#which is. i am completely and utterly certain. how we get the scent thing.

[laesas]

As someone who definitely doesn't count as an A/B/O enjoyer it's still super interesting to me just how much influence it has over wider fandom and fanfiction. Like as soon as you're "in the know" it's just absolutely everywhere.

[gojology]

Lovebirds.

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 |  omg this is my first request. ilysm anon, im now feelin super cool. also, i just realized i put recc (as in recommended) instead of requests. i’m super stupid LOL. anyways, im touch starved too dw bby, i’m servin u up a long one since i rlly like this request and after all u r my first! 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | Gojo x Wife! Reader 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 2307 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 | None! 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 | Coming home from a long mission in America, precisely 1 year, you’re excited to catch up on Gojo’s students, Nanami, and just Gojo in general.   Leaning out of the car window, resting your arm against your purse, you sighed. A humid wind brushed against your skin, tickling you. It had been quite a while since you had been in Japan, spending almost a year on a huge mission in America. You had killed a battalion worthy amount of special grades.   You spent most of your time in America in mostly horribly rundown places, equally as infested with curses. Although you found yourself enjoying America’s natural beauty, further away from the city life that many of the Americans found themselves enjoying, you much preferred Japan. after all, it was your home, and where you met Gojo Satoru. It would be another day until you could return, and you had gone through hundreds of scenarios of finally being in his arms again, but nonetheless, you were ecstatic at the thought of your husband’s touch.   Your phone’s notification chimed loudly, you threw your phone onto the other seat, heart jumping up to a high rate. It was a recording of Satoru loudly yelling, “OPEN YOUR FUCKING PHONE!” with a flurry of giggles afterwards.    Ijichi jumped, turning left and right. Whispering under his breath, he let out an exasperated sigh, switching the music channel.    The recording was mostly because of the time you had to ghost him due to work. Gojo had snuck on and recorded it, doing some magical tech stuff and giving you the custom notification sound. You had kept it that way ever since, since secretly, you enjoyed that you were so badly wanted by Gojo, that, and you had no idea how to change it back.    But the custom notification was sweet as well.   You smiled to yourself every time you heard it, a familiar twinge of pain flashing inside of you whenever you realized you wouldn’t be able to see him for a while.   Well, today, and the days after that would be different. You’d be able to finally see Gojo again, and his new students that he always frantically texted you about. Nanami, an old friend of Gojo, and also an old friend of yours, would also be there to welcome you back, you found yourself reminiscing about them.   You had heard so much about them, one of the kids being Sukuna’s vessel, you wondered how Gojo could contain such a fear, being around the kid at all times, he always told you about how the kid was actually energetic and happy and an overall great kid, you had heard about Nanami, finally coming back into the jujutsu sorcerer field of work, even though you always found that he still had a thing for finances.   You shook your head, “Save that shit for later, (Y/N).” muttering to yourself, you didn’t want to think of anything but Gojo, after all, it had been one fucking year of being deprived of the man you loved most. You were practically starving for the guy, in more ways than one.   Ijichi gulped, facing towards you, one hand on his steering wheel, “Forgive me Mrs. Satoru, but um.. Forgive me if I misheard, but I think I heard your phones notification go off.. Due to the ah- incredibly loud profanity.”   Now just realizing that you had completely forgotten about the phone notification, you nodded your thanks to Ijichi, a warmth rushing to your cheeks before opening up your phone.    In the small, rounded box containing Gojo’s message, he wrote in all caps, “SUGAR, MY BELOVED, MY QUEEN, HOW CLOSE ARE YOU? I CAN’T FUCKING WAIT I’M LITERALLY BOUNCING UP AND DOWN IN OUR BED.”   Smiling to yourself, you furiously texted back, “Calm down honeybun, I’ll be there in like, 24 hours, I’m not even fucking close.”   You almost instantly got a DM back, making you jump a bit in your seat. Even with the 5 years of friendship, and the 3 years of relationship, and the 2 years of marriage, he still almost always texted you back as quickly as possible.   “God I can’t fucking wait for you to meet the kids! We’ll keep it a surprise, yeah? We have a bunch of treats, and we also got the kids to get some gifts for you! How thoughtful aren’t they? They’re MY offspring by the way, so like, you know, whenever you want a kid, it’s your call ;)”   You snorted to yourself, smiling. He genuinely seemed so excited, and it was all shining through even though it was from a screen.    “Maybe in a few years, I don’t even wanna imagine a little you.”   Despite the excited, bubbling feeling brewing bigger and bigger in your stomach, you figured it’d be best to sleep before the chaos. Happily sighing, you laid down, using your purse as a pillow, drifting into a blissful sleep.  ‧₊˚✩彡.   You awoke to a sudden halt, Looking around your surroundings, you figured you were home. Ijichi looked like he was damn near about to fall asleep on the steering wheel.   Well, maybe that’s what 24 hours of constant driving did to you. You fished around in your purse, silently cursing looking for a water bottle.   “Here, Ijichi, looks like you ran a marathon.” you grinned, handing the slightly crumped water bottle to him.   He beamed as if a guardian angel had descended down and gave him a trillion dollars.   “Mrs. Satoru! You really mean it? The ride was nothing, I was merely instructed to do so and I would’ve done it happily regardless.”   You waved your hand, as a dismissal of the conversation. “You overwork yourself Ijichi, go catch a break, on me. If Gojo tears you apart, tell him he won’t be getting any pussy from me for another year.”   Ichiji nodded vigorously, before dashing off, probably towards a massage center, God that guy needed it. ‧₊˚✩彡.    Gojo frantically hopped up and down, it had been a day, now he was just waiting for you to bust through the door in your wild hair, his legs sprawled onto the whole of a couch, he stared at the ceiling, a dopey smile spread across his face.     “Satoru. (Y/N) will not even want to be associated with you, looking at your current state.” he remarked, staring at the sorcerer with his strikingly dead eyes.     “Nanami, how the fuck am I supposed to act calm?! I’ve waited for this moment for ONE YEAR! Does my hair look normal?!”    “Your hair looks just like an albino porcupine, just as usual.” Flipping the page of his newspaper, he sighed, rubbing his temples. “I will never understand how someone like (Y/N) would be.. Interested in you, Satoru.”     Gojo paid no attention to the insult Nanami had so clearly made, his ears were perked up, eavesdropping on a distant conversation coming closer and closer.     “Gojo-Senpai was telling me about this movie while training my cursed energy! He basically spoiled the whole thing but he told me that the main character was super annoying but apparently she dies in the end in the most gruesome way possible! It’s worth the watch, your soul will feel cleansed as soon as you see her lifeless body!”     “Yuuji, you literally spoiled the whole thing to me just now.” Fushiguro calmly stated, looking bored out of his mind.     “Oh, oops.” Yuuji rubbed the back of his neck. He smiled coyly, tightly hugging his present.    “What’s with the decorations, Gojo-Sensei?” inquired Nobara, stroking her warm toned brown hair. She had figured it was something about the presents that Gojo had forced the trio to get, but he never told them who it was for.    The room had been decorated with various balloons and confetti, scattered about, on the table and the ground. A cake box wrapped with a gigantic bow limply guarded whoever was brave enough to get their hands on something that Gojo seemed to be protecting with his life.    A pink table cover with a crudely drawn Gojo and what would seem to be a girl, a heart in the middle of the pair. In a horrible font with an even awfuller text, the text on top and at the bottom of the drawing proudly stated:    “WELCOME BACK QT”    “-YOU’RE HUSBAND AND THE CREW”    Nobara stood in distaste, trying to disguise the face she made. The drawing, the misused you’re, and the overall poor design choice was enough to almost make her vomit.     Nobara, about to make her distasteful statements about the whole mess, was suddenly shut up as Gojo started hopping up and down, looking directly at his phone.   “SHE’S COMING! SHE’S COMING! EVERYONE IN YOUR PLACES!”    Now, seeing Gojo freak out wasn’t outside of the ordinary, but it was to see him freak out to this extent. He was hopping up and down, blabbering about a certain woman named (Y/N). Nobara was pretty sure that if a curse attacked right now, even a special grade comparable to the one with the uncomplete domain could completely crush Gojo, the guy seemed completely unaware of the example he was setting to the kids. Even Yuuji stood in disbelief, and he had seen multiple tantrums by Gojo.   Nanami, however, licked his finger and flipped the newspaper page. A face of boredom obviously displayed.     Nobara, preparing herself to chew Gojo out about how utterly stupid and embarrassing he made the whole class of jujutsu sorcerers look like, stopped wide eyed as she looked at the doors slide wide open. ‧₊˚✩彡.    You stood, shyly, looking at the ground. Gojo dove headfirst into your arms, laughing like a maniac and digging his face into your shoulder. You breathed in his scent, scanning the room.     Three teens, sat wide-eyed, backs straight as they looked at you with eyes you couldn’t quite read. All three of them held presents.     The one with eyelids underneath his eyes (which you assumed was Yuuji, the vessel of Sukuna) eyed you curiously, his eye twitched.     The other boy, one with wild black-blue hair, sat mouth agape, before closing it. He looked like he was about to say something, before stopping entirely and hugging his present closer to his chest.    The warm haired girl darted her eyes between you two, seemingly trying to put the puzzle together.     Nanami put the newspaper down, glancing over to you two.    “This is obviously Gojo-Senpai’s wife. He hasn’t seen her in many months, and as you can see, really really misses her.” he paused, a small smile spreading on his face, a rare sight.     “I don’t even know why myself, but what can you do with lovebirds?” he thought aloud, his attention now focused to the two of you furiously making out, hands in places Yuuji and the crew didn’t need to see.    “Satoru, (Y/N), leave the kissing for later. Don’t you see the kids?”     You detached yourself from his mouth, panting for breath. The air being exhaled out of his nose fanned over your face, you had just now realized the kids again.     “Satoru, lets sit down. I bet the kids are surprised. “ you motioned to the couch. Gojo whined.     “What? They’re not that dumb, they can tell you’re my wife or at least, you’re my girlfriend, just by the way we kiss right? Isn’t this telling enough?”     “You didn’t tell them about me, ever did you?”     He sighed in defeat, holding tightly onto your arm as you dragged him over and sat down on the comfortable couch, opposite of Yuuji and the crew. Nanami scooched over, before finally getting up to pull another chair from somewhere else. Grunting, he excused himself from the room.     “YOU HAD A GIRLFRIEND, GOJO-SENPAI? AND DIDN’T TELL US?” Yuuji questioned, looking like he was about to faint.    Gojo laughed, snuggling deeper onto you, almost like a koala.     “She’s my wife, aren’t you, sugar? Did you even pay attention to anything Nanami said? He literally said she was my wife.”     Megumi made an obvious gagging sound, but even he didn’t seem as bored as he was usually. He actually looked intrigued.     “Why didn’t you tell us, Gojo-Senpai?” the girl nagged, slamming her fist down on the table.     Gojo smiled, “Uh, well, I wanted it to be a surprise when she came back.”     “Couldn’t you have told us that you had a wife or something?” Megumi butt in.    The door slid open, Nanami coming in with a wooden stool.     “Knowing Gojo-Senpai, that probably went over his head.” grunting as he placed the wooden stool down and sat, he opened his newspaper again.     “Where do you guys know eachother?”    “Was Gojo-Senpai handsome back in highschool too?”    “Do you know what lipgloss Gojo-Senpai wears?”    “Gojo-Senpai, how did you know you loved her?”     “Gojo-Senpai, can we eat now?”     “Do you know why Gojo has such a horrible sweet tooth?”      Before you could even respond, Nanami put his hand up.     “Now, now, lets let the happy couple settle down.” he cleard his throat, not even making eye contact with anyone but the newspaper.     An audible chorus of groans sounded, “What do you expect us to do? We literally just met her!” moaned Yuuji.    “Weren’t you the one that literally asked if we could eat yet?”    Yuuji immediately shut up afterwards.     “Yuuji, she just came back from a 1 day trip. She should be laying down comfortably with Gojo-Senpai and they should be catching up. You’ll have the opportunity to talk to her and learn about her later. Right now she needs space.”    “But-” Nobara whined, clasping her hands together.    Nanami turned to Fushiguro, but even he had his mind set. “I didn’t even begin to think that Gojo had a wife. I really want to know more about her, if you think about it, this is all Gojo-Sensei’s fault.”    Nanami rubbed his temples, staring at the two of you for backup, realizing that you two were making out again.    Nanami sighed, 10 years later and you two were still the same.    

