“Fish!” You shout to be heard over the noise of the aircraft prep, the wind, the sound of Redfly and Pope’s informant arguing. “Nothing will happen to me. You saw me take out Lorea’s guys. And I saved your ass on that mission in Istanbul.”

Francisco shifted, adopting that hands-on-hips stance he always did when he was thinking. “I know.”

“Then what? I’m not a porcelain doll, Francisco.”

And you saw it. His eyes went hot when you used his full name. Hot and sort of.. Dark. Like he wanted to drag you into that hangar and bend you against the corrugated metal wall and rail you into next week.

And boy, you’d let him.

“What?” you challenged. He needed this release. Whether it was shouting at you or whether you wrestled until the fight had gone out of him, he could not fly that helo with your lives and that money at stake in such a state.

He muttered something in Spanish. Your command of the language was very good but his voice was pitched too low for you to make out the syllables.

“Oh, you wanna go?” You lifted your fists in a mock fighting stance. “You ever hit a girl, Morales?”

“There’s always a first time,” he gritted out humourlessly.

You danced around, goading him. “Maybe you’re afraid I’d kick your ass.”

Fish scoffed, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, in the line of his back. He was a loaded powder keg, seconds from a bloody explosion from the heat, the stress, the shooting. “Stop it.”

“Make me.”

You saw the moment his eyes changed - went dark again, and you turned, running for the hangar.

You heard him bark out a laugh as he pursued you, his long legs eating up the terrain. You ran flat out, reaching the hangar in under a minute, Fish hot on your heels. The minute he barrelled through the door you slammed it behind him.

“What the fuck?” he asked, confusion parading over his face - somehow even more alluring when he was dirty, tired, stressed.

You yanked him close and kissed him. It was the first time, and all the times you’d thought about kissing him, an inaurgural kiss, it was never like this. It was in your shitty home town, under some trees, or under the bleachers of the old high school, or by moonlight at the drive-in.

It took a second, and then Francisco was kissing you back, his lips fierce, hard, the kiss almost painful in its intensity. He tasted of terrible coffee and the beef jerky you’d all forced down, and you licked into his mouth, tangling your tongue with his, and the flavour of his little groan was divine.

“We don’t have long,” he whispered harshly. “What - what do you want?”

Your breath was coming in pants. He smelled of clean sweat, the outdoors, and the spring rain, and you were wetter than you’d ever been. This close to Catfish, you couldn’t cope with the well of desire, too long ignored. “You can’t fly us like this, Fish. In this state.”

His hands clenched on your hips. “What?”

“Relieve the pressure.” You slid a hand down his body, cupped him, felt his erection like steel in velvet. Your blood fired. “For us both.”

“Shit.” Francisco leaned down, rested his forehead against yours. “I’ve fucking dreamed of this. But not… not like this, like you’re a cheap fuck. You’re not. You’re… everything.”

The words shook you, and you pressed your lips to his, drinking him in, loving him, like you’d loved him nearly five years, and always been afraid to rock the boat.

Well, now the boat had run aground and it was time.

“You can show me that when we’re safely back on American soil, soldier. For now…” you yanked him close again, pressed your palm to his cock. “Take what you need. Give me what I need.”

“Fuck,” he bit off, and then he was kissing you like a starving man falling upon a banquet, all tongues and teeth and Frankie, and you pressed as close to him as you could.

“How long do we have?” you panted out.

He shot his cuffs, checked his watch. “Quarter hour.”

“Then make every minute count, Morales.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed. And he got on his knees in front of you, pulling at your jeans.

Your heart leapt into your chest at the first brush of his breath on your bare legs. Frankie rolled the denim down, ghosted a kiss over your underwear.

“You would not believe, baby, how often I’ve jacked off to the thought of having you,” he whispered.

“Fish, if you don’t do something, I swear to God…”

He took off his cap, passed it to you. “Wear this for me.” After you slapped it on your head, he pulled your hand back down, thrust it into his hair. You tugged him close as he yanked your underwear down and proceeded to fucking feast on you.

You’d never experienced Frankie like this. Near feral, his tongue licking at you like you were his last meal, his favourite food, a longed-for treat. He used his hands - hands you’ve wished were on you, inside you - to spread you so he could spear his tongue inside you, nip at your clit, write his name with his tongue, whatever the fuck he was doing, it felt like Heaven. 

“Stop. Stop,” you whined, pushing at his hair. “Want to come with you inside me.”

He looked up, those cocoa eyes dark and hot and irresistible, and then he was on his feet in a hot second, and he spun you around to face the wall.

“Hold on to something, baby,” he muttered against your neck before he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin at your pulse point, the tiny hurt only making you wetter.

The sound of his belt buckle being undone and the shove of the denim down his thighs was loud to your ears.

“Please,” you gritted out, arching your back.

Frankie slid a palm down your naked butt, and you heard the growl in his voice when he said, “Sweet girl. When we get back on US soil….” And then he positioned himself and slid home in one smooth, hard thrust, and you gripped the hangar wall hard and cried out at the pleasure and the stretch. He kept going until he bottomed out, curses in English and Spanish falling from his lips in that husky baritone made for pure sin, and then as you groaned in satisfaction, he curled a hand around to your front and rubbed you in maddening circles.

“We don’t have long,” you warned, muscles already fluttering.

“Fuck. Won’t take long. You feel too good. You’re so fucking tight. How - how do you-”

“Fast and hard,” you instructed, and you felt him twitch inside you at your words, heard his moan. “I wanna feel you tomorrow, Francisco.”

“Oh fuck,” he grated out, and then he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in. The force was just what you needed, and you cried out at the wonderful pressure, the push of him inside you, the texture and shape of him. Better, harder, larger than you had imagined.

You spread your legs as much as you could given the  denim around your calves, and Frankie fucks you hard, keeping one hand on your hip and the other at the apex of your body, strumming you expertly.

“Wish we had more fucking time,” he rasped into your hair, pressing a frantic kiss there. “Sweet girl. You feel like heaven. Always.. Knew.. you would.”

“The things I’m gonna to do you when we get home,” you shot back, and pressed your hips into him. “Oh God, more, please.”

He upped the tempo, and the sound of your bodies slapping together was obscene. His fingers circled your clit once, twice more, and you flew off that sweet cliff edge, crying out his name and burying your face in your elbow to muffle the sound.

Frankie’s hips faltered as he gave you all he had, thrusting into you at a punishing pace before his hips stuttered.

“Two minute warning!” Ironhead yelled from outside.

“I want to feel you come inside me, Fish,” you whispered over your shoulder.

“Fuck.” And he tumbled over the precipice too, hips shaking. You felt him jerk inside you, felt the hot surge of his climax, and he pressed down hard on your clit, triggering another little orgasm for you, too.

“Jesus. Fuck.” Frankie leant his forehead on your back, panting. “Christ.”

“You gotta get some more swear words, Morales,” you said, but your breath hitched too, and you wiggled your hips, making him shiver.

He pulled out, zipped up, and then took care putting your clothes in order. When he tugged you close for a kiss, you tasted yourself.

“First fucking chance I get,” Frankie rasped, his lips in your hair, “I’m gonna take my sweet time doing everything I want to you. With you.”

“Then get us over those mountains, Francisco, and I’m yours.” You nip at his bottom lip, then sprang apart when Redfly yanked open the hangar door.

“Fuck’s sake, Fish, we thought you’d gone AWOL. It’s go time.”

“Copy that,” Frankie shot back. You let him leave first, glanced down to admire his ass in those jeans. 

And you thought, with single-minded determination: We just need to get over these mountains. Then Francisco Morales would be all yours.

Redfly looked at his departing back and then turned to you, eyes narrowed. “Why are you wearing Fish’s hat?”

****

Tagging the Pedro pals: @emmy-dandiliom918​ @thirstworldproblemss @cinewhore @poenariuniverse​ @keeper0fthestars​ @scarlettvonsass​ @casually-introverted​ @knittingqueen13​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @10-96dispatcher @buckstaposition​ @agirllovespasta​ @songsformonkeys​  @gamingaquarius​ @mstgsmy​  @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @dornish-queen​ @maxphillipswasright @winters-buck​ @mourningbirds1​ @pascalitomorales​ @mrsparknuts​ @alldatalost​ @abuttoncalledsmalls​ @mrschiltoncat​ @auty-ren​ @heatherbel​

it’s 10.45pm my brain has failed if I left you off I apologize!!

[remmushound]

Bay/rise 48!! @errorfreak88 @brightlotusmoon @digitl-art-monstr @dakotafinely @selfindulgenz @yarchurr @sprinklestheditty @sententiously-sarcastic

Something was happening. Shredder pulled away from the door with a loud growl but not of anger. It almost sounded as if he was in pain. His hands went up to clutch at his head, his claws curling under his chin and cupping his head in an almost careful cradle. When that didn't help to sooth him, he started to thrash his head with an angry roar, spitting foam and what looked almost like tar as he slammed his full weight against the containment.

The container hardly moved, but Shredder was insistent. He kept rocking and slamming and spinning in circles like he was rabid.

“Uh dudes— is he okay?” Mikey backed away from the container and ran to hide behind Raph, his eyes wide as he watched the struggling yokai.

“What on earth…” Leo narrowed his eyes, his mouth hanging open like a startled frog.

“Not on this earth.” Donnie commented; he had been waiting for so long to say that.

“Donnie!” Leonardo ran to his brother's side, grabbing Donatello and tossing him back to where Krang’s destroyed body suit rested. “Let him out!”

“Are you crazy?” Donnie and Raph cried as one, then immediately glared at each other for copying.

“A little.” Leonardo answered.

Donatello didn't question Leonardo’s order, immediately working to try and free the panicking creature from his trap.

“What are you doing—?! Don’t let him go!” Leo tried to reason.

“Please!” Leonardo ran over to address Leo, taking the massive hands in his. “Trust me!”

Leo stared back at him. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Leo turned back to his brothers with the slightest nod.

“Let him try.”

“What— but Leo!” Donnie tried to argue. “We just caught him; we can’t let him out!”

“It’s his brother in there, Donnie! He gets to call it.”

The doors hissed open. Shredder stumbled out the doors the minute they were wide enough for him to fit through, and though the bigger brothers immediately braced themselves for what they saw as an inevitable attack, Shredder stopped the minute he got into open ground and could collapse in on himself, the black-as-ink substance leaking from every part of him and spilling out into the technodrome.

Mikey looked down and found it pooling around his feet, immediately pulling away and trying to kick himself free, though it stuck with him stubbornly. “EW! I stepped in Shredder goo!”

Shredder clawed at his eyes and mouth, his own claws leaving deep gashes in the armor that only served to spill more of him out of it.

“What is this stuff?” Michelangelo whimpered as he climbed on top of Draxum to get away from the spill.

“It’s the Oni magic…” Draxum said. He looked back up at Shredder. “He’s dying.”

“What’s gonna happen?” Donatello asked.

“I don’t know…”

With a final, piercing cry of a creature's final breath, Shredder screamed to the sky and then collapsed. The minute he crashed, his armor split and fell apart, leaving Raphael in the middle of the pile. A second of stunned silence passed before the armor started to drift up, one piece at a time, and fate away into nothing. No— it took Leonardo a second to realize— not nothing. It turned into something new.

From each armor was birthed a cloud of pink petals carried on a wind no one else could feel. Raphael flipped over to witness the event as it unfolded, and for a second he was almost certain the petals shifted into a human figure staring down at him. The phantom was gone the next second, drifting away in the breeze and following the rest of the petals through an air duct and out to God-knows-where.

“Wow.” Mikey looked down at his now-clean foot, then back up to where the pedals disappeared. For a second, he had been sure he felt the tickle of someone there— someone free from a massive weight that had bore down on them. He was certain he must have felt it, and then he was certain he had simply made a mistake because he didn't feel it again. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“The hell happened?” Raph growled.

“I… guess we won?” Donnie offered with a shrug.

“He left.” Michelangelo said softly.

“RAPH!” Leonardo was the first to run to Raphael, wrapping the snappers head in his and hugging the massive weight against his plastron. Raphael gave a startled yelp, but then fell to laughter at Leonardo’s slick and almost slimy touch. He grunted twice more when he felt the soft and leathery Donatello wrap his arms around Raphael’s carapace, careful of the bandages that were quickly coming unwrapped, and as he felt the rough and thick skin of Michelangelo as the box turtle hugged his side. Then the soft and squishy touch of April came as she wiggled her way under Leonardo to hug Raphael’s belly, and lastly the sharp prickle of Yoshi’s bristly fur as the rat took his sons hand and hugged it tightly.

It took Raphael a second to react, but when he did it was to stand up, carrying every member of his family either in his arms or on his shell, and hug them with all the force of a friendly grizzly bear. He nuzzled each of them in turn and when he got to Yoshi his tears were wiped, but they proved to be flowing too heavy and thick for Yoshi to stop the flow completely.

“There there… it is alright…” Yoshi reached up to plant a gentle kiss on Raphael’s cheek, which the rest of his family hurried to follow. “You are safe…”

“I… I…” Raphael shook his head as he tried to make the words come out, but all that happened was more tears and a weak whimper as he buried his face once more in the shelter of his brother’s chest.

“It’s alright, big guy!” Leonardo tried to comfort, “Seriously, if you keep crying anymore, we’re gonna drown!”

Donatello gave a sigh and pulled a tiny cocktail umbrella from his tool belt, holding it above his head to block himself from Raphael’s tears. Michelangelo kept nuzzling his beak and cheek into Raphael’s hardened biceps, while April just held on tight for dear life refusing to let go.

Draxum cleared his throat from behind them, and when they turned, they were faced with Draxum holding two sets of weapons. Two Tonfa and a kusari-fundo. Michelangelo gasped and ran to Draxum, taking the weapons from him with a happy squeal.

“Our weapons!” Michelangelo hugged Draxum tightly, burying his face in the boneplates of Draxum’s chest. “Thank you Draxum...”

He hugged Draxum a moment more before running off and returning to his brothers, giving Raphael his Tonfa back and earning another hug.

“Master Draxum?” Cassandra asked softly, finally removing her hood and mask.

“Yes, Cassandra.”

“I don’t understand...” she said softly, “are we friends with the turtles now...?”

Draxum looked back at her most curiously. “Do you want to be?”

Cassandra looked to the reunited clan. They were hugging each other and kissing and they seemed so happy to be back together! Cassandra thought it over for a short moment in her mind.

“Yeah... I think I do.”

“H… how long was I out?” Raphael asked. It couldn’t have been for too long— his brothers looked unchanged— and they were still in the technodrome…

“Just a few hours! No biggie!” Leonardo laughed, putting his hands on his hips after giving Raphael a final pat on the head.

“A f… few hours?” Raphael whimpered, “It felt a lot longer than that… it felt like…” Raphael looked down at his hands. They were shaking and though he put conscious effort into trying to stop them, they only started shaking worse.

“Hey, hey…” Leonardo put a hand on Raphael’s shoulder and squeezed him to bring him back to reality before falling into another tight hug. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters…”

“B… but… but how… who… how did you…?”

“It was Leo’s plan.” Donatello said, “You know Leo’s always been good at that kinda thing.”

“Leo… led you guys?”

“I wouldn’t really say led.” Leonardo motioned vaguely, “More like… uh… well, yeah, lef I guess is… the word.”

“Oh…” Raphael frowned and hung his head.

“Hey…” April gave Raphael a pat on the back, “Let’s get you back to the lair, big guy. Let the doc’s check you up.”

“Right…” Raphael got to his feet and almost immediately Donnie descended upon him, flicking down his goggles to read Raphael’s vitals.

“How strange. From what I could see, the armor locked into you with Shredder— I was expecting some fractures, gashes, cuts, something, but… now you don’t seem hurt at all. Actually, you look almost better than you did when you went in!”

“Yeah! How come he’s not all withered and old like Draxum was?” Michelangelo pouted.

“He’s a mutant, Michelangelo. And he has hamato blood. I have neither of those things.” Draxum answered. “It was foolish of me to think I could wear the armor in the first place…”

Leonardo didn't immediately follow his brothers, and neither did Leo. Both spent the longest time just watching their families walk away.

The bay brothers were in the back, straying a little behind the hyper, younger brothers to watch curiously as they went by before following.

“You sooooo have to teach us how to do that glowy thing when we get home!” Michelangelo cheeped from beside Raphael.

“Er. Glowy thing?”

“You know— how you broke through Draxum’s vines! And your chest was all glowy...?”

Raphael held a hand to his chest with a soft whine. “I don’t remember any of that...”

“You sure you don’t wanna scounge for some tech-whatever?” Raph asked Donnie, “I mean—ain’t like Krang’s gonna need it anymore."

“Quite frankly, Raphael, I would be happy if I never see this place ever again.” Donnie answered.

“Speak for yourself…” Donatello gave an evil grin as he rested his head on his bundle of stolen tech, wrapped up in the black suit he was once wearing.

“When did you have time to get that?” Michelangelo asked, his eyes going wide.

“Othello Vohn Ryan makes time!”

Raph laughed and shook his head at Donatello’s antics. He tried to lean over to give Mikey a hug.

Mikey flinched away quickly, his eyes going wide a moment while Raph eyed him with a slight tilt of his head. Mikey gulped. His chest started to feel tight again and he looked to Michelangelo for encouragement. Michelangelo was already looking back at him and gave an urging smile and nod that made Mikey take a deep breath and stop to address Raph.

“I… don’t really want a hug right now. Turtle power…?” Mikey smiled and held out his fist to Raph, his eyes almost pleading.

Raph was still at first, but then gave a jovial laugh and met the fist bump eagerly. “Turtle power!”

Leonardo jogged over to be with Leo. “Wanna talk?”

“Was it that obvious” Leo gave a weak laugh.

“Eh. I can just read people well.” Leonardo smiled and nudged Leo in the side.

Leo moved away from the touch with a slight scowl but made no comment on it.

“What you wanna talk about avocado head?”

Leo narrowed his eyes, but once more bit back a retort. “I wanted to apologize.”

“What for?”

Leo blinked, and for a moment he stuttered before he was able to speak more clearly. “I apologize for the way I have acted against you and your brother. Agitating you and… and yelling and… you still saved my family just now. Sorry— I’m not good at apologies.”

Leonardo laughed and gently bumped his fist against Leo’s shoulder. “Hey, no problem! Thanks for apologizing though. When we get home, I can tooooootally deck us out with food and drink of choice.”

“You’re… not mad?”

“Life is too short to hold grudges. No bad blood, right hermano?” Leonardo smiled and held out a hand to his counterpart.

Leo stared at Leonardo for the longest time before a smile finally crept its way into his face and he met the fist bump readily.

“No bad blood.”

"But I will hold this against you in any future arguments, FYI." Leonardo winked, "I never miss an opportunity to diss someone on past mistakes!"

Leo laughed and shoved his counterpart away from him, but Leonardo bounced right back and tried to slam his full weight into Leo to push him back, to no result.

"Hey! That's no fair!"

"Life ain't fair, Nardo!" Leo said, "Get used to it!"

[oceansmelodysblog]

The scent of hearts and flowers

Summary:

This is a pure fluff One-shot Zelink story for Valentine's Day. Here in this chapter of their lives, they finally found peace and live a simple life in Hateno, after the battle against Calamity Ganon and ancient revived Ganon as seen in the botw sequel teaser trailer. They struggled for many years after the events of botw which mean Zelda hit her 20s and Link is 22 here.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

The sun tickled Zelda's skin as she awoke. According to the angle of the rays, the sun was no longer far from the zenith. She stretched out in the cosy bed, which smelled pleasantly of his earthy scent. She snuggled into the pillow and closed her eyes, taking in every nuance of it and storing it in her memory. A gentle flutter in her chest warmed her body and tingled her hands and feet. She missed the body to the accompanying scent, with his bright blue eyes, loving smile and inspiring personality. She longed for his presence, so she decided to get up and check on him. She pulled on a white long-sleeved blouse over a strapless dark blue dress that sat loosely on her body and tied a red sash around her waist. She added the finishing touch to her traditional Hateno attire with a gold-embellished leather belt that she tied around her waist.

The wood creaked and crunched under her feet as she walked down the stairs, she opened the door and strode into the garden. The bright summer sun blinded her still sleepy eyes and forced her to shield her eyes with one hand. A pleasant warm breeze blew through her short tousled hair as if caressing it. Zelda walked barefoot through the tall grass, feeling every plant and stone beneath her feet, taking in the damp wetness with her senses. She walked around the house and looked into the stables, but there was only the bay stallion Fraser, Link's favourite horse. When he caught sight of her he neighed excitedly and nudged her face, a habit he always had when he was happy, Zelda smiled and stroked the bristly hair of the bridge of his nose.

"Good morning dear Fraser, how are you today? You wouldn't happen to know where your master is?" she asked him, not expecting an answer. But then she heard a loud whistle followed by a loud neigh.

She turned abruptly, towards the source of the sound. Vague, she recognised a golden mane blowing in the wind behind the young trees by the pond. Curiosity gripped her, so she ran timidly towards it. When she reached the young trees, she peeked over and was instantly amazed:

In the distance she saw Link, sweaty and shirtless, standing in front of a white horse with a shimmering golden mane, petting it lovingly on the head and nostrils. It was a majestic animal that looked very much like her beloved companion from a hundred years ago. It looked different from hers, however, as it had a long shiny mane and tail trimmed with berry-coloured flowers. The white coat shone magnificently in the sunlight and was adorned with a glamorously decorated side-saddle. She had to know what Link had been up to again and hurriedly ran to Link, who must have heard her footsteps and gave her a gentle smile that made Zelda's heart flutter like the wings of a hummingbird. She felt her features relax when she looked at him, how he brought a smile to her face without having to say anything and how his mere presence could make a day shine. With him, everything felt lighter and more pleasant, no matter how big a burden it was for her. Link strode towards her with a firm step, but stopped a hand's length in front of her and stared down into her eyes. Zelda loved the sparkle in his eyes that reminded her of the water surfaces of bodies of water. He was truly like the waters; like a river, he was calm and serene yet strong and threatening. His sensual mouth twisted into a wide smile that reached both ears as he tilted his head and breathed a kiss on her cheek. Link offered her his hand and with pleasure, she grasped his large rough hands, bruised from all the battles he fought and the merciless training he endured.

"Today is the day of love and lovers, a festival day in Hateno that has been around for centuries, or so I was told. Unfortunately, I don't remember the time. But I don't mind, as long as I get to spend the day with you," he whispered close to her face. Zelda smiled sheepishly, it had only been recently that they had become aware of their feelings, yet it felt like her heart wanted to leap out of her chest. It wasn't always easy to be so close to him without blushing or smiling ear to ear.

"I don't have a present for you though, Link..." She was depressed that she couldn't give him anything, but it seemed void to him as her hand squeezed lightly and pulled her towards the horse.

"This here is the mare Himawari, named after the sunflowers, as her mane reminded me of them. An old man once told me of a horse that was descended from your favourite stallion, making her a direct descendant. I went in search of her and found her near the horse statue in the Hyrule field and caught her. She was very wild and needed more training to be able to give her to you, but I'm glad I can give her to you on a day like this." Zelda couldn't get out of her amazement and fell around his neck.

"Link thank you so much! She is a wonderful mare, so tame and so gorgeous! You really took very good care of her. I just feel so bad that I can't give you anything."

"Don't be. Seeing you smile after suffering so much is all I need." A tear flowed down her left eye, down her cheek and stopped at her pointed chin. She put her hands on his chest and couldn't stop grinning beyond both ears. He wiped her tear away with his thumb and stroked her chin.

"Link," she whispered. His pupils slid slowly from her lips to her eyes as everything about him cried out to her. "I love you with all my heart," he whispered, stealing the words from her mouth. He closed her opened mouth and reached into his fanny pack, feeling for the small object and pulling it out. He took her left hand in his and placed a metal small object on her ring finger.

"Link! That's an opal ring! What...what...does that...?" she stuttered, not trusting her own mind.

"The opal is as multi-faceted as you, resilient as you and beautiful is you. This noble stone represents true love and heals the soul. It is said that Hylia's tears were locked in the stone when her three sisters walked away. I want you to wear this ring to always remember how precious you are. How precious you are to me." Her breath caught and her heart pounded. "Will you... will you be my wife, Zelda Bosphoramus? I swear to you, for all time on your-" But before he could finish the sentence, the next moment he felt her lips on his, in a kiss so tentative and at the same time full of burning love that he surrendered to her kiss and pulled her closer to him.

"Yes, of course, I want to be your wife!" she whispered, laughing and crying against his lips.

Notes:

The reference:

[badasue]

Bardock x Sue. ❤️💚

Bardock couldn't help but curve his lips into a slight smile at the familiar scent. He was a couple of meters away from his destination but, he knew perfectly well that the sweet scent was coming from the place he was headed to: Sue's apartment. She was baking again. She often made small chocolate cakes, the size to serve four people, although they were only two. Sue loved chocolate and although he wasn't as familiar with sweet things and preferred not to eat them, he couldn't deny that the cakes she baked were delicious.

The curtains on the balcony door were open, not all the way but just enough for Bardock to make out Sue wandering around in the small kitchen. Her short green hair stood out, swaying gently with every movement.

It was so nice to look at her.

A view that made the warrior's heart feel again... it was as if it was suddenly beating in a different way. She, the lights that adorned the balcony, the plants and flowers scattered everywhere, the aroma of bread and chocolate; it was welcoming and made him feel at home. He was finally home. Sue had become his home. After so many years of hatred and resentment, of reproaching himself and his weakness, of not being able to forgive himself for failing to protect his planet and save his family, Bardock was finally able to feel calm. All his memories were like fire burning inside him and Sue was the cool breeze that soothed him; completely when he held her in his arms. He could feel happy being next to her, when he would sink his face into her neck and feel the softness of her hair brushing against his skin. The nightmares disappeared when he could feel her body next to his.

Sue finished putting away the things she had used for her little cake just as she heard noises on the balcony. She gave a little hop and turned on her feet excitedly. She poked her head around one of the small pillars that separated the kitchen from the living room that connected to the balcony door. And she saw him.

Her face was all smiles. Her eyes, her lips, even her arms as she ran to meet him, open and stretched out, screaming the desire to hug him.

"Bardock!"

Her voice was only bliss and happiness.

Bardock, for his part, opened his arms in the same way so that she could connect with his body. The instant she collided with him his hands pulled her tightly to his body, letting her scent flood his nostrils. It was a thousand times better than the scent of freshly baked bread. There was no scent that was more delicious to him than the one that came from Sue's body. Her skin felt cool, as always and her touch extinguished the fire that lived inside him.

His tail wrapped around her waist, drawing her even closer to him.

"I missed you," Sue's voice seemed to tremble with emotion. Her eyes were glassy, though he couldn't see that; she kept her head on his chest, feeling the coolness of his armor.

"You smell so good," Bardock's lips let out what he was thinking, causing Sue to lift her face to look at him. Their lips curved into a smile as they saw themselves reflected in each other's eyes.

He had missed her and needed her. He needed to feel Sue even more. His hands roamed down her arms, reaching up to her face, only to lightly caress her cheek and make her lift her face even higher so he could kiss her. The sweet taste of her saliva and the brush of her tongue inside his mouth made him let out a small moan. The sensation was wonderful.

Sue closed her eyes and gave a little jump, to make Bardock hold her legs to carry her. They were barely able to breathe but neither wanted to stop the kiss. Bardock walked over to the couch and carefully deposited Sue there, interrupting the kiss for a moment. Connected by their saliva, they both smiled again. Sue didn't need him to tell her that he had missed her too, she could see it; she could feel how much he had missed her. His tail seemed unable to stop making contact with her skin, running down her body from waist to toe.

Bardock had grown accustomed to washing himself lightly in some body of water before returning to Sue, but still the smell of earth and sweat sometimes lingered on him. It wasn't unpleasant, it was a familiar scent to her, so natural and welcoming. His scent was what made her feel at home. Wherever he was, it was where she wanted to be forever; Bardock was her home.

The Saiyan shed the top of his armor, exposing his pecs. Sue sighed with desire at the sight of him. She knew well where he wanted to go and was impatient to be able to feel him even closer. Immediately, Bardock brought his hands to the garment covering Sue, a long-sleeved, soft, purple blouse; the warmth of his hands on her back as he tried to remove the garment made her feel electricity in every inch of her body.

It was then that the sound of the timer she had set to take the cake out of the oven rang out, interrupting them.

"The cake is ready," Sue whispered.

"Good," Bardock ignored her comment, taking off her blouse and caressing her breast over her black bra.

"Wait, Bardock," she giggled and put her hands over his, still resting on his chest, "I need to get it out or it will burn."

Bardock rolled his eyes and grunted in displeasure, but released Sue from his grip to go take the small cake out of the oven. Sue got to her feet and ran into the kitchen. The sight of her again made him smile. She looked so good in just her bra; it was cold so he could just make out her bristly skin because of it.

He stood up and followed her, perching behind her as she set the bread on the counter. Their bare skins connected again, soothing the chill Sue was feeling from being without a garment covering her upper body.

"I can take the chill off you in a second, if you want," he offered, whispering in her ear and making Sue shiver as she felt his breath collide with her skin.

She tried to take a step back, sticking closer to him, feeling the prominent bulge in his pants. She was teasing him and she knew he wasn't going to be quiet after that. Bardock held her hips tightly and spoke again: "I can't control myself anymore."

"Then, don't do it".

Bardock turned her around so he could imprison her lips again, thick and pink, irresistible to the black eyes that looked at her. He held her to carry her and carried her into the room. The cake was safe and the scent of chocolate flooded the place, but it was the scent of his green-haired human's arousal that was sweeping him off his feet, leaving him intoxicated. It was time to show Sue how much he needed her.

There would be time to eat chocolate, right at that moment Sue was the only thing Bardock wanted to devour.

[ilovehallas]

Leave no witnesses

Relationships: Zevran/f!Mahariel, Tamlen&f!Mahariel

Summary:

As Andrastians give their loved ones to the fire, the Dalish give theirs to the earth.

Serket Mahariel knows that she's burying more than just Tamlen's body, but she never did learn how to experience grief in front of others. So she decides that she won't, and holds a funeral for two.

Tags: unprocessed grief, (not actually) unrequited love, hurt/comfort

[Events ended up aligning in the worst of ways in my game: after Zevran approached the warden to spend the night with her, he of course states that this is a matter of fun rather than feelings. Very soon after the confrontration with Tamlen happened - while I was on my way to Orzammar and the Deep Roads.]

Read on AO3

In the aftermath of the battle, it was as though all sound had disappeared in the void the fight had left. Silence droned on, deafening and maddening, not even the sheets of metal of her haphazardly thrown on armor scraping together would make a sound.

Reluctantly Serket tore her eyes away from the body before her.

“We should move camp a bit further” she stated, tone flat.

Nobody seemed to move for a moment, all of them just standing around her where they’d last slain an enemy, bodies still tense in combative postures. She couldn’t say for sure who was who, the light of the fire was in their backs so they were more like shadows than people.

“Even if we were to burn the darkspawn, their stench will linger” she continued. She didn’t like this, how her words seemed to echo in the dead air. Nobody was speaking. They were only looking at her.

“Move the camp” she reiterated. “I’ll take care of this.”

The first figures shifted, moving to follow her command hopefully. Some lingered uncomfortably, leaving with protests she didn’t bother to hear when she eventually stared them down. She must’ve said something too, but who cared what it was as long as it got the job done.

Good. She watched them, not turning her back on them just yet, not as long as she couldn’t be sure they’d stopped looking at her. Their eyes weren’t needed here, their questioning, prying eyes. Not a single one of them. Serket wouldn’t let them find answers because these weren’t questions any of them should be asking.

Something brushed up against her hand unexpectedly; her mabari Isun was circling her, reluctant to leave her side. First her sword dropped out of her hand, then her shield fell to the ground as she reached out to pat his broad head with trembling fingers. “You go too” she said, pushing gently but unyielding as the animal whined in vain at the rejection. With a sad little bark he eventually relented, trotting away to where her companions were busying themselves.

Once the sounds of the camp being torn down reached her, she set out to do her part, grabbing the nearest dead shriek. The horrid smell coming off of its deformed body stung in her nostrils and the repulsion stirring in her gut mixed with the exhaustion made it difficult to drag it away. This first one wasn’t too bad however, she dumped it into a natural shallow pit in the earth not far away. The second one was tougher, this one heavier and requiring her to get up close to securely grip it and hoist it up enough to carry. Her face was inches from its foul skin, lungs breathing in the blighted fumes. It was something visceral to hold on to, an anchor that kept her thoughts from wandering. By the last one, her limbs were shaking a bit under the strain, little shocks like lightning running through the muscles of her legs occasionally, her hair and her clothes sticking to her sweaty, itching skin, metal digging painfully into her flesh.

She surveyed her work, this little mount of meaningless dead meat. Time to face the facts. She staggered back to the field of the fight.

The sight of what remained of Tamlen was like a small earthquake, a rumble deep down at her core barely reaching the surface despite its violence. This wasn’t a case of a peaceful corpse that seemed as if he were only sleeping, the torment Tamlen had endured was readily apparent. His hands resembled claws now with how strangely contorted they were. He had no hair left; his skin was stretched tight over the bones as if most of his flesh had simply melted away, skin darkened in many places from spots of decay. Serket couldn’t even make out any last traces of his vallaslin. So this was where he’d been all this time. This was where she would follow if the Archdemon didn’t get her first.  

She’d have to dig a grave. Staying the night to sing for him wouldn’t be an option, neither would be planting a tree in blighted soil, she couldn’t offer any of the proper burial rites but she could dig a grave at least. At the very least.

Blinking against the stabbing headache, Serket looked around for any tool that could assist her because even like this she knew that she wouldn’t be able to do it with her hands. Frustration bubbled hot and angry in her when nothing caught her eye and it became apparent that she would need to go back to the others; she tried to run a hand over her feverish face but recoiled when she touched it to her skin and realized it was still covered in grime and blood.

She didn’t want to go where people were with their unfamiliar eyes, full of curiosity and pity and incomprehension. Everyone was a stranger to her, in a strange land, at once miles away from her and smothering.

With a silent sob, Serket picked up her shield again, raised it high above her head and thrust the pointed end into the earth. Again and again she hacked into the ground with it, coming to kneel in the dirt.

But of course there would be footsteps. Her eyesight now blurry from either sweat or unshed tears, she squinted at the approaching figures. This time she could see that it was two of them, one had to be Alistair, the other Zevran, trailing a bit behind. It was a cruel joke to play on her, she thought. Like a hot iron to her vulnerable flesh.

“Can we… help?” Alistair ventured, and she could see the way he helplessly turned his head as if looking to Zevran for counsel.

Serket shook her head. She wanted to tell them to go away, but as so often her tongue was tied suddenly, the words clear in her mind but somehow not coming over her lips. When the two men wouldn’t immediately leave, desperation took hold and she tried to communicate, trying to get her hands to sign words but they wouldn’t unfurl, wouldn’t release the shield she was clinging to.

“Are you sure?”

Of course she was. She wasn’t stupid. She willed her mouth to form words, anything to make them go away.