[yeojaa]

GIRL we need a devil in a new suit drabble where jungkook gets jealous pls bless us😭😭❤️

[ read devil in a new suit ]

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  kook being hilarious and naive, reader being a little frustrated but head over heels, smut in the form of:  titty sucking (kook is a big boob guy in this), cunnilingus, kook wanting to love you forever.  wc.  2.1k.  author note.  i am... so in love with this couple so what was meant to be a “kook gets jealous and breaks reader’s back” turned into... this.

Jeon Jungkook doesn’t get jealous.  Not because he doesn’t care, or he’s unaffected, or any other negative connotation under the sun.  He doesn’t because he’s him, too soft and sweet and silly to believe the worst in people.  (This, coming from the man who’d steered clear of dating apps and blind dates because he was worried he’d be hurt.)

Once, you’d been waiting for him to pick you - he’d been running late, dinner with his parents and younger sister - and he’d found you chatting politely to an old fling of yours.  Well, maybe not so old.  A recent fling, a friend of sorts.  Someone who’d swanned into your life during your college years and had remained there ever since, popping his head in from time to time. 

You’d always been on good terms, caught up for lunch every six months or so when he’d return home from his overseas job.  In the past, you’d found familiarity in the shape of his hands, the neon outline of his almond eyes and pouting lips.  He was good in bed, as charming between the sheets as he was on the street.

But your heart belonged to Jungkook now - had, before you’d even realised it - and Taewoo was just another guy.  Another face in a crowd.

Still, you’d thought your beloved boyfriend would have some sort of reaction.  Maybe a quirk of his perfectly groomed brows, a certain tightness belying his displeasure in the softly peaked bow of his mouth.  You’d spied neither after extracting yourself from the hug and waving goodbye.  Jungkook had been sunshine and sweetness, opening your door for you and stamping a kiss to your cheek.  

That night, he’d loved you how he always had, with you crying his name and making a mess of his sheets.

Another time, you’d been at a work function.  One of those ridiculous galas you loved, full of women in their highest heels and men in their swankiest watches.  (You’d worn Aquazzura that night, Jungkook with an Audemars Piguet loose around his wrist.)  

He’d stuck close to your side, far more interested in the way your dress hugged your figure, cut intimidatingly high over your thigh and revealed the swell of your ass at juuuust the right angle.  Yejin had been the only one to tear him away, insisting on shots that you knew she couldn’t handle.  Anything went if free booze was involved.

Thirty minutes later - give or take, since you hadn’t had a watch of your own on - your boyfriend had returned, flushed and adorable.  There’d been a garden of colour creeping over the expanse of his chest, peeking around the collar of his shirt and disappearing into his neatly tousled strands.  He’d giggled his way back to you, somehow completely oblivious to the man that’d found you at your table and settled himself into the spot labelled Jeon Jungkook.

The imposter had been affronted, gaze narrowed at the younger man who was a little too loose, a little too smiley.  Wholly out of place at an event like this, where people spent too much time up their own asses, noses held aloft and business cards exchanged.  

(One of the reasons you loved Jungkook so much.  He was a breath of fresh air in a world you thrived in - found humour in, at the very least - carrying you high above the clouds with the sound of his laughter.)

“Hi, baby.”  Your darling boy smothered you in kisses, traced them up and over the exposed expanse of your shoulder, nosing against your skin, utterly unbothered by the man shooting him daggers, wishing him ill from the spot he’d wrongly claimed.  

Of course, he’d thought Jungkook was making a point - claiming what was his - but that was so far from the truth you’d almost laughed when he’d spoken, voice carrying above the slightly laboured breaths of your lover.  “I guess that’s my cue to leave, huh?”

You’d smiled, nodded with a hand threaded into cornsilk curling over Jungkook’s nape.  “Looks like it.”

(Then your idiot love - your big-hearted moron, your doe-eyed baby - had come up for air, cheek resting in the palm of his hand.  “Where’s your friend?”  He’d asked, eyes so wide you couldn’t doubt the sincerity of his question.)

Such was the kind of person Jungkook was, with an unwavering belief in the goodness of others, a silver thread outlining everyone’s silhouette.  You sometimes wondered what it would take to drive him to any sort of displeasure, any sort of emotion beyond quiet melancholy (seldom seen but heavily felt, when the rare occasions rose) or easygoing amicability (his default setting).  Not that you’d ever push to see that, of course.

You were happy.  Hopelessly in love.  You wouldn’t have traded him for the world - couldn’t even fathom doing anything to hurt him.  

And yet, you discover albeit by accident - it’s really not that hard.  All it takes is a pretty girl.

“This looks incredible,”  she says, standing close, long dark hair falling in a fluid curtain down the line of her back.  It’s the loveliest shade, cool-toned beneath the boutique lights, and reflects colour like a waterfall.  You’d complimented her on it when you’d stepped into the fitting area, a handful of hangers set across the rolling rack.

Fingers smooth over embroidery, revelling in the feeling of it over your skin.  It’s a beautiful thing, black tulle that hangs to your fingertips.  Not Jungkook’s preferred style - he much prefers harnesses and so many straps it might as well be a cat’s cradle - but you think he loves it nonetheless. 

(You’d confirm, but he’s been stoically silent, seated in the plush chair tucked beside the privacy partition, normally soft gaze hard and trained on his phone.  He doesn’t seem very much in the mood to talk, hardly reacting with each outfit change.  A nod here, a smile there.  Not even the most scandalous of the options - a black corset decorated in Leavers lace - had elicited his usual enthusiasm.)  

“You think so?”  You’re not insecure about your body - know what it looks best in, which assets to play up.  Still, it’s nice to hear from someone other than your doting boyfriend, the people caught in your orbit.  

The sales associate nods, beams at you in the multiple mirrors.  A hand of her own drifts over the thin strap of the slip - an innocent gesture that dislodges wayward strands of hair from beneath.  “Of course— and I’m not just saying that because I’m trying to sell it.” 

You nod, satisfied.  Even if Jungkook doesn’t seem ecstatic, your own joy makes up for it, buyer’s delight spilling over.  “I’ll take the satin robe, the blush silk set, and this in the violet.”  

“Great choices,”  she hums, pulling back the curtain to the adjoining change room to allow you privacy.  Silence follows as you slip the delicate number off, returning it to its hanger.  You don’t expect when the brunette continues speaking - presumably to your surprisingly surly boyfriend.  “Don’t you agree?” 

“Yep.”  He’s never been a man of few words, usually so full of excitement that he rambles when he doesn’t mean to.  

It’s a dead giveaway - a confirmation that something’s wrong.

Unfortunately for you, you don’t have time to broach the subject, your purchases already paid for and a firm hand on the small of your back the moment you’ve stepped out of the dressing stall.  “Jungkookie?”  You mean it quietly, just for the two of you, but falter when he slots his fingers between yours and all but tugs you out of the boutique.  You hardly even have a chance to toss the helpful girl an apologetic smile, imposing glass swinging shut behind you.

“Men—men are fine.  I don’t have to worry about them.”  There’s a confidence you’re so proud to see, turning his words as solid as the weight that rests against your hip, sears burning heat into your bared skin.  “No other man is going to love you better than me.  But women?”  A shudder runs the length of his imposing frame, tugs his shoulders up to his ears and tingles the small of his back.  “Women are scary.”  (It’s a sentiment he’s echoed in the past.  In particular, months ago when you’d insisted he dive into the dating scene.)

Hands thread through his too-soft strands, twirl the ends around your fingers as he speaks, nearly muffled into the crook of your shoulder.  He’s being so tender, giving you all the love he has to offer as he writes his insecurities into your skin, offers them with the wet of his tongue.

“A woman might sweep you off your feet and steal you away.”

You laugh then - sound snapping past your teeth before you can tuck it away.  It filters loudly into the baies scented candle you’d lit when you’d gotten into his apartment.  

Jungkook whines in response - a terribly endearing sound that makes you roll your eyes but only with affection (always with that) - and buries his face into your tits, sucking your nipple into his mouth with complete disregard for the tulle that acts as a barrier.  Saliva stains the material, makes it stick to your hardened bud as he laves over it with his tongue - bites surprisingly gently - and tugs it just hard enough to have you keening.

“S-s’not funny,”  he huffs, palming your other breast in his broad tattooed palm.  When he continues, he bites into you like he’s got a personal vendetta against whatever lies beneath your flesh.  “She was flirting with you.”  

It’s less of a sigh of annoyance - more sensual, drowning in need.  “She was not.”

He nips at the delicate flesh again, spreads crimson marks all across the sensitive skin until it’s a mosaic beneath the fabric, his finest work painted by his second favourite brush.  “That’s what you think but she was.”  The hand previously kneading your skin drops, flat of his palm sliding easily over your bare pussy.  

There’s zero hesitation when he slots his fingers on either side of your clit, catches the delicate pearl against the webbing of his hand and applies pressure that has you bucking beneath him.  It’s not nearly as aggressive as he normally is but it’s just as good, paired with the sinful motions of his tongue and teeth. 

“She wants to be the one doing this,”  he continues, saliva pooling across your chest, slipping into the valley of your breasts only to be licked up by the flat of his tongue.  He continues even once you’re clean, skin sticky and a little gross but so erotic it makes you quiver.  Then he descends, pushes the hem of your new slip higher, and licks another stripe from the joint of your thigh up to your belly button.  Repeats it again, moving lower with each pass until he’s sucking your clit into his mouth.  “She wants to be the one tasting this pretty, pretty pussy.”

You reach for his hand - the one somewhere near your ribs, side of his wrist soothing against the ladder of bones - and tangle your fingers together as he drives you mad, tip of his tongue switching between sweet kitten licks and tantalising figure eights.

“Baby,”  you coax, reprimand almost.  Jungkook’s never this lenient, never this sweet on you (not inside the bedroom, at least).  It brings you to a different high, his love folded into lovely origami cranes you tuck into your pockets and the spot you’ve carved out for him within your chest.

“Sing for me, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t mean literally - refers instead to the sound of your voice when it leaps three octaves, bounces between sultry and singed, burnt at the edges by the fire he brings to life. 

“Tell me you’ll never leave me.”  Despite how the words muffle, come broken between the glide of his tongue within your fluttering walls, you can hear the sincerity in them.  The earnestness that begs you to promise him this simple thing.  “Not for her.  Not for anyone.”  

“I won’t leave you,”  you answer, threading the vow between your fingers as if they’re the thread binding your love story together.  “Not for her - not for anyone.”

[rhaenyratargeryn]

Title: sense

Pairing: Adam x F!detective

Summary: just a little scenario I imagine absolutely happened at some point.

Notes: ao3 link

***

“Oh, thank god— Nate, please be the voice of reason here.”

The detective’s tone was one of intense exasperation, her hand rubbing across her eyes as she stood in the Warehouse kitchen opposite of Adam, who was appearing equally perturbed. A deep line had settled between his brows and he had crossed his arms at her words.

Nate suddenly regretted having not gone the other direction.

“Yes, please. As sense has seemed to have completely evaporated.” Adam countered, his eyes trailing over to Nate expectantly.

At a loss, Nate smiled faintly, “... what am I voicing upon?”

“She is putting herself in a position of unnecessary—”

“Adam doesn’t want me sleeping with my windows open!”

The detective erupts over Adam’s voice, earning a cool glare from the other man. Upon moving his gaze to meet Nate’s utterly bewildered one, his pale skin seemed to flush just a fraction. Realization of just how preposterous the detective’s explanation made him seem flitted across Adam’s eyes for the barest moment before he shoved it down deep.

“It is an issue of safety. Anyone could enter through that flimsy screen.”

“I’m on the second floor!”

“As if such a thing would be an issue for a supernatural.” Adam said, rising up taller, as if he’d won with that statement, “You would be safer staying here if you wished to sleep in such a way.”

“If supernaturals are coming to break into my apartment I don’t think glass or locks would be an issue either!” the detective said, throwing a hand up and out to the side in a gesture of utter annoyance.

Adam had no retort for that.

Nate wondered idly if they would notice if he slipped back out. He got his answer when Adam turned to him, eyes as near to pleading as the older vampire could get.