“I only need a shovel” she managed to get out, relieved that her tone didn’t seem to betray the effort it took to speak. Despite the pain she managed to get back on her feet. She wasn’t going to give them anything to see, this wasn’t the time or place for any of this.

“Wouldn’t it be—“ Zevran started, but she cut him off.

“I need a shovel, not you.”

The harshness of the words only registered in the way she had to spit them. She meant it. She really meant it.

“I guess I’ll… check if we have one” Alistair said, taking the first step backwards before he turned to face the camp instead. Zevran did so as well but not without another look at her, and as they walked away she saw that they were exchanging words she couldn’t hear. For a moment she was overcome with the urge to call them back, to beg them to help her, or to gouge out their eyes for seeing her like this.

Serket listlessly stared at the little hole she’d made in the soil. Everything about her felt so brittle. She’d hoped she would carry it with a little more dignity, but apparently not. She resumed her work even as the shield proved ineffective. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to let them intrude and endure their presence, because then at least they wouldn’t have known that it hurt. But it wouldn’t have been fair to Tamlen and her.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed by the time she became aware of another presence approaching. Who was it this time? Serket hit the shield down harder. Wynne? Morrigan? To tell her that a spell could do what she was doing much easier or to berate her for her sentimentality? Sten, here to let her know that a buried ghoul does nothing but taint the earth? Leliana, with empty condolences for something she didn’t understand? Or one of them again. Alistair was alright with how easily he listened, but Zevran…

When she lifted her head however, it turned out that it was Isun, carrying a shovel in his mouth as he ran up to her. Expectantly the dog peered up at her, wagging his short little tail and nearly bumping the shovel’s handle against her from the excessive movement.

Wordlessly she took the tool from Isun and set it aside before she slung her arms around the mabari and buried her face in his bristly fur. Everything seemed to crash against her all at once and she was getting sucked down under fast; she pressed her eyes shut and waited for the onslaught to ease. Everything was too much all of a sudden, every little sensation burned. A wail she refused to release lodged itself in her throat, it pushed upwards but she stemmed against it with all she had, even as it choked her. She dimly noted the tears streaming down her cheeks as she waited for the end to come, one way or another. Her heart was pounding in her head. This was more than grief alone.

Isun held still for her as long as it took.

“I think it’s alright if you help” Serket said when the tide receded and leaned onto the shovel in order to stand. Isun barked a few times and pawed restlessly at the ground until she gave the sign that he could begin digging.

Serket had inevitably witnessed a few funerals in her lifetime. Life and death were intertwined, that was a law of nature that none of them would ever escape, so these occasions were commemorations of both aspects joined together. That’s why they were always a communal effort as well, to be reminded of the connections between them all, even those given to the earth. The ties that bound her and Tamlen together were knotted and wound tightly. That day they had been on the threshold together facing opposite directions; Duncan had pulled her towards life for another day then, and today she could give Tamlen that push he’d needed to go forward as well. In that way, things had ended as well as they could. Neatly and tidy.

Serket felt like throwing up. Nothing about this was good, no matter how she twisted it. She’d told Tamlen not to touch it. The clan didn’t know where he’d gone. They didn’t even know where she was now and where she’d come to rest one day. It was so unbearably unfair, all of it, that she had to bury her friend in this place so far away from home, in this pitiful grave with nothing.   She felt like throwing up, but maybe this was exhaustion.

At the end she was almost too weak to let Tamlen’s fragile body down into the hole, along with a branch she’d broken off a nearby tree. She had to arrange his limbs as much as she could so that it would fit. Once he was nestled into his resting place, Isun and her covered him back up with dirt, watching as Tamlen disappeared for the last time. What remained was only a little mound to mark the spot.

And just like that she was left the last witness of that day.

A bit deliriously, Serket scratched the mabari behind the ears, hoping that the gesture could convey her gratitude when it was all she could give right now. Soon she’d have to leave, go find the others again and find a way to pretend this hadn’t happened. There was one last rite before that that she could give to her friend.

“ O Falon'Din. Lethanavir – Friend to the Dead. Guide my feet, calm my soul. Lead me to my rest.”

The prayer was one to speak for a hahren, not somebody like her, but perhaps Falon’Din would excuse the emergency.

Serket averted her eyes upwards to the sky, the night still dark but bound to light up soon. It seemed like the right time to collapse and fall into a grave of her own. Where everything had been aching before, her body was numb now.

Isun, stubbornly loyal, wouldn’t let her. He lead the way for her as she stumbled along the path, yelping and barking at her each time she was threatening to lose her balance, pacing nervously around her each time she stopped.

“Serket?”

The sound of her name startled like she’d been caught out. Instinctively she attempted to correct her posture to appear more like herself again, glaring at the intruder without any teeth left to bite at him with.  

Zevran didn’t seem to even flinch, putting up his hands defensively. “I came here to meet you half way, not to spy on you. I didn’t see anything.”

Serket had no words for him. Why should she believe it. And why would it matter, if he was still looking at her now. Maybe he hadn’t seen the deed itself, but she still felt raw and exposed in a way she didn’t want to be in front of him. It was stupid enough the first time, by now it was nothing short of humiliating. The normal thing would be to keep walking. So she did that as well as she could, nearly tripping over her own feet when she brushed past him. With each step the weight of his gaze seemed to grow heavier; he caught her when her legs gave in.

This was so mundane. They’d supported each other like this before, when the fight didn’t go like they’d planned and they leaned on the other to walk in a simple act of camaraderie. He was too close now, too personal, but even she recognized that struggling would do nothing to help her. Don’t strip back another layer of skin now.

“Comfortable?” Zevran said in a misplaced jovial tone. Thank the creators. A million times better than feeling, than those looks.

“How long” she asked, the last words of the question coming out silent. She coughed, nearly throwing them both off balance.

“Not far” Zevran replied, “just a bit further down this path. Think we can manage that?”

A nod had to suffice as answer. It was difficult enough to move her legs when she couldn’t feel them. ‘Not far’ only told her that they’d be back sooner than she would be alright, even if time was more than relative in this moment. What was a journey to her could have been only a few minutes on foot. Tamlen was drifting years away from her now, maybe a whole life.

Serket looked around, hoping that something would catch her eye that could give her an excuse to stay behind just a little longer, so she wouldn’t be in this pitiful state when she’d have to face them. She needed to pull herself together.

“Set me down here” she commanded abruptly.

Zevran halted, but didn’t let her go just yet. “What for?”

Whether he was planning on releasing her or not, Serket tried to shake him off so she could be back on her own feet, transfixed by what she’d spotted partially concealed by tall grass. It wouldn’t get better than this river to make her inhabit the self she needed to be again. “A bath. I’m covered in filth.”

Without awaiting her companion’s response she staggered off the path the others had taken, clumsily trying to undo the bands of her breastplate but barely catching them between her fingers. There wasn’t even frustration anymore or despair, just helplessness.

Zevran kept to her side like a judgmental mosquito. She could see him eyeing her with a tilted head, anticipating the moment he might try to block her and guide her back to the flock. He snorted. “Well, maybe not such a bad idea.” They made it to the edge of the river, the water lapping at her boots. She still was clad in her armor, too uncoordinated to undo any of it.

“May I…?” Zevran started, stretching out his hands towards where she was fiddling with a clasp, hovering inches away. It felt cheap to agree, like giving in to a vice rather than accepting relief. Even though Zevran was thoughtful. There was nothing overbearingly personal about it as he helped her out of the bloodied metal and leather and the stained fabric she’d worn underneath. Only gentle assistance for a companion, as though for this brief period this was the most mundane thing in the world. Nothing more complicated than that.

Free of her armor and no thought spared to modesty she could observe the extend of the damage. Compression marks that would become bruises if not for Wynne’s interference with the process, putrid smears of darkspawn blood all over her hands and forearms, she could feel splatters of the taint dried up on her face.

Serket clicked her tongue, and Isun who had been rolling around in the grass approached her excitedly. She bent down and held out her arms to allow the mabari to lick off the blood as she half-remembered that the poison would otherwise wash into the water along with her.

At Zevran’s bemused expression she only replied “It’s okay. He’s already tainted.” Then she waded into the dark river, the coldness of the water knocking the breath out of her. As she gasped for air, her senses were sharpened to a needle-point, rammed right into her brain. Despite the shock she willed herself to get in just a little further, just a little deeper, before at long last she let her legs break away from under her. She landed in the water with a little splash in an awkward sitting position; the cold squeezed tight around her, agonizing in a way that made sense to her.  

“You can go” she called, drawing her maltreated legs to her chest.

“Shouldn’t I stay?” Zevran answered without hesitation. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

“What for.”

“If I come back without you, the other grey warden might get suspicious of me, don’t you think? Yes, I think he’s been waiting for a moment like this.”

Serket shot him a wary look over her shoulder.

The grin on Zevran’s face fell a little, but stubbornly clung to a corner of his mouth. “‘Where is the warden, hm?’ You see, I left her alone in the river, nothing that could go wrong there.” He didn’t say anything for a while as the current tugged softly at Serket. “…I think it might be less awkward if we returned together. Less questions asked, for both of us.”

Somehow, Serket wanted to cry again. She only hummed. Because she loved him. She loved Zevran, pathetically. That’s why his gaze was hardest to bear and yet the only one she wanted. Even after he made it clear she was alone in this and she’d concealed the bleeding wound from him and steeled her heart. His gentleness, the way he didn’t recoil made it worse. The light of the waning stars gleamed on the water surface, little spots that danced distractingly before her eyes.

Zevran was permitted to stay, the damage was done anyway. Couldn’t even be trusted to bathe in the river by herself because of how she’d expended herself. The way they’d see her wouldn’t be the same anymore. And she was terrified of seeing her own face reflected, not wanting to know who she’d find there.  Was it cowardice? To not want to be seen as frail.

Ah… the discrepancy had only grown bigger. With halting movements she curled in on herself, leaning forward so that her face was submerged. Dull pangs of pain rang out in her chest the oxygen slowly went out, drowning out her thoughts. She wished she could compress this ache, could grab it with her two hands and press it to her chest so it could stay close and private with her. She wanted to bury the memory of Tamlen deep under her skin so darkspawn couldn’t get it. She wanted to wring the neck of any feeling that could make her this brittle again. So swallow it down.

“There was a hunter in my clan” she spoke when she pulled back, sluggishly blinking away the water running into her eyes, “who went to investigate some elven ruins he’d come across, without telling the keeper about it. In the end he contracted the taint and never returned to us.” She began scrubbing away at her skin, noting that she couldn’t get the soil out from under her nails even as everything else washed off. “So now he asked me to kill him.”

“Death was a mercy for him” Zevran’s voice sounded distant. “Though I suppose somebody you know asking you to kill them is not particularly pleasant.”

“I don’t feel guilty” she replied, trying to get up again, “since he was in essence already dead. What he was asking for was a burial, so I gave him one. …I overreacted, a little.”

By the shore, her companion had crouched down and was splashing a bit of water in his face. A long night for him too. “Oh, I’ve seen people do worse. No knives were pulled on me, for one, which has happened. But of course, that time I’d have been the one who did the killing” he said cheerfully with a shrug of his shoulder, moving aside a bit for her as she got back on land.

The bath hadn’t done her physical condition any favors, shivering rather than shaking now. Patiently Zevran helped her put her garments back on even if they undid some of the good of the bath. Her armor was left in the bushes. Somebody could come pick it up for her while she rested. And her sword and shield? None of them could go there. It was a burial site now. Zevran only laughed. Tomorrow was another day. Who was going to steal her things? The shriek Sten nearly cleaved in half? She knew what he was doing, clumsy in this matter as she herself was. Gratitude and shame swelled in her chest in equal measures.

Zevran shouldered her once more as they continued onwards. Nature around them was beginning to wake and even as the fog in her mind had grown heavier and her eyes unfocused, she could make out the camp up ahead. With every step, Serket took on more of her own weight while Isun already charged ahead.  

“Don’t treat me differently now. Please don’t treat me differently, not you” she mumbled, her hand still on his shoulder.

Zevran didn’t reply right away. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The call of an owl rung out through the quiet of the night.    

[smashing-teacups]

Missing J/C goodbye scene, 5x02

A/N: Hi y’all! Just scribbled down a quick goodbye scene between Jamie and Claire in 5x02, as I feel like we were missing that in this episode, hm? Their reunion is coming up in 5x03 and Sam has mentioned it’s one of his favorite scenes in the entire season, so I’m not touching that one! I’ll let the masters do their thing. But on the front end, here’s a wee thing I wrote this evening. All mistakes are my own; it’s quick and simple, didn’t even run it by a beta (or title it for that matter, haha)

____________

Jamie rose before dawn, early enough that the rustle of quilts and sag of the mattress didn’t fully wake me. I was still heavy-limbed and lethargic after spending the night entwined with him, unhurried and savoring, burning the feeling of one another into flesh and bone to take with us when we parted. Rolling into the warm depression his body had left behind, I breathed in the scent of him (of us) and drifted off again with a low hum of satisfaction. 

He was purposefully quiet as he moved about the room, dressing in the pale grey light of pre-dawn. It wasn’t until I heard the repetitive clink of the metal buckles along the length of his boots that I stirred in earnest, lifting my head with a snuffling breath. 

“You’re up early.” I squinted across the room at him in confusion, knowing full well that he didn’t plan to leave until after his men had filled their bellies with a warm breakfast.

“Aye,” Jamie agreed huskily, his morning voice an octave deeper than usual. “Thought I should see to my chores ‘fore I go.” He finished the row of buckles along his left boot and switched to the right while I stretched languidly, arching my back and toes into the cool sheets before coiling back into my ball of warmth. 

“You didn’t have to do that. I would have taken care of it.”

My husband glanced up at me with a throaty Scottish noise and a shrug. “Ye’ll already have to take up my slack while I’m gone. Dinna want to burden ye wi’ today’s work as well.” He finished the last of his buckles and crossed the room to me in a few strides, bending to capture my lips in a soft kiss. He smoothed a thumb over my cheekbone and down my chin, his eyes half-closed and trained on my mouth. “Go back to sleep, a nighean,” he murmured, and kissed me again.

Admittedly, I was tempted. It was still dark, the air beyond my cozy huddle of blankets discouragingly cold, and as we’d spent very little of the night actually sleeping, I was still plenty tired. Left to my own devices, I might have hunkered down and dozed blissfully until noon. The only thing preventing it was the recognition of how precious little time remained for us to be together before Jamie left for God-knows-how-long on Tryon’s bloody crusade. Savoring every moment afforded to us had been a hard-earned lesson, carved painstakingly into the shells of our hearts over the course of twenty long years.

Pushing the quilts back, I shook my head and swung my legs over the side of the bed, a prickle of gooseflesh rippling over my bare skin at the exposure to the stark morning air. “No,” I insisted, fumbling in the darkness to find the shift that had been hastily discarded on the floor the night before. “I’ll come with you.”

He waited for me to dress (I was quick about it, eager to bundle myself against the bitter chill), then wrapped an arm comfortably around my waist as we strolled out into the quiet, unfinished house. 

“Some tea first?” I asked softly as we walked by the kitchen. 

Jamie’s steps faltered for a moment as he considered it, but he shook his head. “Nah, I’ll bide for now. The animals’ll be restless for their breakfast, and I want to turn that new colt out for a bit ‘fore I go.”

I nodded, laying my head in the crook of his shoulder as we walked out onto the porch and down the path toward the barn. He was right, of course; heedless of our nocturnal activities and the ungodly hour of the morning, I could already hear the stamping of hooves and blowing snorts from the horses. Clarence began to bray excitedly when he heard us approaching, and that set off the chickens and the goats and the white sow. By the time Jamie lifted the bolt on the barn door, the whole bloody lot of them were in a cacophonous uproar.

The two of us exchanged knowing, exasperated smiles, then wordlessly set about our individual tasks: I filled grain and water buckets, Jamie climbed up in the loft to begin to heave down bales of hay. Once all of the animals were munching contentedly, I set to work milking the goats while my husband groomed the horses. With my cheek resting against a warm, bristly black belly, I listened to Jamie murmuring to one of the mares in Gaelic, smiling at the phrases I did know (“be good for the mistress, aye?” and “there’ll be apples in it for ye” and “bite her and I’ll tan yer bonny hide”) and closing my eyes to simply listen to the lilting cadence of his voice through the parts I didn't understand.

The comfort of it, the utter tranquility of the morning dawning golden and crisp and beautiful around us as we worked, was enough to fill my heart to the point of aching. After all our years of strife and suffering, sacrifice and separation, I finally had everything — we had everything — we’d ever wanted. We delighted in the simple pleasures of the farm, the land, the community, our family, each other. I had a booming medical practice where I finally felt useful, and Jamie had blossomed effortlessly into the role of laird that he had been born to fill. 

But of course, fate simply couldn’t bloody well let us alone. 

There was always another fucking war. Another battle, another conflict, another reason to tear Jamie from my arms and into the line of fire. It seemed these moments of tranquility would forever be fleeting for us. 

Perhaps that was the price we were meant to pay for challenging history, bending time itself to accommodate our love. 

Peace, after all, had never been part of the bargain Jamie and I had struck. 

So be it. I’d said it once before, and meant it: I would have him any way I could.

Setting the milk bucket aside, I went to Jamie in silence and wrapped my arms around him from behind, bowing my forehead into the valley between his shoulder blades. He paused at once with the brush at the horse’s withers, turning his head slightly toward me in silent inquiry. 

“Keep working,” I murmured against his back. 

I just need to hold you.