“She has a point,” Nate said slowly, gauging the way Adam’s expression shuttered.

“Fine.” Adam said with bite, “But do not expect us to come running when you place yourself purposefully in harm's way.”

He turned and exited the kitchen, the detective’s words following behind.

“It’s just a window! For goodness sake!”

Once it was obvious Adam had no intention of returning to the conversation, she sat down with a soft thump into one of the kitchen chairs, attempting to return to her coffee and breakfast with minor success.

“How on earth did this start?” Nate asked after a moment, moving to take a seat across from her with a rueful smile.

“I just mentioned how I was happy the weather was cooling down in the evenings… the air is nice and I sleep so much better at home when it gets all cozy like this.” the detective sighed, “And Adam well— was Adam about it.”

“He just cares.” Nate offered, an insufficient excuse for certain, “This is how he shows it.”

The detective looked doubtful, but did not question the honesty of Nate’s words.

--

There was no way she would stay at the warehouse tonight after that display. The detective returned to her own apartment, throwing open both her bedroom and living room windows the moment she arrived and enjoying the chilly air that had settled in the twilight hours.

She brewed a mug of tea and settled into her plush papasan chair, tucked a few pattern pillows out of the way and opened a book. It took awhile for her to turn her thoughts away from her own act of stubbornness, which had in turn put her back into the argument from that morning.

Theoretical arguments with Adam were a constant daydream, right next to the ones where he didn’t flinch when she reached out to touch his face.

It didn’t help that the novel was littered with romantic subtropes and finally, with a sigh, she closed it after darkness finally settled across the room. The detective closed the living room window a fraction, as was her usual routine and shut off the lights, heading to the bedroom.

That window she left wide open, changing into her pajamas even in full view. No one was typically out on that section of the street this late and she was high up enough not to worry about anyone getting too much of an eyeful. Even so, she changed quickly, keeping her bare back to the glass as she tugged on a large t-shirt.

After, she shut off the lights and curled into bed, sighing contentedly at the way the ceiling fan spread out the chilled, night scent of fresh clean air. It was nice after having to spend so much time keeping the heat out to huddle beneath the blankets and slowly drift off.

The detective had just fallen into a soft dream when her phone chimed. Groaning, she turned her face into her pillow.

The phone chimed again. And again. And then finally began to ring.

Throwing her blankets off, she fumbled for the device in the dark and answered.

“...speaking.” she mumbled, barely annunciating her title and name. On the other end, the familiar voice of a patrol officer greeted her.

“Hey, sorry to bug you so late. You got a sec?”

“Sure, sure.” she yawned.

“We keep getting calls from folks in your apartment block. They say there is some weirdo hanging around. Big hulking type. Got folks worried about break ins. Have you seen anything? I’m halfway across town so I figured I’d save the trip if it was nothing.”

The detective took a deep measured breath, held and let it out.

“It’s okay. I got this.”

“You sure?”

“Oh yeah. No problem.”

The officer thanked her profusely, apologized again for waking her and then once they hung up, the detective selected a number from her contacts and plopped back against her pillows.

The answer was quick.

“Commanding Agent Du Mortain.” came the clear, professional answer. Too clear. Too professional.

“Where are you?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I am patrolling.”

“Good, maybe you can help me then.”

“Is something wrong?” his voice lifted, the mask of disinterest fading.

“I got a call from an officer. Says a hulking, unscrupulous and unsavory character is loitering around my apartment parking lot.”

Silence.

“Have you seen anyone like that?” the detective continued, unable to hide the smile in her voice.

“Did you tell them it was handled?” came Adam’s terse, unamused response. The detective thought she heard the sound of his footsteps.

“Yes. Ya know, if you want to keep watch? In the future? Do it from inside.”

There was silence for a prolonged moment and then, the detective startled, sitting up and rushing to find the light at her bedside table at the sound that came from her hall.

“I am inside.” came Adam’s voice, both from the phone and the outside of her bedroom door, sounding way too smug.

The detective threw off her covers completely and marched to the door, throwing it open.

“As I said. Entirely unsound. You did not even hear me remove the screen—”

“Adam.” she said, voice terse and annoyed and tired. Whatever she hoped to say next was lost as her shoulders hunched forward and his expression softened a fraction.

It was then he seemed to note more fully her attire, standing before him in nothing but a thread-bare t-shirt that was so large it hung off one shoulder and a pair of boyshorts. The detective felt the sudden tension roil to the surface, warm and familiar and yet distant. Out of reach.

He swallowed thickly and the detective began to wonder just how long he had been outside her window.

“Just stay here… if you’re that concerned.” the detective said with a sigh, turning and crawling back into bed. She turned to look back at him, noting while his body was frozen his eyes had followed her every step of the way, blazing with vibrant green at the sight of her, half-dressed and lazing on the mattress.

“... I… I cannot.” Adam was at a loss, the prospect no doubt making his head spin and his heart hammer as intently as her own.

“You can. Since it isn’t all of the team, you should be able to find a place to sit out there.” she said with a nervous laugh, the spell breaking the moment Adam realized what it was she was offering. Tension rolled off his shoulders, relief in his exhaled breath.

“You meant in the living room.”

“Where else would I have meant?” the detective replied, making a point of lingering near one edge of the bed, leaving the side closest to him open and terribly inviting. For a moment she enjoyed watching the way his breath puffed from his lungs before catching. That tiny flicker of wanting that he snapped back up and hid down deep the moment it dared rear forward.

“I guess you could always bring a chair in here,” she said, yawning and stretching her arms above her head until the t-shirt rose up high on her waist, revealing the bare line of her thighs. She relaxed and watched Adam’s eyes follow the hem back down.

Without a word, Adam vanished from the doorway. For a moment, the detective felt her heart seize, worried she’d pressed too hard.

But in a moment he returned, one of the antique padded, high backed chairs from her small dining table in hand.

He set it by the window, making a point of glancing out over the parking lot before he sat down.

They lingered like that for a moment, the sound of insects, the soft breeze of the wind outside and the gentle whirl of the ceiling fan filling the silence.

“I’m going to turn the light off.” the detective warned quietly. Adam gave a nod. She leaned over and flicked off the switch, sitting for a moment in the darkness until her eyes adjusted and she could make him out.

He was watching her.

She settled under her blankets, stilling once she had become comfortable again and finding the sleep that had been right at the forefront of her thoughts suddenly illusive.

“...well, good night.” she said with a soft, nervous laugh. Her heart was beating fiercely in her chest. She wondered if he could hear it. No. She knew he could hear it. She willed herself to calm, letting her thoughts fade to the daydreams that helped ease her into sleep. Every once in a while she heard him shift, the sound of fabric, of the chair. His presence was a soothing one, even if it did also make her heart skip and patter in her breast.

It took awhile, but eventually her pulse settled and slowly she drifted back off to sleep.

--

The sound of her heart was like that of a rabbit caught in a snare at first, thrumming with beats and the flow of her blood, rippling like a stream. Adam had felt his own racing to match, falling in pace now as it settled and slowed.

He tried not to move. Not to make a sound. As if doing so would make his being here less— real. Less present.

It did not help.

It only took an hour or so before he could tell she was truly and wholly asleep, her soft breaths deep and even. At that point, Adam felt himself finally able to relax, able to set fully to the task of keeping a watch out over the complex.

This was why he preferred her to stay at the warehouse. Where he could stand watch without her ever knowing he was there. Which he did—every night she stayed with them. Distance made his chest ache, restrictive and demanding. Searching. As if his heart would escape his ribs if it could to seek her out, only calmed when she was near.

Adam knew this was not just fear for her safety. Knew it was deeper than that, but still refused to place the words that so obviously described the feeling to it.

But now, in the dark, in the quiet calm, he let them flit through his head.

He missed her when she was gone. Without reason. Without sense. Which was why he tried to attribute something rational, something vaguely resembling reason when he argued why she should remain at the warehouse. With them. With him.

This, Adam supposed, was suitable enough.

She shifted in her dreams, the blanket pulling from her legs as she clung to it. After a moment, she shivered. Adam stood, pulling one of the soft quilts from the bed out and laying it over her. He smoothed his hand down her leg from the knee, resting his palm on her ankle until she calmed once more.