I didn’t need to say it for him to understand. He did as I bid him, and resumed his characteristic quick darting flicks as he brushed the horse. I closed my eyes, moving with him, memorizing the way his scarred skin stretched beneath my cheek, the way the powerful muscles of his shoulders rippled as he worked.

After a moment, he abandoned his task altogether, letting the brush drop softly into the hay at our feet as he turned to face me and wrap me in his arms. 

I need to hold ye too, Sassenach.

I didn’t cry, and neither did he. But we ached together in silence, swaying gently from side to side, my face tucked into his neck and his into my hair. 

In the distance, I could hear the stirrings from the other cottages; tenants waking to the new day and starting chores of their own. Within a few minutes, I knew we’d hear the telltale squealing of our grandson in the cottage just down the path. 

The world around us was waking. 

Which meant my time with Jamie was quickly running out.

We’d say goodbye here, alone. Later there would be people everywhere; we’d exchange nods, smiles, pleasantries, a quick and chaste kiss before an audience.

But here, I could say what I truly meant, and so could he.

“If you do find him,” I whispered against his skin, “make it quick, Jamie.” I pulled back just far enough to look him in the eye, and swallowed the lump in my throat. “For both your sakes.”

His eyes burned red for a moment, and he sniffled hard, dropping his forehead against mine. “Christ, don’t let it come to that,” he prayed, his voice barely a whisper.

“You told him to be hard to find,” I reminded him, squeezing his shoulders. “And the mountains are vast. You’ll make your excuses. Hm? Lead the wild goose chase as long as you can.” He nodded against me, and exhaled shakily. “But if…” I swallowed again. “If you do find him...”

“It’ll have to be me,” he agreed hoarsely. “I’ll no’ let him hang.”

“I know,” I whispered, and smoothed my hands over his stubbled cheeks. My husband stared down at me, earnest and terrified, and I drew him in with a soft, desperate sound, kissing him with everything in me. I stood on tiptoe and pulled him close, wishing I was big enough to wrap around him, make him feel protected, the way he did when I needed his comfort. The best I could offer was tenderness, understanding; shared affection and history with the man he was forced to hunt, defying every last one of his instincts. 

I loved Murtagh too. Jamie knew that. I don’t know if it helped him, but it was what I had to offer. 

When at last our kiss softened into grazing lips, I nuzzled the tip of my nose against his and murmured against him, “Ride slowly, Jamie. Wander. Take the long road around the mountain. Buy whatever time you can.” I drew back to look at him, to make sure he saw the honest permission in my eyes. “We’ll be alright here. I promise.”

“Aye,” he breathed, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “Ye run a tight ship, a nighean. I dinna worry about the Ridge wi’ you at the helm.”

“Good,” I said, and gave him one more firm kiss on the lips. 

Jamie held fast though, tightening his grip on my waist. “I do worry about you, Claire. Ye get so deep into tendin’ yer patients that ye forget to tend yerself. Be mindful, aye? Dinna do anything reckless wi’ yer own safety while I’m no’ here to grouse at ye for it.”

I smiled, swaying my hips with his and humming faintly in amusement. “I promise to imagine your most disapproving face every time I get a bright idea, hm? We’ll see if it makes any more difference than when you’re here to give it in person.”

He fixed me with his best exasperated glare, and my smile softened. “I’ll be careful if you will, soldier,” I offered quietly, rubbing my palms over his shoulder caps. 

Jamie made a decidedly Scottish grunt; caution and self-preservation were not either of our strong suits. Still, he nodded as he leaned in to capture my lips one last time. 

“For your sake, then, my Sassenach,” he vowed, “I will.”

[solarianvoidthearoace]

Excerpt#5 from my JonGerry AU WiP

CN/TW: misunderstanding, relationship miscommunication, jealousy

By the time they left to pick up Martin, only five minutes later than planned, they were back to their playful banter. Laughing while walking through the evening air, feeling like teens when they had snuck out at night to talk for hours.

When they first met with Martin, he looked like he very strongly wanted to comment on their appearance, but nonetheless he kept quiet.

Only after they had arrived at the art show, Gerry walking off to find Gertrude after putting on his lanyard marking them as an assistant, Martin and Jon got a moment to themselves.

“You look stunning”, Martin finally mumbled. Gerry had done a good job, picking Jon’s outfit. He wore wide ‘Marlene’-pants, almost passing for an ankle-skirt. Combined with a blouse similar to the one Jon had worn on the party but floatier while patterned in a colourful paisley.

Smiling a bit flustered, Jon brushed his hair back,

“Thank you. You as well.” Before offering his hand and interlacing their fingers.

Gerry got his share of compliments from Sasha.

“Damn, I didn’t know you could look this classy”, she nudged his shoulder when they left the final briefing with Gertrude. Gerry barely stopped himself from scratching at their head. Jon had spend about half an hour, as soon as their hair was dry enough, to put it into a decent hairdo. What Gerry ended up with, was a crown braid. Obviously Jon had left the broad strands framing their face to fall loose, but a few centimetres back sat the rather thick braid atop Gerry’s head like a hair circlet. After putting the attention to that part of the style, Jon had simply continued the two halves of the crown braid as French braids. Positioning them to run along the back of Gerry’s head without really looking like they were one. Instead, after there was no more space to French braid, Jon had tucked just the tail ends underneath. The rest-length of the braids that would hang loose was pinned underneath the circlet in the back. In a way so it covered the entire back of Gerry’s head, from the nape up to the main braid.

Instead they fidgeted with one of the loose strands, smiling a bit sheepishly,

“I feel like that compliment goes to Jon, actually. He put the work in. And you don’t look half bad yourself. As always.” Sasha grinned them. Her dark skin did contrast nicely with the airy lime-green blouse she had donned for the night. The fabric shifting gently but extensively as she shrugged,

“Still, it’s you looking good in it. And now go, I know you don’t want to abandon your date.” Gently pushing him back to the area around the entrance, she turned towards the growing crowd of guests.

As Gerry made their way back to Martin and Jon, he got stopped twice with a question about the paintings on sale. Politely explaining he was the one with in-depth knowledge about the themes, art style and technique, the talks ended rather quickly. As per usual, people looking to buy art weren’t exactly interested in knowing the actual interpretation or any technical specifics about the paintings.

When they caught up with the two men again, the two were seemingly discussing a painting they stood in front of. Smirking, Gerry just waited, admittedly trying to listen in. For someone who had proclaimed to not know anything about art, Jon actually had a good feeling for what the painting was not only illustrating but also the subtler, more in-depth interpretation of it. When Martin continued to look doubtful, he made his entrance.

“If I may help the gentlemen. I’m here as the expert on the artist’s technique as well as how to interpret the works in regards to their individual themes”, he even threw in a slight bow for good measure.

After a slight shove from Jon, the evening continued more or less as anticipated. The two of them looked around, Gerry easily explained the paintings they asked them about.

It even lead to some more people approaching him, suddenly interested in more than just the looks of the art works.

After one such presentation of a painting, Gertrude approached them. Jon and Martin had wandered into the next part of the gallery, leaving Gerry to their task.

“I don’t know what you did, Delano, but we have already had more definite sales as we usually have this early into a gallery show. People didn’t just reserve specific works, they actually wanted to set up paperwork.” Gerry snorted,

“Apparently I should bring someone with more often. As soon as I was talking, people around us got interested and asked to have other paintings explained as well. Sure, almost nobody asked about technique anything, but the themes seem to make an impact.” Gertrude had to stretch, considering they wore 6 inch platform-heels, against her wishes, and pushed at 2 metres as it was. Still, she patted him on the shoulder,

“You’re good at what you do. And you knew how to sell yourself even before I got to refine that. This is exactly why I want you on these shows, once you get talking you draw people in.”

She drew her hand back to wag a finger at them,

“Don’t let that get to your head, though.”

Gerry made a face, trying his very best not to laugh,

“Trudie, if I remember correctly…”, they raised a hand placatingly,

“Of course, you handle the finance and management side of things, without you I never would have made it this far. But it’s still a fact that the both of us have been making good money for years now. I think”, he finally did grin,

“I am somewhat allowed to have a bit of an ego.” She huffed, lightly slapping their still raised hand out of the air. Shaking her head in exasperation, she put her hands on her hips,

“You are a nuisance, I stand by that. But, you are also worth more than the time and work I put out to build you up. I’m proud of you, Gerard… Gerry.” He blinked. This was far from the first time Gertrude openly praised them but it always was a rare and far in-between thing, elegantly framed by reprimands to not slack off.

“Now, don’t get all soft and emotional with me. The evening isn’t over!”

Jon and Martin had sat down on one of the padded benches. Just sitting together for a moment, taking in the art they were surrounded by. Martin was more interested in paintings and other forms of art, while Jon didn’t really care to know much about it. Or so he had thought. Tonight had proved him wrong, when Jon’s guess at several pieces’ interpretation had been confirmed by Gerry themself. It was nothing Gerry had praised him for, nothing Jon had gotten smug about. But it was something Martin had noticed as distinct nonetheless.

He tried to make the best of the evening with Jon while Gerry was occupied with their job. After all, Martin had wanted to take Jon to an art exhibit at the museum or something similar, so he wanted to not miss out on that. But for now they just sat together, chatting politely and lightly, not even particularly about the art.

It was nice, amiable.

Jon drew back his arm from around Martin, again reaching to interlace their fingers. The smile blooming on his face made Martin trail off, instead looking at Jon in adoration. Cautiously, as he was so attentive to always treat Jon, Martin lifted their hands. He was about to press a kiss to Jons fingers, when he noticed something.

“Huh”, leaning back, to instead inspect the fingers, he looked at Jon,

“Did something happen before you came here? Your nails are tinged.” Jon blinked, pulling his hand back to take a look for himself. Judging by the colour of it, he had a pretty tangible idea what had happened. Shaking his head, he was more laughing to himself about it, really. At Martin’s still questioning look, his giggle turned into a smile,

“Gerry felt the need to put semi-permanent purple over the black hair colour I helped him with.” Martin smiled, a bit reserved, still,

“Oh, so you helped them again?” Jon shook his head, feeling the heat creeping onto his cheeks to accompany his giddy smile with a blush. “No, well…”, he ducked his head,

“We showered together before we got ready.” Clasping his hands in his lap, he pressed his lips together, trying to suppress a new grin.

“Oh”, Martin sounded off, somehow,

“That’s nice. I guess.” Jon blinked, looking up at his boyfriend. His expression rapidly becoming quizzical, brows creasing,

“Is something wrong?”

“No”, Martin answered a bit too quickly,

“No, no. It’s fine. Of course there is nothing wrong”, he waved the idea away, huffing a bit,

“It’s fine, really, Jon.”

Jon slowly became concerned, Martin was definitely upset, despite denying it so insistently. But before he got another chance to ask, Martin’s gaze flickered up, over Jon’s shoulder. The man’s posture stiffening even more. Now actively listening for it, Jon heard Gerry’s heels drawing closer. When they came to a stop behind him, he didn’t turn, keeping his eyes on Martin.

He looked… bristly. Not exactly irritated, per se. But something was upsetting him in a way that made him withdraw. Clam up and shut Jon out.

“Looks like the night is drawing to a close”, Gerry began. Instead of sitting down like a sensible adult, he leaned forward, resting his arms on Jon’s shoulders, looking over his head.

“Are you ready to get going for that dinner we had planned?” Martin stood abruptly, distancing himself from where Gerry and Jon were. Clearing his throat, he took a deep breath,

“I… I think I should go”, his voice returning to its usual softness, tentativeness,

“I don’t want to… to intrude on your evening. A-any more, that is.” And without so much as a proper goodbye, he walked out on them.

After a moment, having stood up again, Gerry softly clicked his tongue,

“Okaaaaaay… what did I miss?” Jon sighed, shoulders slumping as he finally turned towards them,

“Same thing I don’t understand, apparently.”

[the-blind-assassin-12]

I See You: Part Ten

A/N: ** A day late and a dollar short- probably the best words to ever describe me. This was meant to be finished yesterday, so pretend that it was. These 4,646 words are dedicated to @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ who has been asking me when these two are gonna fool around since...well since I posted part one, honestly. Thanks for your patience and support, ma’am, I hope it was worth the wait!! And thank you for being your wonderful self. You’re a true gem. ** So yeah. Foolin’ around. 

Word Count: 4,646

Warnings: S M U T.  

You were still asleep when he opened his eyes, your calm, even breathing warming his skin above the neckline of his t-shirt, your fingers curled and tucked under the hem at his back. His own hand had found its way beneath your clothing, too, his palm resting on your hip, the two of you seeking out and soaking up even more contact in sleep than you’d been brave enough to try for awake. His instinct told him to retreat, even as you nestled closer, but he fought it, remembering how you’d asked him to stay, remembering how you’d laid it all out for him when you’d laid yourself on top of him. She wants this. She wants me, I- his thoughts were interrupted by your movement, your second hand slipping under his shirt and over his abdomen. 

“Billy?” Your voice was thin, not quite awake, and it cracked as you continued to speak. “Is it… you stayed? You really,” he felt your fingers flex against his skin and the way you pulled yourself closer. Your lips pressed to his neck as he closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. “Am I dreaming?” 

Of course she thought I’d leave. It felt like a slowly twisting blade between his ribs to know that he deserved that reaction. He pushed his selfish pain from his chest and tightened his hold on you. “No,” he answered firmly. “You’re not dreamin’.” Both of his hands were sliding over your skin beneath your shirt, palms finding the contour of your back, pulling you fully on top of him. “I’m here,” he removed one hand from your back to cradle the base of your head, fingers spreading out in your hair. He brought his face slowly to yours, pausing with his lips barely brushing your skin, just enough to let you know that he was there. “I stayed,” Closing the gap, he used his hand to tilt your head as his mouth covered yours. You gasped into the kiss, one hand coming up to lay against his cheek, the other climbing his ribcage. I stayed. 

The kiss intensified, building slowly as both of you let the meaning of those two words unfold, a growing warmth filling his chest and flooding his entire body. One hand still pressed to your back, he felt your lungs expand, unwilling to pull away even for air. But where the need the night before was tinged with the fear that he’d vanish if you let him go, this was different. This was a need to make up for lost time, for lost mornings and the moments that came with them. This is how it should be. How it will be. That thought, combined with the way that you were touching him was as dizzying as it was solidifying, and suddenly the whole world ended and began in your living room. You withdrew your hands from beneath his shirt, one curving around the back of his neck and the other pressed above his racing heart as you shifted your body, lips still moving together seamlessly. He helped your hips find his, the hand on your back trailing down to your waist to guide you on top of him, both of you responding to the new sensation in small groans and breathy sighs. I stayed. And you wanted me to. 

As if you could read his thoughts, you rolled your hips to punctuate how much you wanted him to stay, how much you needed him to. Your tongue delved deeper into his mouth as the side of your nose brushed his, and he could feel the flutter of your closed eyelids and the emotion that was behind them. He groaned again, his own lids straining under the overwhelming desire to start every morning for the rest of his days just like this one- with you. He’d never experienced that before. Though there had been plenty of women who hoped he’d stay, who’d fantasised about waking up still wrapped in him, none of them had meant enough to him that he actually had. The Russo disappearing act was one that he had perfected, the same traits that made him a dangerous weapon in battle coming into play as he stealthily snuck away from every pair of sleeping arms to ever wind around him. But not her. Never her. Never. You were the only one he’d ever fought that instinct for, the only one who made it possible. 

“Billy,” you whispered his name, breathing it against his skin as you pulled your lips away from his, pressing them in a trembling trail that followed the lines and divots of his scars. That feels…that’s... He let out a shaky breath, realizing that he had no words for what it felt like. It was more than just a pair of lips making contact with his body. It was you and it was him, giving and accepting in ways he never knew existed. He swallowed, eyes still closed as his hands followed the curve of your lower back, slipping under the hem of your shirt once more. Your breath hit his skin again as your fingers flexed and moved through his short hair, your other hand roving over his shoulder, anchoring yourself to his back. “Billy, I…” your breath hitched as your hips pushed down against his, this time with more urgency, your body speaking for you where your words failed. 

While it still felt surreal, being here with you, having you want him there, he pushed the shock from his mind and let himself respond freely. Don’t question it, it’s...real. I feel it. He knew that you did, too. He spoke your name, hands coming up to gently but firmly cup the sides of your face, turning it slightly so he could look at you fully. “I told you last night,” His eyes scanned your face as he spoke, watching for any reactions, any sign of doubt. “I’m never leavin’ you again.” You nodded, starting to speak, starting to say ‘ I know,’ but he softly cut you off. “No, wait, let me…” I know what I said. Let me show you what I mean. He sighed and you nodded again, pressing your lips together. “I’m never leavin’ you again. But you have no reason to believe that. You have no reason to trust me.” Not after what I did to you. He watched as you tried to conceal a small flinch. His right hand slid up your cheek until the pads of his fingers found the small patch of stippled scaring, your lips falling open as they did. You reached up to cover his hand with yours as you leaned into his touch. “But I’m gonna be here. As long as you want me, I’m gonna be here.” 

“I want you, Billy, I…” Your grip on him tightened, your brow furrowing and your voice straining all at once, trying to relay the depth of that want. 

But hearing those words from you was all he needed in order to start proving his promise. Hearing you admit the want that he felt, that he’d always tried to ignore, made it impossible to do so any longer. He leaned forward and swallowed the rest of what you were trying to say with a kiss before moving his lips to your ear. “I want you,” he said. “Always you.” He felt you shiver at his words as he dragged the tip of his nose up to your temple, glad that you seemed to understand the seriousness behind them. He whispered your name again. “Let me show you.” 