He had to fight the urge to lift his hand, to retrace the soft path it had just taken. When the feeling was well under control, he returned to his spot by the window.

When the sun rose, Adam would be gone.

But for now, he closed his eyes and listened to her breathe.

[lyallblacklupin]

Prompt: Wolfstar - Sirius opens up to Remus about his thoughts on dating a werewolf. Any rating you want.

I truly apologize for such a late response. Your prompt was quite the unique one and I hope you like how I wrote it. Thank you for an amazing suggestion! Happy Reading! <3

Rating: Mature (Implied Sexual Content.)

Sirius bursts into the common room with the deepest frown on his face and the biggest pout on his lips which is enough to cast everyone’s attention in the room. Marlene squints from her magazine, James sits up from Lily’s lap, and Peter sets down his chocolate (which rarely happens, that means some disaster awaits the Marauders and others around them.) However, the only person who is straining his nerves to look nonchalant—but the nostrils don’t help much but flare hopelessly—is none other than Remus Lupin.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Sirius says curtly. James looks around to see who is he addressing with such aggression, and it is again none other than Remus Lupin sitting with a book hiding his face. The tension in the air is so thick that can only be cut with a knife.

“I am talking to you, Remus.” He speaks again, his voice is emphatic on each of his words. Remus changes the direction of the book from his face as if it is a mask, but it is still in between his index finger and thumb. His eyebrows are cocked up higher enough to disappear in his golden fringe.

“I’m sorry but I don’t have time to discuss anything as useless and pointless as your drama.” He says.

Peter gasps, Lily flinches, and Marlene snorts. Sirius shoots her a glare.

“Sorry.” She recovers and hides back her face in the magazine.

“You think I am being dramatic about this?” Sirius turns back and asks indignantly.

“I don’t think you are being dramatic,” Remus makes an innocent face suddenly, waving his hands to his sides. His facial expressions are always priceless, “but I think you are dramatic.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Lupin!” Sirius looks extremely mortified as he scoffs at him and the next thing everyone knows that he is climbing the dormitory stairs, and then which follows with a loud slam of the door.

The silence in the room is filled with the crackling sound of the fire before their sitting spot until James clears her throat as his eyes—in fact, everyone’s eyes land on Remus who is sitting like a terrified cat, scared but too prideful to admit his harshness.

“So…umm, you guys having a row?” James finally says.

“You think?” Marlene makes a bored face before she turns to Remus, “So tell me, darling, what is your problem?”

“My problem?” He asks as if he can’t believe he has been asked that question.

“Yes, Rem,” Lily says suddenly, looking stern and concerned at the same time, “Your problem.”

“How can you say that without knowing what’s going on between us!”

“We don’t know what’s going on between you two, but what we know is that you insulted him in front of everyone and now you don’t feel bad about it?” Lily scolds Remus, who looks like he has been slapped. He looks down at his hands. His books are still between his hands. He has been feeling bad the second he said those mean words to Sirius, and now he feels a lot worse than a few seconds ago. He is looking down at his book while his mind racing on how should apologize to his boyfriend before a shadow grows on which makes him look up to see James Potter snatching the book from his hands. He doesn’t even get a chance to protest because James is already settling his head on Lily’s lap, and acting to read that book.

“Fine, Potter!” He threw his hands up in surrender and stands up to make his way to the dormitory. He sees the smirk breaking on James’ lips but his eyes never leaving the book page which he is definitely not reading at all.

He opens the door of the dorm, and the air smells stale and something is on fire. The urgency suddenly takes place in his body as he walks around to find four perfectly tucked beds, the bathroom door is opened which means Sirius is not inside.

He sees the window opened and sees the wisps of faint smoke in his view. He comes close to lean out. His side glance catches Sirius sitting on the extremely narrow ledge with his legs dangling in nothing but a groundless view of Hogwarts beneath his feet, and for a second Remus has decided that his heart has stopped beating. He staggers back in to process the view in his head.

“Fucking shit! Fuck! Merlin!” Remus curses when his brain completely registers the terrifying idiocy of his boyfriend. He leans out again to call him, “Sirius, are you out of your fucking mind!?”

He doesn’t reply because he is smoking his cigarette in the most seductive way, or maybe he is smoking just fine but Remus can’t help but feel something funny in his lower abdomen.

“Sirius?” He says again with his clenched teeth.

“I will not listen to you unless you put your anger aside,” Sirius says with a deadpanned face which is, by the way, glimmering in the moonlight as if it is something sacred. His beauty is ethereal and yet so sharp to cut someone’s heart into two. Remus swallows because it is a mouth-watering sight. But then he remembers. This is exactly what they have been fighting about; Werewolf instincts. The moon is close, and the wolf is flowing into him.

“This is not some joke, Sirius! This is extremely dangerous! Come back in this instant!”

“See, no gentleness,” Sirius sighs and takes a drag from his cigarette, “Not coming right now.”

This is infuriating, Sirius is in fact infuriating. However, yelling at him is just like setting more fire on the raging flames. Remus inhales, and then reaches out his hand from the window for Sirius, “Please. Come inside, Sirius.”

“Nopes.” Remus clenches his mouth but then relaxes.

“Look, Sirius, I’m getting really worried for you. Please, come back? I promise I’m not angry.”

“I can see you grinding your teeth.” Remus grimaces but then eventually smiles in surrender. Sirius can be very convincing without any animalistic forms.

“Yes, because you are annoying,” His voice is utterly soft, “but I love you just like that. Will you come to me?”

Sirius narrows his eyes and cocks an eyebrow which instantly causes Remus to chuckle, along with a feeling of gushing love inside him.

“Okay, I’m coming.” He takes his hand and jumps inside to wrap his arms around Remus who immediately holds him in his embrace. Due to the height difference, Sirius stands on his tiptoes to hug him so the latter boy scoops his legs up to wrap around his waist and Sirius wastes no time to comply.

“I’m sorry, love…” Remus nuzzles his head in his hair.

“It’s okay, I know you’re not feeling good. The moon…” Sirius' voice is tired and low. It is always surprising to see his bottomless patience for Remus’ condition, considering how much edgy he can be otherwise.

“Hey…” Remus makes them sit on the nearest bed. Sirius completely sits on his lap with his legs tied around him, and his hands laced around his neck. He looks so small, and Remus doesn’t want to see his sadness. After a long drag of silence and relishing each other with feather-light touches and kisses, Sirius whispers in his skin.

“Why can’t you let me have you?”

“I’m right here. You have me.” Remus whispers back with his lips still lingering on his cheeks.

“Completely…Moony…” The voice breaks his heart, and he looks up at Sirius' hurting eyes.

“Sirius, this is not a joke.”

“Moony, I don’t take you as a joke in my life. Not even in the slightest.”

“You don’t realize how dangerous it is.”

“Then make me!” And Remus winces but doesn’t leave his grip on Sirius’ waist, “I want you all. I…I like it that way…” The last words hang awkwardly in the air with Sirius blushing like he has tomatoes beneath his cheeks.

“You are not serious, are you?” Remus lets out a hollow laugh.

“Yes, Moony, I’m serious about this.” He is frozen because Sirius’ eyes scream nothing but the truth, and most importantly he has completely missed the pun.

“You are…” He stutters but Sirius cuts him off.

“Yes. I want to be with you in every part, Remus. You lose control? I don’t care! I want you to be the most honest version of yourself. I want to love you more. I fell in love with your rawness, your scars, and your real self. I want you to lose control.” Sirius rocks him and tightens his grip on his neck, and Remus closes his eyes, “I want to have you in the most Remus way. Your way. Just you. All of you.”

Remus inhales the scent of Sirius that is beginning to saturate around him, enveloping him in the haze of his soul and body. He feels lightheaded with the softest sensation of certain lips brushing his neck and jaw. A shiver runs down his body, and a whimper comes out of his mouth.

“Sirius, you…can’t…you are…please, no…” Because Sirius cannot understand this.

“Moony, it’s okay.” Lips still roaming dangerously at the back of his ear.

“No, it’s not!” Remus snaps, causing Sirius to flinch, and instantly he feels terrible. He immediately rests in hand back on Sirius’, “Please, don’t be disappointed in me…Merlin, I can’t hurt you, Sirius.” His free hand travels up to hold the other boy’s face which looks as gloomy as death, “I just love you too much for that…you can’t ask me to ruin you! You can’t ask me to fuck you like an animal! I know I’m not enough for you—“

“No! You are more than enough, Remus!” Sirius pleads with eyes that were at the brink of spilling tears.

“Sirius…” Remus sighs, not leaving his grip on Sirius’ hand. The silence fills them up again. His eyes wander around the dimly emitted dorm, then to the opened window where an almost full moon peeks out like a thundering reminder. Sirius looks down at their hands but stays quiet…pretty much tired. He looks exhausted. Remus shakes their hands for him to look up and he forces a smile on his tightly pressed lips.

“I’m not asking you to break me,” Sirius speaks lowly after a while, “I’m asking you to be yourself. Is that too much to ask?”

“Myself is not pretty to encounter, Sirius.”

“You think I need you to be pretty? You think I would want you fancy and sparkly? I don’t expect perfection from you because I know you have millions of flaws and imperfections, and fuck I fell in love with all of those! Call me sick or downright stupid, but it is the truth. You being a werewolf is something that the Marauders know, and that makes us feel honored and so so special to know that part of you. That you allowed us to know that part of yourself. Is it a beautiful part to you? No. But is it a beautiful part to me? Yes! I cannot disgust you because this was never in your hands. You were given this! Worse or best, but it is you. And I love you. I love that part of you. I’m so sorry that you got what no one would ever even wish upon their enemy, but that doesn’t make me want to hate that part of you. I love you whole.”

He reaches forward to put both of his hands on Remus’ face to wipe away the flooding tears, which is when Remus realizes that he is crying. The realization hits him like an iceberg and sobs erupt from him. Sirius wastes no time to quickly hold him against his chest as he keeps rubbing his back.

“Listen, you are not ready, and it’s okay my love,” Sirius brings in mouth closer to Remus’ ear, “I just want you to know that you don’t have to hold back your urges. You don’t have to hold back anything. I want to let you know completely and soundly that I’d do anything for you to make you feel yourself. This is what I feel about you. I hope you understand this, truly, but tell me if you still don’t I’ll try my best to open up more to you. But at the same time, open up to me, too. Be with me, for real.” He emphasizes each of his words, and Remus nods in his chest.

He pulls himself back to look at Sirius’s face. His hands trace his perfect face with careful eyes and he realizes that he fell in love with the real Sirius Black. He knows that his boyfriend has different images for other people which mainly rules by arrogance and reserved personality. However, with Remus, he is a totally different person, the happiest and calmest he has ever seen.

“I love you, too.” It comes out in a wavering voice, and Sirius smiles genuinely, “You already opened up to me, you, perfect git.” He nudges his elbow in his ribs, making him laugh, “You wouldn’t…care…if I…you know…”

“Lose control?” Sirius suggests with tenderness in his voice which causes Remus to shudder. He nods at him tentatively.

“No, Moony. My love for you will never lessen because of that. I want you this way. I want to see you this way. Your way. Just don’t hold back. I am here. Always will be.” He turns his face just a fraction to plant a kiss on Remus’ hand that was holding his face.

“Okay…okay…” He swallows and feels damp with cold sweating. His palms are sweating too against Sirius’ face but he brushes off the thought and braces himself to take that mask off. It feels like tearing down his skins. It is like more than being naked. He leans in and kisses him hesitantly but Sirius complies with firm lips and eager hands. And Remus relaxes, deepening the kiss. His head feels fuzzy, his fingers are altering to the warmth of Sirius’ bareback, and his legs are wrapping round his waist as if they are returning to the place they belong. He is melting in his body.

It doesn’t take long when the swooning is over, and the urge to get the upper hand on their intimate connection grows on Remus. His hands slide down from their intertwined hands to hold Sirius’ wrist. He uses his weight as leverage to push him on the bed, and dive in to kiss his neck. He also realizes that Sirius is loud as he groans and moans on the tiniest touches. Remus doubts that they will get through this. He gets on all fours with a flushed Sirius beneath him. He sees his face is glowing like pearls that speak nothing but reassurance.

“It’s okay, love. It’s alright, Moony.” He whispers and gets up to reach Remus’ mouth. When they share a languid kiss, Remus decides that it is going to be okay. It is going to be alright.

[buckyownsmylife]

when i’m moving on - Bucky Barnes smut

The one where despite your engagement to King Steve, your bond with his brother is too strong to be ignored.

Warnings:  Smut, dirty talk, royal au, kind of cheating, it depends on what’s your view on arranged medieval weddings, oral (f), masturbation (f), overstimulation, crying during sex, pleasing kink, cum eating, teasing, this one isn’t focused on the social construct of virginity, unprotected sex, reader isn’t as innocent in this one, cumplay?, slight daddy kink, p in v, multiple orgasms, Bucky can cum A LOT, swear words, kinda breeding kink?, Pregnancy talk at least, conversation about partner’s lovers

A/N: This is sort of a part 2 to this fic, an AU of an AU, if you will. In this one, you lose your virginity to Bucky the night before of your wedding, meaning, the night before of the first fic.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