Your chest heaved with the release of a sigh, both of your hands falling to his shoulders. Fingers twisting in the material of his shirt, you gripped him tightly as you leaned in to give him your answer, pressing your lips to his before pulling back. “Okay,” you said, slipping your legs from his lap, feet finding the floor. Your palms slowly traveled down his arms until they reached his hands, linking them together. “Show me,” you said, tugging him from the couch. 

Billy stood, heart pounding against his ribs uncontrollably. He knew there was still so much to talk about, so much history to cover and so many gaps to fill in, but he knew that none of that would change the way he felt about you. He let you pull him down the hall, let you guide him slowly around the furniture, around the still sleeping dog, let you take him to your bedroom, your free hand trailing down the walls of the hallway as you did. He wanted to pick you up and carry you, wanted to wrap you up and take you to bed like he’d imagined so many times, but he stopped himself. This means more, her leadin’ me like this… me letting her...it means more this way. In the past he’d always called all the shots when it came to the bedroom. He’d set the terms and the tone and he’d tune out the feedback, because it was only ever about one thing. But this was different- you were different- and he wanted every aspect of this to be as far from what he’d known as possible. 

You paused in front of your door, one hand curling around the handle, the other still grasping his. You hesitated, but not long enough for him to wonder if you’d changed your mind. Letting out a breath, you turned the handle and pushed the door open, stepping inside, pulling him with you. “Show me, Billy,” you said as he closed the door behind himself. “Show me what you-“ 

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  .. 

The door clicked shut and the sound took the rest of your sentence with it, your heart thundering in your ears. Billy, this is… he’s… He was in your bedroom, and you’d given him the reins. 

He took them when he took you by the hips, when he took your ear between his teeth. “I’m gonna,” he said, slowly walking you backwards, letting you feel your way. You steadied yourself with your hands on his waist as he took another step. Releasing your ear, he brushed his lips behind it, bristly beard lightly raking over your skin.“I’m gonna show you,” he ran one hand from your hip to your back, gliding beneath your top as the other found the hem in the front. Your tongue flicked out to wet your lips as his palms pressed to your skin, moving upwards and lifting your shirt with them. “You’re the only one that matters to me.” You raised your arms, allowing him to rid you completely of the garment.   

You felt his lips return to the thin skin of your throat, felt goosebumps erupt over your whole body as he brought his hands back to your hips and took another step. Another ragged breath escaped you as you tried not to think about all of the times you’d imagined this moment. He’s here, it’s real. Your calves bumping the mattress, his hips colliding with yours, his hands bracing and strong against your back- it was everything you thought it would be, magnified. God, Billy… you let go of all the time you spent wondering what had happened to him, all the hours, all the tears. He was here, now, and you would be, too. Your fingers found their way beneath his shirt and you followed his lead, pulling up on the fabric until you couldn’t reach. 

He hummed as your hands fell back down to his chest, as he pulled his head and arms free of his shirt, tossing it down to join yours. He brought his palms back to your body as yours traveled down his, learning him in ways you stopped hoping that you’d be able to. You knew about the scars on his left shoulder, but feeling them was a completely different thing. The tips of your fingers traced over the incision marks, your lips landing there immediately after. Billy’s grip on you tightened as he sucked in a breath. You’re the only one that matters to me, too, Billy. Your touch continued down his torso and over the taut muscles there as his climbed up your back, one hand coming around to trace the swell of your chest. You sighed as his large palm joined his fingers, lightly squeezing your flesh. Your thumb found the edge of the thick, puffy scar low on his abdomen, following it the few inches from end to end.  “Billy…” You breathed his name as you leaned into him, his arms coming around you as your lips fell to his right shoulder, following his collarbone. Everything he’s been through… you pressed your cheek to the center of his chest, as though you could absorb all the pain he’d ever felt, as though you could take it away, take it from his heart.

“It’s okay,” his lips were in your hair as he spoke, his breath warm on your scalp, his heartbeat in your ear, and his arms wrapped around you, tight and sure. Leaving a kiss near the top of your head, he continued, “ It’s all okay. Never gonna leave you, I promise.” Never. You turned to kiss his chest before lifting your face up towards his, believing for now that the danger that had always colored his life was over. 

You nodded as his right hand curved around your cheek. “Me either, Billy.” I promise.

His hand slid around to the back of your head as the other wound behind you to grip your waist, and he took you back one more step. You let out a small gasp as he lowered you to the bed, posting one knee and then the other on either side of your hips. He pulled you up towards the pillows as he climbed completely onto the bed, completely on top of you, and you didn’t need to see to know that his eyes were on your face the entire time. They flashed in your memory, coal black and deeper than the sea. Your head sunk into your pillow and he removed his hand from behind it, letting it trail down one side of your neck as his lips burned a fiery trail up the other side. “I’m sorry,” he breathed against your pulse point as his hips sunk on top of yours. Sorry? What? “For ever lettin’ you think I was gone.” His palm flattened out against your bicep, sliding down to the crook of your elbow, tongue flicking out against the back of your ear, eliciting a sharp intake of breath. “For ever lettin’ you think that you don’t matter to me.” Touch traveling down your side, he gently pressed into your skin until he reached the waistband of your shorts, mouth changing course to come back down your body. 

“It’s okay, Billy,” you whispered, pressing your head deeper into the pillow as his lips and tongue circling one stiffened nipple forced a slight arch in your neck and back. “You’re here now,” you rasped, nails scratching lightly through his short hair. I never thought you would be, but you are. 

You gasped again as his breath hit the dampened skin of your breast. “I am,” he said in a low, throaty tone that sent a shockwave through your body. He made his way down the center of your chest, leaving a trail of sighs from your sternum to your navel. You felt the mattress shift as he adjusted his weight off to your side. His hands never left your body, sliding from your skin to work at the button and zipper of your shorts. You tried to keep your breathing steady, but your lungs shook in your chest at the sensation of his fingers slipping beneath your last remaining layers to pull them down your legs. He laid a kiss to your hip as soon as the skin was exposed to the air, to his eyes. “I’m here,” he said, lips following the retreating fabric down your thigh. 

It was almost too much, having him like this, having his hands and lips and body covering you and uncovering you, and each second only proved to you that you’d never been in love before, that you’d never wanted anyone before. Not if this was what wanting was. Not if this was what love felt like when it was finally returned to you; like you could be ruined and healed all at once. You gripped the sheets in both fists as he moved down your legs, taking your bottoms and underwear with him, the ache and need for him that you’d kept buried for years resurfacing as his palms returned to your shins. He’s just touching me, just kissing me, and it’s like this… That shockwave charged back up, stronger than before to leave you dizzy and breathless. 

He was silent for a beat, the sound of both of you breathing filling the room. You heard him take a deep breath as his hands continued to slide up your shins, fingertips gently kneading into your calves. He spoke your name and the tone of his voice was different, lighter, almost vulnerable, and you knew that no one but you had ever heard him like this, felt him like this. “You’re perfect,” he said in that same tone, the one that belonged to you. He bent down to press his lips to your knee, hand cupping behind it as you bent it skyward. “You’ve always been perfect.” He dragged his lips along your inner thigh as his other hand gripped the top of your straight leg, moving it aside so that he could settle between them. “I’ve just been fightin’ it.” We both have, Billy. His touch trailed down the back of your raised thigh until his fingers slipped beneath the rounded flesh at the top and around to press his thumb into your hip. “I’m not fightin’ it anymore.” 

You realized then that that was all you wanted for him, from him. You wanted him to be safe and solid, you wanted him to be happy and whole and loved, and you wanted to be the one to give him those things. “I know, Billy,” you said, nodding and reaching for him, hand landing near his wrist, thumb sweeping over his pulse. You flexed your fingers and he let out a breath. “You don’t have to fight it anymore.” 

Your acceptance of the armistice seemed to unlock something else, another level of himself that he was now free to give you. He leaned forward, hands on either side of your rib cage to lower himself down and capture your bottom lip between his, biting down with gentle pressure. You responded with a moan into his mouth, your hands pressed to his back and a slow roll of your hips up into his. He let out a shaky breath, lips still covering yours. You felt his shoulder muscles working as he held himself up on his elbows, your hands moving down his back until they reached the rough denim material of his jeans. These need to go, Russo.  

Reading your thoughts, he adjusted himself off to the side again and obliged, returning his body to yours, nothing but skin between you. Your eyes closed and you hummed against his throat as he settled back down, every nerve on fire as you wound your leg around his. You were rewarded with the gravelly moan of your name and his tight grip returning to your hip. I need to...he needs to… But just feeling the way that he was practically buzzing with anticipation, feeling how hard he was, how ready, how eager he was to give himself to you was enough to scramble your thoughts. You knew that he wanted to take his time, to show you what he meant, what he felt. You wanted that too, wanted to slowly pour all of the held back passion into this, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to stand it. I don’t think you can either, Billy. 

You sucked in a breath as his hand found its way between your legs, crying out at the light pressure combined with another small groan that you could feel in his chest. “Billy,” you whimpered his name as he inserted one, then two fingers into you, your hips bucking involuntarily to meet his palm. “Billy, I…” 

“Shh,” he hushed you, resting the side of his cheek against yours. You could feel the patterns of his scars and the bristles of his beard pressed to your smooth skin. “I know,” he said. “I’m here. I need you, too.” He used the pressure of his hips to push his hand against you, fingers curled inside of you and light exploding in your chest to pull another cry from your lips. He needs… I need him to… He pulled his fingers from you and you shrunk back into the mattress, chest heaving at their absence. He turned his face to kiss your temple. “Do you have-”

“Top drawer,” you panted, left arm flinging to the side to indicate your nightstand, heart pounding wildly, nothing but his name tumbling over in your thoughts. He kissed you again before you felt him pull away to find the box of condoms. The sound of the rollers let you know that he’d pulled the drawer open. “Should be...right in there…” 

You heard him suck in a breath and knew instantly what had caused that reaction. Oh...right, that’s in there… He spoke your name as he found the embroidered patch of material that he’d sent you, along with the last book he’d returned to you. “You...you kept this? All this time you…” You heard the sound of the pages fluttering open and you knew he found the photo that you still kept tucked inside.

You sat up then, laying a hand on his back before pressing your lips to the top of his shoulder. “Of course I kept it… I...I hoped…” I hoped you’d come back to me, Billy, I wasn’t ready to let you go. “I love you, remember?” 

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..

He stared at the raised black stitching against the camo print, at the frayed edges, the threads coming loose in some places. She kept it… she kept me… He shifted his gaze over to the glossy photo, one corner bent and curled despite being pressed between the pages of the book. She loves me… she always has. He knew it because he felt it, because you’d said it. But seeing this tangible proof of just how much you loved him, how deep and how long, it hit him hard and strong. He dropped the items back in the drawer and whipped around to face you. “I love you,” he said it with more devotion, more dedication than anything he’d ever said or felt. He took your face between his hands, kissing you hard, head swimming and heart thrumming in unfamiliar ways. You kissed him back, matching his intensity, pressing yourself against him, wrapping your arms around him and letting him lay you back down. 

He turned back to the drawer, pulling the box out and making quick work of sliding the condom into himself. He’d meant to draw this out, to make it last. But now, here, with you like this? He couldn’t prolong it any more. We waited so long already...I can’t… Looking back at the way your chest was rapidly rising and falling, at the flush in your skin and the shape of your mouth, he knew you couldn’t wait, either. Your name left his lips as he laid himself next to you, fingers skimming over your forehead and raking the hair away from your eyes. You whimpered in response, reaching for his hip. “I’m here.” He didn’t know what else he could say that would mean more. He’d always loved you, always wanted you. But he hadn’t always been here with you, for you. I am now. 

You nodded, tongue flicking out to wet your lips. He kissed them softly, hands trailing down your body once more until they reached your hips. Lining them up with his, he watched your eyelids flutter closed, watched the way that ecstacy painted itself across your face as he slowly entered you. You gasped his name and he groaned at the way it felt to hear your voice as he sunk into you, one arm wrapping around your back and shoulders, the other bent against the mattress for support. You threw your arms over his shoulders, holding onto him, depending on him. He paused to let you adjust, waiting until your thighs relaxed against his sides before pushing fully into you. His arm slid up to brace behind your neck, fingers gathering your hair as he rocked slowly, thrusting his hips and following with his chest, pressing down against yours. Fuck, this is...she’s.... He bit down gently on your shoulder as you cried out again, your forehead tucked into the crook of his neck. Your palms flattened out over his shoulder blades, urging him on with the movement of your own hips, swirling languidly up against his. 

You wanted him just as much as he wanted you, loved him as much, needed him as much, and he felt all of that as he focused on the way it felt to have you like this, to hold you and feel you around him, to be inside you, completely connected. He’d never known anything like it, knew that there was nothing like it, no one like you. No one sees me like she does, like she always has. Your legs tensed up and he felt your muscles clench as he thrust deeper, your hand gripping the back of his neck and your back curving away from the bed and into his body. You said his name again, pleading in your tone, and he knew that you were close. “I’m here,” he said against your lips, covering them with his. “I’m right here.” 

He kept his lips sealed to yours as you reached a peak together, his hips stuttering as yours arched up again. He came first, with you just seconds behind him, a sweet sound and a rush of warmth as your orgasm rippled through your body. He gently pumped his hips into you one more time, easing you through and savoring the way it felt as your body slowed and stilled, as your breathing returned to normal. She’s beautiful. Reluctantly he pulled out of you to dispose of the spent condom, rolling it up in a tissue from your nightstand and tossing it into the small trash can below it. He returned as quickly as he could, drinking up the sight of you, hair tousled and skin damp with sweat. So damn beautiful. Lying back into the pillows, he pulled you under his arm, lips finding your temple as morning light snuck in through the blinds. 

“Billy,” you spoke against the warm skin of his chest and he hummed a reply. “I know now,” you said, and he felt his heart fill with a happiness he never dared to dream of. “You’re...you’re not leaving again...I know…” You wound your arms around his waist and squeezed with what little energy you had left. 

He tightened his hold on you, closing his eyes. “Good,” he said into your hair, soaking up the way it felt to lay like this. He knew you were doing the same, and he wanted to let you have this moment for as long as you needed it, needing it just as much himself. Good. Nothing else mattered in that moment, just you and him. Nothing. 

Not even the phone that was buzzing, forgotten in the pocket of his sweatshirt, draped over the back of your couch.  

 .

.

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[otomesations]

Fanfic: PoAH Lugus and Jed

Jed has made her choice, and it's the hardest one, for her, and for her love, Lugus. Before the tragedy plays out in the morning, they come together one last time, lovers for one night, bound for good.

You can also read this fic on AO3 if you prefer! WARNING! CONTAINS: - Spoilers for the Heroine Ending of Psychedelica of the Ashen Hawk - 18+ content

The Love of Two Beasts

"You really are a witch. You're telling me to kill the woman I love."

The snow fell thicker, so thick that I could feel its flakes melt through my wig, their cold touch on my scalp. Lugus's hair lay limp and heavy on his cheeks, drops of pale water sliding down to his coat, like tears. Still, neither of us moved.

Was it cruel of me? It was - but every other choice was harsher. Better be cruel to this one man, no matter how much it made my heart choke, than let the whole town sink to the endless depths of its decay.

Lugus. He would do it, and that would have to be enough. And we would never see each other again, in this world or another.

Before I could stop it, my hand found his cheek.

It was coarse and glacial under my fingers, the touch of two ghosts carved from rough stone. To give it warmth, to give it life... I stood on tiptoe and pressed my lips to his face. They caught a taste of snow, and farewell, and salt.

Then they tasted him. His mouth was on mine, and already his arms, awoken by my touch, hugged me to him, so hard I thought I'd break, as if he could meld us into one timeless sculpture. An eternity together. An impossible wish.

I broke the kiss first but did not back away. We deserved better. Would this soaked, miserable embrace be the last touch he'd give me before the steel of our swords pushed our hands apart? There had to be more. Something that would be only ours, his to remember through lifetimes, mine to forget forever. Our eyes searched each other for confirmation.

"Will you stay with me tonight?"

He said it first. I was grateful that now as before Lugus's voice did not flinch and held no trace of doubt. I was grateful, too, to the man who had found him after losing me and gave him his courage as he had given me my life, who had taken care of him, for me, for me to love and to hurt.

"Yes."

"Then come with me."

His words were impassive, but his tone was gentle. Lugus took my hand and through the barren garden before his manor, through the cold corridors of that place marred by death, he led me to a warm sanctuary: a small room panelled with wood, painted gold by the flames of a small hearth, a refuge only for us.

He took a thick cover off the narrow bed and spread it on the floor, over plush rugs, to give us space and comfort. I watched the fabric glisten under the dancing flames, the vines and flowers embroidered on its surface like a promise of a spring I would not see. From a sturdy table, he took a tumbler of warm water and put it in my hand. His other hand fell on my shoulder. His smell enveloped me; thawed ice, fresh sweat.

"Eiar... These hours that we have, they're yours more than mine. The decision of what to do with them is yours."

It was, and I had made it, even before I left my prison to seek out my love and ask of him what no soul should give.

"I'm not experienced in these things. But what I want is for us to be together. The way lovers are."

I was pleased that my voice came out strong and certain. Lugus's fingers tensed on my shoulder. He looked away, and I wondered if I had mistaken his intent, bewildered him. Then he looked at me again.

"I'm not experienced in this either, nor do I regret it. Let's find our way together, my love."

As soon as he was done speaking, his lips pressed to mine. It was a gentle kiss, light and tender, a mark of his patient devotion. Then he led me by the waist to our makeshift bed.

We lowered onto our knees, side by side, our hips brushing against each other through the layers of our clothes. A singular shiver ran through me at his proximity.