       “If you were the one that was getting married to me… What would you do, then?” Those words traveled across my mind and body, raising goosebumps as my eyes burned the flesh of the woman before me.        “Careful, Your Majesty,” I warned her, knowing that the reminder of her future title could very well wake her up from this daydream we were currently about to fall into. “These are dangerous waters you’re about to dip in. You need to be 100% sure of what you’re asking me, because whenever I’m around you… I hang on by a very loose thread.” I watched as she shivered, her breaths coming out in labored puffs now, much like my own. I could feel my chest heaving, almost as if I had battled a whole battalion to be standing in front of the woman I loved.        “Show me, Bucky,” she whispered just as she approached me, her head dipped up to look me in the eye. “I want to drown in you.” I had always found amusement in just how short she was in comparison to me, but right now, I felt no desire to laugh. Before I could even second chance myself, I leaned down, capturing her lips with mine. An explosion of sweetness invaded my senses, her scent everywhere, engulfing me. My hands quickly found a place between her locks, pulling her even closer to me, not minding that by the proximity she would realize just how much I desired her. When her mouth opened, accepting my own’s intrusion, she moaned at the invasion and I knew then and there that I couldn’t let her go, even if she wanted me to. It was that thought that startled me, making me abruptly separate our faces just so I could try to talk some sense into either of us.       “Tell me I should stop. Please. Tell me you don’t want this.” I begged, not sure if what I wanted was for her to do as I said or to ignore me completely. Her eyes looked even bigger than usual, her pupils blown wide as she stared up at me, wet bruised lips reminding me of the assault that I had just overtaken against them.       “Please… don’t stop.” No more words were needed. I could see then and there that she wanted this, that, somehow, she wanted me just as much as I did. Only a fool wouldn’t make the best out of the opportunity to have this goddess in their arms, to feel her breath against their skin, to touch her and burn from her warmth. And I admit I had many flaws, but I had never been a fool. Slowly, I laid her down on her bed, fully conscious she was the most precious thing that I had ever held. Her arms came up to hug me then, pushing me down against her. My cock felt painful against my thigh, and I couldn’t help but press it against her, taking advantage of the space she had granted me between her legs.       She broke our kiss with a gasp followed by a moan and if I wasn’t already hard, that would have done it. A growl escaped my chest as I took up the opportunity to kiss from her lips to her jaw, making my way to her neck, loving how her sweet smell was even more present just behind her ear. “I’m going to have you screaming by the end of the night” I warned her quietly, eliciting a whimper from her luscious lips. It was so easy to forget that this woman was more than ten years younger than me, especially since she carried herself with such dignity, but now that I had her here, trapped under my body, I couldn’t help but notice how tiny and delicate she actually was. Something primal, instinctual rose from deep within me, making its way to my chest until it had wrapped itself around my heart and taken control over me. “I’m gonna taste you all over,” were my last words before I had wrapped my hands on the fabric of her dress and torn it to shreds.       The skin that became visible to me almost made me lose whatever was left of my control. She was all silk and honey, so soft to the touch and so warm it almost made me cry out in ecstasy. I could barely believe that it was real, that this was happening, and I gave her one last deep kiss before starting my exploration of her body with my lips. I sucked a hickey on her throat, determined to leave a mark that would force her to remember this, to remember me if she ever decided to ignore that we had ever lost ourselves to temptation. But this new, possessive part of me was not sated by the mark left behind. And so I made another one, right between her collarbones. And another one, just over her right breast. And then my mouth was on her nipple and I was sucking, hard enough to make her gasp again, pulling at my locks but chasing me away with her chest, letting me know that she liked this ritual I was dedicating towards her skin, her body.       I kissed my way between both breasts, making sure to leave another mark behind, before dedicating the same attention to her left nipple. My eyes locked with hers momentaneously, before she threw her head back in a moan provoked by my tugging and pulling. I returned to the other nipple, now completely pebbled from my previous attention, dedicating it once more, making sure to leave bite marks all over the precious skin, repeating the same pattern with the second one until she whimpered underneath me. “Please…” She pleaded, all logical thought escaping in her current state of desire.       “Tell me what you want, My Majesty,” I ironically ordered, completely conscious that I would never be able to deny any of her wishes.       “I want you… I need you… Please, Bucky,” she begged, and damn if it wasn’t the sexiest thing I had ever heard.       “Your wish is my command, my queen,” I complied, kissing my way down her body until my lips found her excuse of an undergarment. The material was already completely glued to the lines of her pussy, which glistened even from under the lace tissue. “Ah, you’re already soaked,” I teased, carefully peeling away her panties before spreading her legs to my sight once more.       “I always am whenever I’m around you,” she whispered and I froze. Catching her eyes once more, I acknowledged the pure lust in the brown hues I had grown to love so much, finally admitting that it was possible that she had dreamt about this just as much as I had.       “You fucking little tease,” I growled, diving in to eat her out like the starved man I was for her. “You taste like fucking candy, did you know?” I moaned against her clit, indulging myself in that incredible cum I had only dreamt of lapping.       It didn’t take much longer for her thighs to begin quivering, signaling her approach to her orgasm. I locked eyes with her once more as I tongue-fucked her furiously, making sure my nose bumped on her engorged clit, and I allowed myself to enjoy the show as she reached her high, never stopping my actions. As her breathing calmed down, she looked at me once more and I could only give her a knowing smile, sucking her clit to my mouth again. “The things I want to do to you, darling girl…” I pondered, still cleaning her up with my lips, swallowing her cum down my throat. “I hope you are prepared, because what I have planned for you… What I have dreamt of doing for all this time… It’s going to take all night.”       I put one finger inside of her then, only teasing her hole, knowing I was getting her frustrated. Still, it didn’t take long for her to reach that high again, coming against my face as I once more drank all she had to offer. “I hope you’re not tired yet, my darling…” I warned her, filling her up with another finger. She whimpered, certainly sensitive from her previous orgasms, but I paid no attention. There was no way I would stop before she was completely and utterly destroyed for any other man who would possibly desire her, especially my brother.       With two fingers and my tongue forever drawing patterns against her clit, I made her come again. She was panting now, her body covered in a tight layer of sweat I would gladly lick from her if I wasn’t already on the edge of my own limit. Quickly, I pushed one last finger into her, trying to ease her into the thickness as best as her unused pussy allowed. “C’mon, baby. Give me one more.” She sobbed at the feelings coursing through her body as I neared her to another orgasm. “One more. Just this one and you can have my cock.”       She bit her lip, trying to focus her attention on me once more. “C’mon, baby girl. I know you can do this. Don’t you want to be a good girl for me? Be a good girl and come over my fingers, darling.” She finally let go with a scream I was certain would alert the guards to our less than pure actions inside the bedroom. I moaned, appreciating her taste on my lips once more as she spasmed around me from aftershocks of yet another orgasm. Still dripping from her wetness, I detached myself from her and slowly took off my shirt, carefully watching my queen as she slowly relaxed against the mattress. Before long, she grew restless again, moving around to find me staring back at her, my fist slowly pumping my fully grown cock.       Her tiny tongue came out to wet her lips then and I watched with my head tilted as she focused on my slow movements. “Do you want this?” I asked, hand still tightly wrapped around my member. She nodded, but I only chuckled. “That’s not enough, Y/N. Do you want this?” I repeated, more forcefully tugging myself, now.       “Yes. Please.” She breathed out and, like an hungered animal, I crawled into the bed and forced myself between her legs. “Good girl,” I whispered between her lips before I dove into her open mouth, feeling like I could swallow her whole. My cock, which was resting just over her belly, slowly traveled down until it found its resting place, and, pushing in, I groaned as I was met with the warmest, tightest, sweetest torture I could ever have found. “Fuck,” I cursed, trying to get a grip and not fully blow my load so soon. Soft fingers caressed my cheek and I opened my eyes, surprised, finding sweet bright ones staring back at me with adoration.       “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, our eyes connected, a cute, almost shy smile on her beautiful lips. I wetted my lips, not capable of formulating some sort of answer, just transfixed by the perfection of the woman under me. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” she admitted and I faltered and my heart skipped a beat. Still unable to formulate any sort of response, I simply leaned down and captured her lips with mine, parting them in a slow dance that was the only way I had of transmitting what my heart and mind couldn’t yet grasp in the heaviness of the moment.       Slowly, testingly, I moved so that I had almost pulled out of her, still unable to disconnect our lips, quickly pushing all the way inside of her again, bottoming out. She broke our kiss to gasp, an attempt to catch her breath I quickly obstructed, as I sped up my thrusts to forcefully plow her against the bed. She screamed again, almost deafening me as I tried to leave even more marks in the crook of her neck and I reluctantly pulled away from her skin to look down at her fucked face with heavy eyelids.       “Does that feel good, baby girl? Huh? Do you like it when I do this? Do you like it when I fuck you against your mattress?” She nodded, incapable of speaking as her mouth hang open and her eyes were closed, her body fully slack against the bed as I used her as a sex doll. “I have never fucked a better pussy in my entire life, doll,” I admitted, punctuating each word with a forceful thrust. “Say my name, Y/N,” I begged, forcing her to look at me by her jaw. “Say my fucking name, doll.”       Our eyes connected, she came again, screaming my name as her pulsing tunnel milked me inside of her. I had never come so hard in my entire life. Spent, I allowed my body to relax on top of hers as I tried to catch my breath, my cock still inside her. Slowly, I gathered my energy just enough to notice that she was caressing my back, holding me against her. “I’m too comfortable to move,” I warned her, to which she giggled.       “You can stay here,” she hugged me before abandoning my skin to play with my hair instead.       “That fucking bastard,” I groaned, almost laughing at the pure hate I felt coursing through my veins.       “Who?” She asked, abruptly interrupting her movements.       “Steve,” I spoke, noticing how she deflated for a bit before resuming her caresses on my scalp. “I can’t believe he has the privilege of being able to marry you,” I explained, depositing kisses across her shoulder.       “I have no recollection of a Steve in my memory,” she pondered after a few minutes of silence. “Maybe you’ve fucked him out of my conscience?” I laughed, lightly biting her in a warning. “But seriously, James…” She pulled me to look at her in the eyes. “In all that counts, I’m yours. I’ve been yours since I got out of that carriage and you said hello to me. Politics aside, you’re the one I would like to marry. In my heart, I belong to you.”       Warmth and happiness filled my body as I took in her words, searching her eyes for any sign of confusion and finding none. I took her lips with mine once again, kissing her with all that I had. Eventually, I became aware of the quenching sounds coming from our still joined parts. I separated myself from her just enough to observe as my cock slowly left her wet pussy, enthralled by the mixture of our cums pouring out of her. Hypnotized, I pushed the white liquid inside of her once more, paying no attention to her whimper at the sudden intrusion of my fingers, despite the fact that she tried to close her thighs to stop me from taking further advantage of her.       “Stop,” I slapped the outside of her thigh, trying to catch a glimpse of my lost heaven once more. “Open your legs again,” I ordered, but when she didn’t obey, I looked up to find her chewing on her bottom lip, looking at me with a pensive look on her face. “I am warning you, little girl,” I threatened, towering over her. “You may become a queen tomorrow, but tonight I am still your prince and you owe me some respect.” Her eyes glinting with a mischievous smile, she let her legs separate just enough for me to force them open, slapping the inside of her thigh this time. “Keep your legs open or you will be punished, baby girl,” I warned her, already climbing down to observe the mess we had made closer.       “Yes, daddy,” came her answer and I stopped my movements abruptly to see that she was still giving me the same look, paired with a teasing smile that made me groan as I resumed my path.       “You are going to be the death of me,” I mumbled underneath my breath, to which she laughed. Looking at her abused cunt, I scooped up some of the cum and pushed it inside of her once more, appreciating the filthy sound that it created. It made up my mind, suddenly throwing myself by her side and pulling her up to her knees. “Come here,” I called, but she didn’t move, eyeing me warily. “Come here,” I reiterated, “I need a taste, please.”       She finally did as I said, slowly crawling up my body until her pussy was just over my waiting lips. So much wetness had gathered already that it dripped onto her thighs and onto my open mouth and I moaned at the taste. “We taste so good together,” I licked my lips before opening my mouth again and pulling her to me, making her gasp in surprise. I fucked her with my tongue, controlling her movement by the cheeks of her ass, during what felt like hours of pure bliss. I didn’t want to stop to gather my breath. I would drown on her essence if I could.       “Fuck, James!” She moaned, her fingers pulling on my hair as if it was a handle. I liked the slight ardor that came with it, and so I ate her out more energetically. “J-James, I don’t think I can…”       I groaned, pulling her to me even more, relishing in the sopping sounds of her pussy as I ate her out. “Don’t even. Come on, my queen. I just want to keep your taste on my lips. You don’t even need to come, just sit on my face and let me eat you out.”       “O-ok,” she whispered, finally relaxing on top of me. I let one of my hands caress the extent of her body until I could hold one of her breasts, smiling as her eyes caught mine as I stared at her from my position between her legs.       “Good girl,” I encouraged her, appreciating the cute sheepish look on her face at my praise. I still couldn’t believe I was able to cause such a reaction from her just from my words. “If you could only look at yourself now…” I mused, a moan escaped her lips after I sucked on her clit.       “You said you wouldn’t make me cum again…” She pulled on my hair, but I could see by the way she threw her head back that she was enjoying herself, despite the sensitivity.       “I never said that. I said you don’t have to come. I never said I wouldn’t keep on trying.” I pulled away from her to laugh at her whine but resumed my lazy stokes on her pussy with my tongue as she looked at me with hazy eyes. The eye connection made our actions that much more intimate, and I had to chuckle as I felt Y/N’s thighs quivering again. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you?” I teased, but any humor from the situation escaped me as she nodded, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth before throwing her head back, gasping as she moved to fuck my mouth. “Fuck this shit,” I growled, pushing her away to lay her down on the bed again before manhandling her to turn her around, slightly raising her hips before forcing her legs open with my knees.       “How are you still horny?” She mused after her scream of surprise echoed around the room.       “Have you seen yourself naked?” That was all I could say before I pushed into her again, carefully. I knew that she was sensitive, I could see how red and puffy her poor abused cunt was, but I simply could not hold myself back. After making sure that she was adjusted to my cock, I started pounding her like the dirty little whore I now knew she was. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t like this.”       “I-I can’t!” Was her sole response.       “Then shut up and fucking take it, sweetheart.” Her hands scrambled to take a hold of her silk sheets and I growled at the sight of the love of my life underneath me, trembling with the desire that I had granted her. I leaned down to kiss her back, making sure to leave indentations that would surely bruise for days to come, even if she wouldn’t be able to see them. It didn’t take much for her to cum again, squeezing my dick and forcing my own orgasm into her once more.       “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” I cursed as I thrusted into her a few more times, making sure all of my white cream was being pushed further inside of her. But I couldn’t resist much longer, and after a few seconds my arms gave out from under me, dropping me on top of her. She giggled, trying to push me away so she could look me in the eyes again.       “Can you imagine if you got pregnant with my child?” The idea had been dancing around in my brain since I first felt her snugly around me, but I don’t know what prompted me to interrupt the silence that had fallen between us in the aftermaths of our desire. Her beautiful eyes - that I had been carefully watching me during that silence - grew big at the implications of what I was pondering, but she didn’t seem scared. “Do you think that would make them allow us to be together?” Her expression softened at the last question. She raised a hand to caress my cheek that I absentmindedly kissed, expecting her to find a way to let me down easily. However, to my surprise, that wasn't what happened.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