Lugus turned to face me and looked at me in silence, his breath the only sound next to the crackling of the fire. I let my eyes drop. The water he had given me wet my lips, steadied my heart. I put it away and met his gaze again. I found it soft and exacting, waiting on me with restrained fervour. My resolve strengthened. He must have perceived it, for his fingers raised to my face and trailed on my skin, leaving a flutter in their wake. He slid his hand under my wig, then in a deft gesture, pulled it off and tossed it away.

"I've never so much as kissed you without this thing on."

"Did you like me better in it?"

"No. Everything you are is perfect, just as it is."

He caught my hair, his fingers weaved through its short strands.

"My witch..."

He closed the distance between us and pressed me to his chest, my lips to his lips. Soon his other hand slid along my neck, to the buttons of my shirt. He opened the first one, then the next one, then the one after that. I would learn his touch in new ways; I felt my throat close at the idea. I didn't dare move lest the moment shattered, and with each stroke of his fingers, I heard my heart pulse louder in my ears.

My shirt was open now, but it hung over my body, hiding it from his view. He slipped his hand through it, only to lay it flat on my stomach, skin to skin, as if to brace the both of us. My muscles clenched and my heat flew to his caress. I brought my hands up and finished what he started, pulled the fabric apart. He watched.

Fresh air hit my skin and I looked down at my small, boyish chest. My apprehension turned to panic, untied my tongue.

"Do you remember when you made fun of me? In the tower?"

I took a light tone, but the memory stung. To my surprise, Lugus looked away. His dark cheeks turned a redder brown.

"I didn't make fun of you. Eiar. On the contrary... Every day, to want you, but to doubt my desire, and to know you didn't want me back. To discover that new part of you... stirred me."

It was my turn to flush. He looked at me again and smiled through his reserve. His hands slid the shirt off my shoulders, caressed my arms, my sides.

"Everything you are is perfect."

Softly, he drew closer to my breasts and caught them from below. His thumbs floated to their trembling tips, and I bit my own hand to forestall the cry I felt spilling from my throat.

Then he pushed me.

It was a gentle nudge, yet enough to turn my view upside down. My back was on the cover, and Lugus was above me, so close I breathed in his breath, felt the tips of his hair sharp and bristly on my open neck. I welcomed it, every tickle, every sting, everything new I learned about him a gold coin for the trove of my memories. His hips were pressing down on me, and my head grew faint as my blood flew to his weight, giving focus to my yearning. I sank into the floor and entrusted myself to him. He stared at me.

"Your eye..."

In my excitement, I hadn't noticed the rush of warmth to my face. I raised my hand to hide the red that glowed there, but Lugus caught it and pushed it back.

"No. Remember. Everything you are..."

Then his lips were pressed to mine again. Their prior softness had been replaced by urgency. His breath grew shallow, his tongue parted my mouth. All subtlety gone, his fingers dug into my skirt. He tore it off me. I responded in kind, tugged at his clothes until he too was rid of them. I followed the scars on his arms with my hands, traced the design of his tattoos over the thin, wounded skin. He shivered and the corner of his eyes stuck to my movement, as far as he could, up to his shoulders. Then he lowered himself down, his warm stomach brushed against mine - and we both stopped.

He was embracing me. My hands were lying in the small of his back. His hips were pressed to mine, and I felt another part of him there, so close to my own desire that I guessed its purpose without being told. I caught my breath.

"What's next?" I asked.

His voice came out low and broken.

"Give me your hand." I brought my right hand to the front of his body and he caught it in his. He slid it down along his skin until it reached the coarse hair at the bottom of his stomach. He turned it over then and curled my fingers around his length. I felt him throb against me, an unfamiliar life that I loved at once and claimed as mine. I held him more firmly. He let out a moan. In retaliation, his hand, now free, found the source of my longing, and I melted at his shy touch. I threw my head back, cried out, and my legs kicked against his hips - but he didn't leave me, and my yearning only grew.

He touched me and I him, our eyes locked together, curious of each other's shape, of our reactions to minute changes in our caresses. Uncertain at first, soon I could distinguish how we answered each other; he found the spots that pleased me most, and I found his. When he grew tired of probing me outside, his fingers slipped inside me, and my hips rose in joy at his unusual presence. Encouraged, he spread and stroked me, and I opened up to him in earnest.

"Lugus..."

I called to him in a voice that did not sound like mine. His breath caught. Satisfied with his discoveries, he guided my hand away, so he could close the space between us.

He kissed me once more, and his serious eyes surveyed me.

"Together..." I whispered, and he understood. Our eyes, our hands, our legs found and clasped each other, joined up, braced in anticipation. "Eiar", he called to me, and held like this, at last, he made his way inside me.

His thick touch was like nothing I expected. It was much better and much worse, deep pain and infinite joy mingling, and I laughed and wept as I let him explore me, both of us existing only for each other, focused only on where we met. He grew more demanding as I grew accustomed to him. His hips pulled him out and sank him back inside me, until I learned the pattern and followed it like snow swept by a blizzard.

He paused to catch his breath, to wipe the sweat from his chin, and an impulse formed in my mind. I wanted to own him as he had owned me. I slid away from under him and pushed him down with a flick of my hand.

Surprised, he let himself fall, his hair spread around his face like a bright halo, dipped in red by the embers. I followed the curve of his parted lips, the stern line of his jaw, the sinews on his neck, joining above his broad chest. I would make it so that every part of him lived on in the abyss, that even when I stopped being, his image would hover over my absence. I locked my eyes onto his and never let them drop, as I sank onto him, took him back in me, and felt him rise up to meet me; a new dance to which we had always known the steps.

My movements free now, I noticed the pleas of my body and let my selfishness take over. I sought him out in the way that satisfied me most. A tight coil formed inside me around his touch. He took his cue from me. His grip firm on my hips, he thrust up, deep and fast, where I guided him.

I think I cried his name, again and again, until my head jingled and my voice broke, until my words became one long moan, my movements one long shiver, and my world drowned in a shallow abyss of elation. My nails dug into his shoulders, and he flipped us over again as I floated slowly to the surface, still occupied by him, filled by his pursuit of his own ending. When he trembled and fell onto me, I let my arms hug his back. I rocked him, my Lugus, my love, our cheeks wet with our sweat, with my tears.

Our legs tangled together, our embrace crushed our chests to each other, and lying face to face, lips close enough to touch, we fell into a fitful sleep.

I could not have dozed off for longer than an hour when I woke up. The embers of the fire were glowing low in the hearth, and the night chill raised goosebumps on my skin. In the half-light, I sought Lugus. Before I could find him, I felt the warmth of a cover thrown over me. I looked up.

He stood above me, limned on his left by the dark red of the hearth, on his right, by the pale blue of the winter moon. His hair glistened like the snowdrops he so loved. His skin, naked and still damp, was flushed at the neck, at the chest, at the hips. His scars wrapped around his arms like vines. His body was unfamiliar, but already it had become my province. With more time, how much could I learn about him? How close could we get? Could this scene ever grow so usual that the exquisite chill I felt at his view would recede? I didn't think so. He could never stop feeling both mine and other, both known and new. I imagined how our lives together would be. I imagined and held onto that dream.

He crouched next to me with a smile.

"No more sleep?" he asked. I raised my hand and caught a strand of his hair. He turned to kiss my palm, then put the tumbler of water in it. As I drank from it, he slid under the cover and snuggled up to me.

His head was lying by my elbow. He looked young then, much younger than the lord of the Hawks - a child still, lost in this big manor that was not meant for him - but his eyes had their usual mettle. He pulled on my shoulder and I fell into his arms.

"Enchant me, my witch. Tell me about us," he asked, as if he'd read my thoughts. "Tell me about our lives as the lord and lady of this town."

"Right. Because we fell in love, children of the beasts, that'll put an end to the strife. Next year, the snow will melt, and there'll be no more pain, no more fear. Wolves and Hawks will come together, and every day will be like the masquerade. We'll help each other out, laugh about small things, drink together at the tavern, and the town will be filled with joy."

"But our joy will be the greatest, for I will marry you."

My heart swelled at his words.

"You will. We'll learn our way around each other, work together, laugh together. And on the third day of spring, after the masquerade has passed, we'll stand under green boughs before the church, you and I. You'll hold my hands, and I will swear to love you forever."

He caught my hands and raised them to his chest.

"Like this?"

"Just like this."

"Then I will listen to your vow, and make mine in return."

His eyes turned solemn. They caught me in their depths, and I couldn't look away. His voice came out steady, each word slow and assured.

"Wherever you are, I will come to you. No matter how many times I lose you, I will find you again. All the lives we have left - I will live each one with you. I swear it by everything you've given me. Tomorrow is the last time I will let anything steal you away from me."

I knew he could not hold that promise, yet in that instant, I trusted him. Our gazes stuck together, I nodded.

"So you will."

His chest spread in relief, and he pressed me to it, held me in it as if to hide me from the world. For another hour, we stayed like that, awake, silent, unmoving, breathing in each other's skin.

Then it was time.

We pulled away at the same moment. Lugus got up and fetched my clothes from around the room. He pulled my shirt on for me, and before closing it, bent and kissed me on my heart - both marking me, I knew, and asking my forgiveness for what was to come.

"You are so much more, even, than I hoped you'd be," he said against my skin.

I caught his hands before they could leave, and held them in mine, a last indulgence. We looked at each other, a fleeting "what if" darkening both our faces - then it was gone. The moment of choice had already passed.

I turned away, found the rest of my clothes, pulled them on. I was about to pick up the wig from the floor, but Lugus, fully clothed, beat me to it.

"Let me."

He stood before me, and I found myself in his eyes, the boy named Jed, the woman named Eiar, the witch. All of them felt right when I saw them through him. Done with my hair, still, he let his hands linger on my cheeks.

"Eiar. One last time."

He pulled me close and kissed me, deeply, as deeply as the first time, when he didn't know me, as the second time, when he didn't have me; as he had a few hours ago, when we came together at last. His touch stoked a small fire in me, but we had no time to let it burn. Our arms fell away, our chests swelled with a deep breath. He took my hand again, and we left our love behind in this small wooden room, guarded by embers that would not blaze, by vines that would not flower.

It was still night outside. The air was cold and crisp, and it cut us apart like a knife of glass. We faced each other and bit back our words of parting, "I love you," "I love you too," a promise without future, without use for our already bound hearts.

Instead, Lugus bent over me and kissed my forehead.

"I'll come to fetch you in a few hours."

"I'll be ready."

I took a step away, tore myself from his warmth. Then I turned and walked, in slow strides, to my cell. I did not look back.

I found Hugh sitting in a corner, a nonchalant leg swinging over a knee. He gave me a bright smile, with a lack of surprise that would have embarrassed me in less extraordinary times.

"I'm sorry, I'm late." I looked away.

"Indeed, you're not. You're just in time for the last act, little witch. I have but one errand to run before the new day." He winked.

"For the story must come to its rightful end, or what sort of writer would I be?"

And with that, he was gone.

I sank to the ground. My fingers splayed on the cold stone, I felt its harshness, then I felt it melt away until there was nothing left but the memory of warm flowers embroidered in delicate thread, and of the warm skin I had made mine. I searched myself for fear, for sadness, for regret, but found only peace. The choice was made; now it would play out. My red eye wide open, I waited for the break of a sallow dawn. 

[dcbbw]

Can you write a PWP Bastien smut that could awaken the deads?

Hey, Nonny! I wrestled with answering this because I don’t write Bastien and I am working on four other fics that I really need and want to finish up this week if possible. But I’m thirsty af, so here you go. I hope it fits the bill. (This is set in my Secrets of Cordonia universe)

 Post is NSFW

Bastien presses the pad of a thick thumb against the woman’s sensitive clit. He lets his fingers drift and graze wet folds of pink through the crotch of her lace panties. Her red hair is fanned out across a white pillowcase. Crimson and cream. Just like her. She could have been Queen; she should have been Queen, but the King was poisoned against her.

That did not stop the King from fucking her. That did not stop her from loving the King. It was an age old tale: Bastien loved her; she loved another; and the one she loved, loved another. His thumb flicked the nub, feeling it grow harder underneath his touch. He started slowly at first, but her moans and growls encouraged him to move faster and apply more pressure. He saw her back arch, a flash of pale skin in the dimly lit room; elongated pink nipples arched into the sky as her body shook and shuddered with the ultimate release.

Bastien leaned back on his haunches, watching Lucretia Nervakis come undone. His cock, thick and large, twitched at the sight. He pressed the panties into her pussy, wanting the delicate fabric to soak up as much of her essence as possible. They were purple lace and would make an excellent addition to his collection. He knew he was playing a dangerous game; forget training to be a member of the Royal Guard.

What was more dangerous than fucking the King’s lover?

He felt a kiss drop on his shoulder as arms wrapped around his waist, a hand grasping his erection.

Fucking both of the King’s lovers.

Jackson’s breath was warm against Bastien’s skin; his hand firm as his fist stroked the younger man’s impressive cock. Bastien’s head fell back, reveling in the feel of his pre-cum being spread along his length. Soft, slender hands pulled his head forward; Lucretia’s lips snatched his in a greedy kiss. Her hands roamed over his chiseled chest, fingernails raking skin, fingertips tweaking his nipples.

Her tongue coiled with his, wet heat against soft velvet. Bastien shivered at Jackson’s lips leaving a trail of kisses down his back. The scruff of his mentor’s beard was bristly against the smooth skin. Lucretia’s lips slipped from Bastien’s, her mouth now sucking the skin on his neck. Her hand reached down to grasp his cock; her hand collided with Jackson’s.

Finally, Lucretia is on her knees, her haunches tucked underneath her. The purplish head of Bastien’s cock is smeared with his leakage. Without thought, her tongue swipes at it. The taste lingers on her tongue as she takes more of the cock in her mouth. Jackson removes his hand to give her greater access to the meat they both crave.

Movement as bodies shift and re-position. Bastien is now on his knees, Lucretia on her back with her head beneath his balls. Her tongue is flattened against the underside of his cock; occasionally her mouth engulfs his balls which are heavy and low hanging with need. Jackson is standing, legs spread and feet planted firmly on the mattress. His hands are on his hips for balance as he watches his cock slip in and out of Bastien’s mouth. The warm wetness on his manhood is both welcome and wanted. Despite his vows to protect them both until his last breath, neither Jackson’s wife nor his King will service him.

The room is filled with hisses and moans; Lucretia’s fingers play in her pussy. The level of her arousal becomes both fragrant and audible. Bastien wants to taste her sweetness, he wants lap at her juices. The Fruit of Lythikos. It lies between milky white thighs, and the young guard is hungry for it.  He voices his desire, and again, more shifting and movement across the bed.

There is almost a sense of urgency this time; the sun is getting low in the sky. The King will be returning soon. Bastien’s eyes look up at her; he is between her thighs, her scent making his mouth water. Her skin is white and smooth…..a concave expanse of unmarred milk. He wants to mark it, he wants to see bruises bloom in brilliant magentas and purple; flowers against a barren landscape.

But he can’t. There can be no evidence. What they are doing now requires far more than discretion.

After carefully removing her damp panties which he tosses into the pile of clothing on the floor, Bastien gets lost in folds of wet pink, his tongue darting into crevices and creases to capture her juices. His lips wrap around Lucretia’s clit while his fingers delve into her entry, curling and thrusting into her. He lifts his eyes to see Jackson’s lips wrapped tightly around a pale pink nipple, the tip of his tongue curling around the puckered flesh.

Lucretia’s moans become louder as her hands bunch and fist silk sheets. Bastien’s cock is throbbing with its need to release. It’s time. He lifts his head from the plate Lucretia has laid before him, and hovers his body over hers. His face turns to Jackson, and the men kiss. It is sloppy and wet as Jackson sucks and licks essence from Bastien’s tongue and lips. Jackson moves; Bastien leaves the bed. He is pulling the tube of lubricant from the bedside drawer when he hears moans. Jackson’s cock is inside of Lucretia; her legs are thrown over his shoulders, his hands hefting her ass.

Bastien strokes and spreads the lube down the length of his cock, his eyes fixed on the pair before him. His hands reach down to cup and tug on his balls. He knows the time grows short, but the sight of Jackson’s thick cock thrusting in deeply and pulling out slowly with essence and juice glistening on it fascinates Bastien. He finds his stroking becomes longer. He twists his hand around his almost painfully hard cock.

A grunt from Jackson rouses the guard; he positons himself behind Jackson. He bites his lip at the firm ass before him, cheeks clenching every time he thrusts into pink wetness. Bastien pulls the cheeks apart; he closes his eyes in pleasure at the feel of Jackson’s tightness engulfing his girth. He eases in slowly, his ears filled with the sounds of Jackson’s moans of pleasure. Lucretia kisses the older man quickly to silence the sounds of pleasure.

The door was locked, but that wouldn’t stop Constantine.

Jackson’s anus pulsed around Bastien’s cock; Lucretia’s walls wrapped around Jackson’s cock. The smell of sex and the sounds of slapping skin filled the room. Lucretia’s hips rubbed against Jackson’s pelvis, Bastien’s hips pounded against Jackson’s ass. Without warning, Jackson emits a low growl as his seed releases itself within Lucretia. His hands grip her hips harshly as his body convulses. His ass clenches more tightly than before and Bastien feels his release being squeezed from him. He pulls Jackson even closer to him, panting as he feels his load leak from his lover. Jackson’s fingers are playing with Lucretia’s clit, a nipple in his mouth. He suckles and teases and feels Lucretia writhe beneath him.

It is when Bastien’s mouth closes over her other nipple that Lucretia falls over the edge. Her juices rush over Jackson’s fingers as soft moans fall from her lips. The trio collapse into a pile of sweaty bodies, all trying to catch their breath.

They all hear the sound of a car door closing.

Clothes are thrown on quickly; Bastien grabs the panties and stuffs them in his pants pocket. Sheets are straightened, pillows are plumped. Lucretia runs fingers through her hair. With a finger to her lips, she ushers the men to the door. She quietly unlocks it, and seeing the hall is clear, she motions for them to leave.

It is doubtful the King will come directly to Lucretia’s rooms, but better to err on the side of caution. Jackson and Lucretia lock eyes; they will see each other again before the night is out, The King will demand it.

Bastien fingers the panties in his pocket as his eyes drink in Lucretia’s features. Memories and lace will be his only companions until the next time he can join in.

Once the door has shut behind them, the two men look at each other. With a nod, they head their separate ways.

  Tagging: @sirbeepsalot @wannabemc2 @topsyturvy-dream @jared2612 @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @hopefulmoonobject @simsvetements @cora-nova @custaroonie @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @drakesensworld @liamxs-world @lauradowning29 @thequeenofcronuts @brightpinkpeppercorn @wickedgypsymoon @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @amomentofsinclairity @bobasheebaby @timmagicktoad @ao719 @sashatrr @marietrinmimi @ladyangel70 @be-still-my-aching-heart @gardeningourmet @umccall71 @angi15h @romanticatheart-posts @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @blznbaby @tabithacarlisle @emceesynonymroll @bbrandy2002 @ab1901 @janezillow @debramcg1106 @radlovedreamer @jessiembruno @lodberg @thecordoniandiaries @ramseyandrys @caroldxnvxrs @iplaydrake @enmchoices @princess-geek @burnsoslow @annekebbphotography @merridithsmiscellany-blog @beardedoafdonutwagon @obsidiansuniverse @luckythrteen513 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @msjr0119 @desiree-0816 @emichelle @queenjillian @stopforamoment

#nsfw #nonny ask #kinda long post #bastien lykel 

[tonyspep]

this night is sparkling, don’t you let it go (i’m wonderstruck blushing all the way home)

a/n: like always when it comes to my richard fics this is @rocketrhap917​‘s fault but in the best way possible.rae has become such a great friend these past few months since i found her fics for richard. my inspiration was this https://veinsofmantra.tumblr.com/post/188848193579  post and my face claim for you aka maddie is elizabeth olsen best known for playing wanda maximoff in the mcu. you can see her here. also i used lyrics from “enchanted” by taylor swift for the title of this fic.

~*~this night is sparkling, don't you let it go~*~

(i'm wonderstruck blushing all the way home)

pairing: richard madden/you

summary: you were never a risk taker, but the last thing you wanted was for everyone to think you had a lousy time in paris, so for the first time you took a risk; asking a handsome strange for a kiss, the worst he could do is say no, except he didn't

rating: t

The sun slowly setting while you rode the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower reminded you that your time in Paris was dwindling. You didn't think a week had ever gone by so fast, but this was your lone vacation of the year, as you had only been working at Gourmand Magazine for a year and hadn't accumulated much paid time off as a result. So instead of staring at the familiar sight of Bryant Park, you were taking in one of Europe's most vibrant cultural centers, seemingly unearthing a new sight every time you blinked.

You sighed heavily, your teeth sinking into your lip as the elevator dinged, signalling you had reached the observation deck. Your camera – yes, camera complete with multiple lenses and a small tripod – weighed heavily in the bag you slung across your shoulder. Though, Gourmand hired you for your writing, you had experience in food styling from when you were in college and photography had always been a hobby of yours, so you brought your beat up – but still functional, thank you very much – Nikon with you.

Your lips twisted wryly as you thought of your sister, Maggie, who teased you for bringing it along while she helped you pack. mads, i don't get it, sue me, but you have a perfectly good iphone ten for pictures. why are you packing that old dinosaur? dad doesn't even remember giving it to you. save the space for thongs for the sexy french dudes you'll be hooking up with.

You managed to hold down a bark of laughter as you stepped out onto the crowded space. Your sister – though, she was older – thought you were going to be whisked into some kind of romantic comedy or at least an episode of Sex and the City the second you touched down at the Charless DeGalle airport and your week long trip would be nothing but hook ups with Gabriel, Raphael and Louis, ever so enchanted by your Midwest twang and slouchy beanies and beat up boots.

yeah, mags you thought with a roll of your eyes i'm every frenchman's dream

You shook your head, pasting on a warm, friendly smile as you manuevered your way through the throng of tourists and locals on the deck, hoping to squeeze your petite frame into a good spot where you'd be able to get shots of the city at sunset. Your heart couldn't help but sink as you looked at the couples all around you – apparently you hadn't gotten the memo that tonight was couples only – which only served to remind you that you weren't supposed to be here alone. You were supposed to be here with your boyfriend of nearly two years Nick, but he broke up with you a month before the trip and of course the deposit on the hotel room was non refundable and it was too late to change your ticket, so you were stuck going to Paris alone. He at least – ha – had the courtesy to Zelle you the money for his ticket.

Another sigh passed your lips as you found some space between the couples exchanging longing glances and fevered kisses.

X

“Beautiful night isn't it?” A rich baritone came from beside you, nearly making you jump out of your skin. “Didn't mean to startle ye,” Their tone somewhat sheepish and when you turned to face them, your breath caught in your throat and your heart stuttered while your pulse raced.

You were sure you had never seen a more handsome man.

Not even Leo looked this good to you while you were swooning over him in Romeo + Juliet and Titanic as a lovestruck teenager.

He was at least a head taller than you, just a little under six feet or just at the six foot mark, you guessed. His eyes were the bluest blue, so blue it was like staring into the ocean itself, you thought you could drown if you stared long enough. His lips were plush and inviting, as if their shape had been specifically made for kissing. His jaw, that looked sharp enough to cut glass, was covered by a neatly trimmed russet beard – briefly a sizzling thought was seared into your brain as you wondered what the bristly hairs might feel like between your thighs.

You flushed, but willed the heat in your cheeks to recede, the thought replaced by something tamer. The wonder of wanting to know what it would feel like to card your fingers through the thickness of his simply styled hair, the grey streak at the front capturing your attention. The silver mixed among the otherwise dark auburn only enhanced his attractiveness and you thought your touch/romance starved brain might have conjured him up, like some sort of mirage as if you were wandering in the desert and were desperate for water.

Because, honestly, how could he be real?

“An amateur photographer, perhaps?” Brought you back to reality. Just as your lips parted, he shook his head, “No, no don't tell me,” He flashed the most charming knee weakening grin you'd ever seen, thirty two perfectly white teeth shining at you and your thighs clenched as he stroked his beard, pretending to be deep in thought. “Let me guess,” He leaned in close as if you weren't complete strangers, his breath – minty fresh – warming your face.

“Artist,” He declared and you were sure your panties would be ruined if he spoke another syllable.

“I can only draw stick figures, sorry,” You remarked, your lips twisting into your first genuine smile since you stepped off the plane. “You, uh,” Your voice took on a lighter, airier tone – dare you even say flirtatious – as you moved a little closer, your bodies nearly touching. “Were right the first time,” You gave a breathless giggle and were rewarded with a low chuckle rumbling from his chest.

“An amateur photographer, are ye?”

“I write for a food magazine,” You explained, not really taking the time to analyze that you were telling all of this to a complete stranger. “Back in New York. Gourmand. It's, uh, just barely getting off the ground and I've only been there a year, so I don't have a lot of vacation time saved. I was supposed to be here with someone, but it didn't work out,” You could feel your cheeks heat up from the admission. “I couldn't get the hotel room deposit back and it was too late to switch my flight to somewhere else. I, uh, did some food styling in college, but photography's actually been a hobby of mine since high school.”

“An actual camera's a rare sight these days.” His breath warms your face again as he angles it just so, his fingers brushing along the strap that keeps the camera around your neck. The tips – calloused and rough, but not unpleasant – catch, briefly, against the skin of your neck and you don't know how you're standing.

“My sister,” Your tone is rueful just as your smile is. “Thought it was a waste of space. She voted for thongs to fill the space inside my suitcase instead,” The words fell from your lips without a second thought and another low chuckle left those criminally plush lips. “Thongs, you say?” He arched a perfect brow. “But since your camera took up all that space, am I to assume no thongs accompanied you on your trip?”

You laughed instead of flushed like you expected yourself to do. You gave him a shove, surprised by your bold move and he laughed again, his crystal eyes twinkling while they squinted and crinkled attractively until the last rasp fell from his lips.

You stood on your tip toes, your lips brushing along the shell of his ear – again, taking yourself by surprise – and murmured, “No thongs, I'm afraid, but some lacy pairs accompanied me. I may be wearing a pair right now.”

“Oh,” He sounded breathless, and you felt yourself swell with pride. You – little Maddie Rogers – from Naperville made this incredibly handsome guy with this too die for accent breathless and flush. You who always waited for the guy to make the first move did that. Where it came from you didn't know, it was probably the fact that you were in Paris and though not quite the romantic Maggie was, you were being swept up in the vibe that the Eternal City gave off, that rush that anything could happen, that you could be anyone or anything and it wouldn't matter because in, like, two days you would be gone.

For the first time since you landed, Nick was the furthest thing from your mind. You were doing the thing you had struggled to do since you were a kid, live in the moment and just be.

Your brain was buzzing while heat surged through your veins, the urge to have those perfect lips pressed against yours too much to ignore. You turn yourself, your soft but lithe frame pressed against him and he's just as you thought he would be; lean and hard, not overly muscled but the perfect amount that you can feel the toned shape of his pecs through the fabric of his henley that clings to him just so, your breasts cushioned wonderfully against the muscles.

“Kiss me,” You basically demand before you can stop yourself.

Without a second thought, his large hand reaches between your bodies, touching your chin gently to angle you in a more advantageous way and just as you feel your lashes brush your cheeks when your eyes close, his lips are on yours.

If you're breathing, you don't know. All you know is his lips feel just as plush as they looked and yes, they were specifically designed for kissing. They literally shouldn't be doing anything else. Your lips open with no resistance for his insistent tongue and you allow him to coax your own out of hiding, tangling with his with no regard that you don't know his name and he doesn't know yours.

Breathing – unfortunately – is a necessity and when you break apart, you feel as though your coming up for air after having been under water. Your lungs burn, but it's pleasant and all you want is to capture his lips again, never wanting to go another second without them moving hungrily against your own. Your foreheads are pressed together and you feel your lips curve into a smile. He laughs, his hand moving languidly over your back, fingers dipping beneath the hem of your shirt to touch the small of your back, and god what you wouldn't give for him to touch you everywhere, no barriers between you.

You're under an intense haze, your brain foggy in a way it's never been and just as his lips brush against yours again, you pull away before the kiss can turn hotter. You give a soft smile, your fingers lingering along the bristles of his beard and you giggle at the roughness of the hair there – so different than the soft, thickness you felt as your fingers carded through the hair on his head - “just a sec,” you breathe and it takes everything to pull away.

Your camera's on the railing, when you took it off you don't know, but you slip your phone from your back pocket and tap a middle aged woman on the shoulder. You ask if she speaks in English, unsure if she is French or not and when she says yes – her Minnesota accent coming through – you laugh and ask if she'd be willing to take a picture of you and – you let the white lie slip from your lips – boyfriend, a tingle rushing up your spine from the word while your stomach dips and tumbles from the heady thought you desperately wish was true.

She says yes and you're pulling him in for what you intend to be another steamy kiss. Instead, he's unbelievably gentle. Taking special care when his lips slide along yours, one of his hands anchored in your hair and the other at the small of your back, to keep you pressed against him. His tongue is slow and languid as it moves against yours and you pull back just as the woman goes, “there you go,” and you sigh softly, your breath literally stolen and he says, “thank you ma'am,” the accent – Scottish, you finally realize – sending your heart beating like a runaway train.

“Oi, Dickie!” A British accent calls from a foot away and you laugh when he mutters, “fuck all,” under his breath. “Dickie?” You can't stop yourself from giggling. You're not sure what you would have guessed his name to be, but he definitely isn't a Dick. “It's Richard,” He murmurs, thumb stroking your cheek. “My father's also named Richard so my Mum took to calling us Big Dick and Little Dick. My friends think it's funny.”

“Oh,” You murmur, giggles slowly fading from your tone. “Take care,” He says, flashing another knee weakening smile and yeah, you're positive your panties are ruined at this point. “And whoever you were supposed to be with is a bloody fool.” His tone is so sincere you fight back a swoon. “I'd never let  a beauty such as yourself end up in Paris – of all places – alone.”

“Thanks...”

“Bloody hell, mate...” His friend grouses after he pushed his way through the throng of people to get to where the two of you were standing. “For finding my camera,” You finish, reaching for the familiar device. You knew what was going to happen next, his friend was going to ask who you were and then you'd probably end up wherever they were going and in the morning he'd be in your bed just a day left on your trip and he'd, somehow, convince you to stay and that was something you couldn't – literally – afford to do. You were barely making the rent as it was since you didn't have Nick's extra income coming in anymore.

“Of course,” He muttered, those pure crystal eyes going cloudy and your stomach twisted. His handsome face looked sad, though it was probably your imagination. He had no reason to be sad. You were just a stranger he kissed in Paris. It's not like you were ever going to see each other again.

“Who was that?” You heard his friend ask as you slipped through the crowd to make your way to the elevator. You bit down on your lip, twisting the flesh between your teeth and you swore you could still taste him; minty fresh with something spicy and deep underneath. Just like you swore his scent lingered in your nose; bergamont and orange with notes of musk and wood, a scent you doubt you would forget any time soon.

X

Before you shut the light off in your hotel room, you found the picture the fellow tourist had taken of the two of you, and before you could stop yourself you logged into your instagram account.

You posted the pic with the caption; i hope this guy i met at the eiffel tower and asked for a pic of us kissing so i could pretend i had a romantic time in paris is doing good.

The next morning your phone was buzzing and you rolled your eyes at the stream of text messages and dms Maggie had sent you. As you stretched your limbs and twisted your hair into a messy bun so you could prepare to wash your face and brush your teeth, your phone pinged. You were prepared to leave Maggie on read – not wanting to deal with her craziness so early in the morning and on your last day in Paris no less – when you saw that it wasn't a text or a dm from her.

Someone had liked – along with a few hundred other people – your photo of you and the stranger kissing. Your eyes squinted to read the user name – your glasses on the dresser in the middle of the room and you had taken out your contacts when you went to sleep – and saw it was from madsrich.

You didn't recognize the name and just as you were about to put your phone down, it pinged again letting you know you had a dm. It was from madsrich. huh?????????? you thought before clicking the message so it could fill your screen.

you hoped the guy you met at the eiffel tower and asked for a pic of us kissing so you could pretend you had a romantic time in paris is doing good, eh? i can confidently say he's doing well. though, he'd really like to know your name. it can't really be maroge12.

You nearly fell off the bed. It couldn't be... Your mind was racing and when you clicked on his username it took you to his profile and sure enough those unreal crystal blue eyes you believed you could drown in were staring back at you from various photos.

You quickly typed a response to his dm, your fingers shaking and tripping over themselves enough times that you had to go back and retype your message before you clicked send.

my name's maddie. and you're doing well, are you? that's good to know. i'm doing well also. i had a romantic time in paris, after all ;)

[vanderlindeboyz]

Arthur x F!Reader

For @winters-uprise. In which Arthur returns from a long journey, and gets some much needed lovin’. Totally innocent fluff with just a little bit of angst because I can’t stop myself. Also it’s so goddamn long and I’m sorry.

Turning down the small dirt path, Arthur was never happier to see Clemens Point.

Turning down the small dirt path, Arthur was never happier to see Clemens Point. After picking up a bounty in Strawberry, he’d had to chase the son of a bitch way up into the Grizzlies. It had taken a week longer than he had planned, and he came back hungry, tired, and ready to go home. He rode hard and determined, stopping only to rest the horse. While the location was ever changing, your presence in camp was a promise that he had come to rely on. He thought about sitting with you on the boat, early in the morning, fog hanging low against the water, your fingers entwined with his.

“Goddamn, Arthur. It’s been so long I figured you for dead,” John exclaimed as Arthur trotted by him, lowering his rifle.

“Almost. But you could only be so lucky,” he hollered back at him.

At the commotion everyone in camp stirred. They all shouted their hellos, but it was Tilly who got up to help him. It was late in the day, the sun just beginning to set. Everyone was sitting around the fires while Pearson cooked up dinner. It was venison stew, as Tilly informed him, and the smell wafting from the pot made Arthur’s stomach growl. She laughed.

“You know I’ve been starved if Pearson’s cookin’ smells good to me,” Arthur chuckled, removing the saddle from his horse.

“We were all worried about you, Arthur. It’s good to have you back safe and sound.” Tilly helped him with the saddlebags, walking over to his tent. All the while, he was scanning the camp, looking for any sign of you.

Tilly took notice, elbowing Arthur gently in the ribs. “She went out fishing, but she should be back soon,” she assured him, laying down the saddlebags.

Arthur gave a small smile, nodded. “Thanks, Tilly. You don’t miss a thing, do you?”

“There ain’t much else to do around here aside from observe. Now get those clothes off. I’ll have Mary-Beth wash them.” She reached out, and he did as he was told, stripping down to his long johns. “I left you a new bar of soap next to your shaving kit. Why don’t you try to impress her a little and get yourself cleaned up before she gets back?” With a wink, she headed off across the camp, arms full of his laundry.

He took the hint, knowing he wasn’t exactly fresh. Grabbing some clean clothes from the chest and the soap, he went off to find a somewhat secluded spot on the shore. The air was hot and humid but rapidly cooling as the sun began to slip behind the hills in the distance. Awkwardly, he tested the temperature of the water with a foot, and finding it agreeable, stripped off his long johns and waded in. In waist-high water, he scrubbed himself head to toe.

He was fastening the button on a new pair of pants when you rounded the shore. Eyes wide, you called to him, “Goddamn, Arthur. Is that you?!”

His gaze snapped up to you, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Don’t just stand there, starin’. Get yourself over here!”

Dropping your gear and a bucket full of bass and bluegill, you ran over to him, practically jumping on him. Arms wrapped around his neck, you squeezed him hard. Peppering kisses along his jaw and over his cheeks, he turned his head and caught your lips easily. With over two weeks of waiting behind it, the kiss was rough and full of need. Your teeth caught his lower lip, biting gently. He groaned, a shudder going through him. Putting your hands on his chest, you pushed some space between the two of you, needing to catch your breath. He didn’t let you go though, arms wrapped tight around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

He inhaled deeply, kissing your neck in that little spot that made you shiver. “God above, woman, I’ve missed you.”

You laughed, one of your hands going to his damp hair. “I’m glad you washed the trail off first. It’s a nice change from the usual.”

Arthur lifted his head up from your shoulder, placing his hands on either side of your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Tilly gave me the idea. Otherwise I would have went huntin’ all over the lake for you,” he said, kissing you again quickly.

“I’ll have to thank her, then.” Separating yourself from him, you went to gather your abandoned items. “How long have you been in?”

“Only about an hour, not even that long,” he answered, pulling on a blue shirt and doing up the buttons. It was then you noticed an ugly bruise on his collarbone with the yellow tinge of an older wound.

“Looks like you didn’t have an easy time of it,” you said, trying to hide the worry in your voice.

His fingers gingerly touched the spot for a moment before continuing with the buttons. “I didn’t, and that’s all I’ll say about it.” His tone was serious and a little sad.

“Well come on then. Let’s get you something to eat.”

Later, after the work was done and his belly full, you both relaxed by the scout’s fire. You sat cross-legged, a book open in one hand. Arthur spooned coffee into the basket of the percolator. Leaving it to it’s work, he stretched out beside you, laying his head in your lap. Idly, one of your hands ran through his hair, nearly dried now. He let out a contented sigh as your nails gently scratched his scalp, folding his hands over his chest. In his excitement to see you, he had forgotten how tired he was. Now, with a big meal tucked away and the soothing touch of your hands on him, he felt bone tired.

Your fingers traced around his ears, going down to his jaw to run through his thick beard. “You plannin’ on keepin’ this?” you asked him playfully, scratching his cheek under the bristly hair.

“Maybe,” he grumbled, his voice thick and a little slurred with the need to sleep. It was a struggle to keep his eyes open, so he just let them close. “Why? Don’t care for it?” His brow furrowed, and he frowned.

“I don’t mind it, I’ll say that.” Your free hand moved down his chest, sliding under his palms. The slow beating of his heart had a calming effect on you, and you took one of his hands in yours. The knuckles were bruised and cut, purple and yellow, thanks to a bounty that Arthur wouldn’t speak of. You kissed each one, your lips lingering against the abused skin.

Arthur made a sound deep in his throat, somewhere between a rumble and a moan. Your touch eased every knot and sore muscle in him. Letting out a soft chuckle, you laid his hand back on his chest.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed,” you softly whispered to him, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“Not just yet. Let me have a few more minutes of this,” he sleepily grumbled, taking your hand in one of his, thumb slowly stroking your skin.

Coffee all but forgotten, you smiled, nodding. “Alright.” You sat the book down finally, using your free hand to comb your fingers through his hair again. These days, moments like this were so rare, and getting rarer all the time.

“I don’t deserve you. You know that,” Arthur mumbled, startling you.

“Quit it,” you told him, lightly smacking his shoulder. “You know I hate when you talk like that.”

“I didn’t do anything nice up in Strawberry, darlin’,” he said, his eyes open now and staring into the fire. “I don’t know how you can bear to touch me. Some days, I can barely stand to be in my own skin.”

“Oh, Arthur,” you said, giving a weary sigh. “It’s time for bed.”

Arthur sat up slowly, stiff from the hard ground. He stood with a good long stretch, and you took this moment to wrap your arms around his waist.

“You’re not a bad person, Arthur. Maybe not an entirely good one, and a little naive sometimes.” At that last part, he huffed, making a sour face. “But far from a bad one.” Taking his face in your hands, you pressed a kiss to his lips, soft and lingering. He leaned into it, his hands pulling your hips closer to him.

“That was the worst effort to cheer someone up I have ever heard,” Arthur said, laughter in his voice.

You shrugged, smiling. “I think livin’ up in the mountains for so long has made me uncivilized.”

He smiled, dipping his head down to kiss you again. Lips still touching yours, he mumbled in low tones, “I wouldn’t have you any other way, darlin’.”

[ursoself-satisfying]

All Things Must Pass

this was a request!!! hes so young here wow

Joe Mazzello x F!Reader, sad/comfort fluff

A/N: i have so little time to write this was a struggle,,, i projected a lot onto this fic, using the language i use when im in a negative headspace n such so i hope it doesnt thro anyone off,,, i went thru a lot of what i felt then wrote that cus i deal w mental health issues n tried to portray what i go thru in a semi-accurate way but not one so specific its not readable u kno??? y'all that peep my references here tho get bonus points

Warnings: none rly,,, its kinda vague n sad like dealing w not discussing whats wrong n such,,,,, nothing bad tho,, not even any language wow!!! jk one language wh00ps

The warm mug in your hand didn’t improve your mood. The steam of the drink drifted up from the contents and swirled in intricate patterns near your face. You pursed your chapped lips and blinked your drying eyes. A feeling had been swelling in you for days, but you couldn’t quite identify it yet. With soft blankets curled around you and your body folded up on the couch, you pondered it again. This wasn’t an unfamiliar experience. It had been happening for years. The bite of the sharp night air bled through a crack in your draping covers and you shivered, conserving your heat by pulling further into yourself. Though familiar, this state you were in was anything but comfortable. Even if you really were comfortable like this, you wouldn’t have wanted to admit it.

The kitchen light was the only thing shining through the apartment. It wasn’t your apartment, no. This wave had to come crashing down on you when you were far from the safety of your home. This apartment was safe It belonged to your boyfriend and he made you feel safe, but he wasn’t there right now. It was just you and the sound of minuscule little droplets of rain pattering against the window. The street lights made the storm seem like a glitter against the glass, reflecting back the business of the night.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt like this, but you had to remember it was ok not to be ok sometimes. “We naturally go through emotional highs and lows, everyone does,” she told you, “it doesn’t mean you’re broken if you feel bad- it means you're human.” ‘Remeber that,’ you'd thought, ‘remember it’s ok. You’re ok.’

Your drink smelled sweet and a little burnt. You breathed in the warmth wafting from it before slowly and cautiously tipping the cup to your lips. A hiss escaped your lips at the still scalding temperature colliding with your raw skin and you sighed. Your love of the cold weather had betrayed you and left you weak. The entire situation was stressful and tiring, and you’d cry if you could but for some horrible reason you just couldn’t.

Your mind struggled to focus on one thing at a time that had led to your current emotions but it mostly focused on the bad. Your mind was foggy and muddled and insisted on making a mental list of all the reasons your life was the absolute worst in this very moment. ‘Perhaps,’ you reasoned, ‘if I identify what's wrong, I can fix it.’

You were far from home. New York City was scary and big and loud and dirty and new to you. This was exciting and terrifying at the same time. You wanted to see everything, and Joe wanted to show it all to you, but of course, he still had work things and you were left alone. You only had so much time there and even less time with him. There was never any way you could have fit in every important place you wanted to see into the few precious hours you could share.

That led into your second reason, which was that you just desperately missed Joe. He hadn’t wanted to leave you alone,  but duty does call and he had to answer. “I love you, ok? I’m so sorry, I- I wish I could have planned for this but-”

“You couldn’t have known! It’s ok,” You’d smiled at him and he kissed you before he left. Every morning and every night and every time he had the chance, he kissed you. God, it gave you life. His face just seemed to fit into your so perfectly, like your hands were molded against his cheeks. You closed your eyes and could almost feel him there with you, his warmth keeping you sane, but when you opened your eyes, he was gone.

Maybe the third reason was that your relationship was fairly new and you were insecure in the commitment for a number of reasons- or maybe it’s just that the holiday season was upon you and that ‘seasonal depression’ was hitting you hard. There was so much to do, so much to not miss out on, and so little time to relax and actually enjoy this time of year. Joe hadn’t managed to decorate for anything yet and had actually planned to do so with you, but it didn’t look like you’d have the chance to now. There were no lights up anywhere, no festive knick-knacks up on the shelves, nothing.

‘Or maybe,’ you thought, ‘it’s not seasonal, it’s just me.’ This was a turning point and you were scared. Joe had never seen you in such a deep, naturally dark headspace before, and you had little explanation for it. There was no one thing you could blame for the way you felt. It was just- Everything. A vague yet overwhelming anxiety rolled through you that made your guts feel like they’d turned to sawdust and were swirling around inside you like you were the floor of some horrible workshop.

The lighter side of your mind spoke up, ‘Maybe that’s not such a bad comparison, I mean, you are a workshop, always tinkering, changing, evolving. You are a human bent on self-improvement. Recovery,’ the voice reminded, ‘is not linear.’

“But any step forward is a good step,” you said out loud.

“What’s that from?”

“Holy fuckin’ sh-!” Your entire body jolted violently at the surprise of the response and your drink sloshed over the sides of your mug, spilling all over your blanket. Thankfully, it was no longer hot. “God, what a- what a waste of a good cup of-” Your curses trailed off into angry murmurs and you stood before looking over at Joe standing in the entryway looking equally as startled.

He’d just come back from a meeting with a potential director for an upcoming film to be met with his girlfriend completely spaced out on the couch. She’d been sitting there for several minutes without knowing he’d come in. When he spoke and surprised her, he jumped nearly as much as she did. He went over to help her clean up the spilled drink with a soft, sorry expression. She’d already gotten up, though, and shuffled to the kitchen without really acknowledging him. Something about the situation made Joe feel sick and guilty. “I’m so sorry. I, uh,” he paused and breathed a laugh as he picked up a pillow slipping off the couch and looked at the form that had moved into the kitchen, placing the empty cup on the counter with a soft click of ceramic against marble.

His breath hitched and he forgot whatever it was he’d intended to say to her. She was cast in odd shadows from the lights of the streetlamps inside combatting with the yellow glow of from above the stove. The scene carried none of the normally blissfull air his lover had. It was sharp and contrasting, like the set of an old expressionist film. He thought she would look fit beside the likes of Nosferatu, her in her cloak of covers and tussled hair barely emerging from the makeshift hood that supported her neck. The way she’d cocooned herself reminded him of a lost child standing alone in the cold, one no passing stranger would stop to notice.

It was silent for a moment as the actor continued absorbing her aura. The cars driving about in the rain echoed through the building. The sounds of splashing through puddles and revving engines drifted by his ears. [Y/N] stared at the sink before slowly meeting her boyfriend’s gaze. They just looked at each other. Joe felt like he wasn’t even there though like she didn’t see him there. She stared through him with the same disassociated look she had when he’d walked in. His shoes suddenly became of great interest to him and dragged his attention from her to the grain of the floor. “I’m,” he gulped and raised his eyebrows in a mixture of guilt and concern, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here with you today.” He looked at her again and she finally seemed to notice him standing there.

His sad puppy dog eyes bore you down. You’d fallen so hard for them. Before you’d even learned his name, you knew him by his eyes. You forced yourself to process what he’d said and were quickly overcome with guilt of your own. “Oh- Oh, no! Joe,” you pleaded and sighed as you rushed to him with a sympathetic smile, “I’m sorry, I just, like, spaced out- I’m fine, it’s all fine.” You nodded lightly at him with a stretched smile and looked up at him with hands gently placed on his chest, holding tightly to the coat he’d yet to remove.

“I know you have to work and I could never-” You bit your lip as your mental search for words was shown through the frantic lines your eyes traced, “I never want to be an obstacle.” With a softened gaze, pleading for ease in the oddly uncomfortable situation, you continued, “I’m pretty sure I’m always gonna love you, and I’ll be here,” his mouth parted as you paused, “just for you. No matter how many dates you miss, as long as you’re doing your best.” A pitiful chuckle fell from your lips.

So early in your relationship, you weren’t sure when an appropriate time to address your current emotional state would present itself. Then again, is any time a good time to discuss something like this? You felt he deserved an explanation, at the very least, to ease him a bit from the stiff form he kept since he’d returned that night. ‘Where to begin’, you wondered. Before you could let another sad syllable drip from your clenched teeth, jaw tight in distracted thought, arms wrapped around you and a bristly cheek pressed against your own.

“This is weird.” He whispered, “Why are we weird right now?” The blankets around were nuzzled out of the way so he could bury his face in the crook of your neck. His nose pressed hard against your hot skin. You were unprepared for the contact. All you could focus on was his heavy breathing beside your ear, every exhale slipping down your back and making you shiver. Cautious hands danced up the back of his neck, barely touching the airs that stood on end from the undefinable energy surging between the two of you. Molding yourself to fit perfectly in the empty cavities of space left, you were flush against him, clinging to the back of his head and letting his arms shift under yours to support you.

“I’m bad right now.” Your voice was almost a whimper, choking you on it’s way out. It wasn’t even your voice, the words were breaths you let out at all once. Joe- You weren’t sure he understood, and you didn’t expect him to immediately. He has no context yet, no reference besides what you’d carefully revealed to him. It was never your intention to hide any of your traits or symptoms or past from him, or most anyone, really, but it wasn’t exactly a hot topic of conversation.

He’d remembered briefly her using the phrase ‘when I was bad’ once or twice when referring to her mental and emotional state, but she didn’t often talk about it. Either it was sensitive or simply private, but it was fine. He didn’t push. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable or drive her away. While respecting her privacy and her past, he still swelled with concern at the thought of not knowing. It was a loving kind of fear that filled his stomach when he’d imagined moments like this; moments where something was wrong, something was off and he was in the dark. He didn’t need a reason to love and support her, but he was unsure of how to help in the best way.

“Bad emotionally,” she started in barely a whisper, though it was louder than before, “not ‘bad’ like-” There was a hot huff of air with a small laugh behind it and [Y/N] sniffled, “not ‘bad’ like- like ‘I’ve been bad, officer’- not in a sexual way-” It was punctuated with a cottony laugh.

Joe shook his head softly and gave the girl in his arms a squeeze. His smile was wide, though she couldn’t see it. Her squeak made him laugh a little and he could feel the air around them suddenly lose about five pounds. It was easier to lift his shoulders in this new situation.

After a moment of breathing in sync, cars passing by, and rain beating rhythmically against the windows, the man broke the silence. “You don’t have to say anything-”

“You know I can’t do that, Joe.” He held onto her for a moment longer then pulled only his head back slightly to kiss her turned cheek while she was still in his embrace. In the warm kitchen light, the patterns of the blanket and the shadows of the passing headlight combined like brushstrokes on the scene and turned them into the likeness of a Klimt painting. Yellow cascading down their backs and an iconic arching connection made this art.

“If you’re bad, then let's make it better.” The words were pressed into her skin by his plush lips. Before pulling away, their hands found one another’s and gripped them tightly, like he was a rope and she was dangling over the ever looming pit of her past.

For the first time, she could feel a wetness pricking at her eyes. Without effort or dismay, she could cry. There were no sobs to accompany it, just silent streaming tears. She didn’t stop them for they were a gift. The damp streaks beneath each eye bent around her growing grin as she looked up at her lover through the filter of emotional release. Everything but the earthy brown around his pupils was a watery mess in her eyes. ‘God,’ she thought, ‘This- He is a good one. He is so- He is so beautiful.’

Joe could feel the pain in his chest as his heart shook, threatening to crack at the image of his love in such a fragile form. “Let’s just-” He could have claimed the rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat but the truth is there was nothing there to get stuck, nothing to follow what he’d started saying. “Is it ok if we just,” he took a deep breath, “be together? Would that- Would that help?”

“You already help. Being here helps.” Her voice was back now, though, physically, she didn’t look in any way improved.

Joe handled his girlfriend gently and urged her to the couch with him, pulling down onto his lap so they both laid on the piece of furniture long ways. Her bundled body blanketed his and he leaned back, letting her warm him. Struggling to slip off his coat as he kicked off his shoes, Joe also snaked his arm into a pocket to retrieve his phone. He pulled it out with a small noise of pride and held it out in front of him. “A little George Harrison makes everything better, right?” There was a sleepy hum of agreement and ‘My Sweet Lord’ played softly from the speaker of his device. He nestled into [Y/N]’s and closed his eyes. He held the phone in his hands, clasped together as his arms wrapped around the woman.

The ‘hallelujahs’ seemed in time with the weather outside as the couple drifted further from the present and into their own billowing comfort. The lights still were yellow outside, as they were inside, and the cars didn’t stop speeding through the puddles. Though you doubted the return of these feelings would stop, for now, you were content. Joe was there with you and it somehow, just his presence, made some of the sadness wash away. He was like a rain on your pity parade, saving you from any continued celebration of your own inabilities. Tomorrow, there might be explanations needed, but tonight you felt blessed. He was safe. He was warm. Your mind wasn’t racing and your eyes weren’t dry. This was better than anything you’d been feeling, anything swelling inside you the past few days. This wasn’t an unfamiliar experience, and you’d hoped it would never become one.

Glancing up at the man beneath you one last time, you smiled genuinely, bliss settling in your center, and you closed your eyes. George Harrison lulled you to sleep that night, and safely asleep you fell, holding tightly to Joe through it all, just as tightly as he held you.