       “You know they’d find a way to pin the child down to Steve.” I watched as he closed his eyes, trying to hide the defeat in them. He already knew what I would say, he just didn’t want it to be true. But there was something that I could say to make him feel better, and that he hadn’t anticipated. “Besides, I don’t need a kid to attach me to you.” He didn’t understand what I meant, but it intrigued him. He sat up on the bed, and I mirrored his position.        “You’re already mine and I’m already yours. You’re my person. I won’t let them take you away from me.” I ran my fingers through his hair and he leaned into my touch.        “You mean…” I cut him off with a nod.        “If Steve can have his, why can’t I have mine? Everyone knows he’ll continue to sleep around. I don’t care how many lovers he maintains, I only want one. You.” His face fell onto mine as soon as I finished that declaration, and he kissed me with a passion I once believed could only exist in books.        “I love you,” he breathed out against my lips, climbing on top of me once again.        “I love you,” I reciprocated as I held him tightly against my body, grinding up against him to signal that it was okay, that I wanted him inside of me again. It didn’t matter how sensitive I was. I had a feeling that now that I had experienced how it felt to have Bucky in me, I would never be able to spend a lot of time without feeling his cock ruining my pussy. He pushed inside carefully, softly, like I was made of glass and was about to melt from under him. And as he waited for me to adjust around him once more, I sighed in relaxation, because this was everything I wanted.        Him.        He made love to me, then. Slowly and passionately. His eyes never left mine and his hands held mine down against the mattress as he thrusted in and out of me. As he brought me to the edge again in minutes, I found myself praying to the heavens that he had his wish fulfilled. The only children I wanted to bear were his.        That night, I fell asleep sweaty, sticky, and glued to the love of my life. And I’d never been happier.

[legoshi-plz]

Can we get some general headcanons of dating Louis plz 🥺👉👈

You sure can! I don’t know why but this prompt really called to me for some reason and it’s a nice break from the usual! This is with College!Louis simply because..... I’m a simp for College! Louis 😳

Reader can be read as any gender or animal type/class.

Warning: NSFW +18 [under the NSFW warning, first half is SFW]

*Disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing about Deer in general and made up 100% of the stuff in here because I am too lazy to actually google Deer physiology (also I just wanted to make the hcs)

///////

Okay so let’s start at the beginning! Like the beginning beginning. Louis saw you around campus but he’s still a Herbivore so he was shy about approaching you. Despite his overbearing superiority complex in high school, I feel like College would really put him back into reality. You have no reason to idolize him or fear him. He might be pretty popular on campus but he’s nowhere near the God-status he thought he had so he’s unsure of how to even approach a total stranger that he sees everywhere and can’t stop thinking about. Also he has an insane amount of insecurities which end up getting the best of him causing him to chicken out every time he wanted to get close to you.

You on the other hand? Barely noticed him. You’d seen him (his gigantic antlers which got even bigger in college were pretty hard to miss) but you regarded him as out of your league and immediately put him out of your mind. You weren’t one to dwell on if boys liked you/why didn’t boys like you blah blah blah.

Needless to say, your first few interactions with Louis were pretty terrible. He was awkward, stiff, defensive, it was like pulling teeth but in verbal form. You didn’t like him.

One day you brushed beside him and he nearly jumped out of his skin. You asked him what his problem was and he answered honestly “Sorry, you make me incredibly nervous.”

Suddenly it all clicked, the averted eyes, the bristled fur, the awkward stuttering. He might have outwardly appeared suave to any other animal on campus but he was still just a Herbivore with a crush.

Moving on, the two of you start dating and Louis is completely wrapped around your finger. It takes a while for his initial nerves around you to wear off, even after the relationship turned romantic. He constantly wanted to impress you or seem cool to you which you repeatedly reminded him you didn’t care about but it was important to him.

Once the two of you were more settled into the relationship and had been dating for some time, he still likes to impress you. Not to the same extent as before but he never folds on certain aspects because your opinion of him is something he values gravely, even if he won’t admit that to you.

King of Self Neglect, he stays up way too late studying, gets hardly no sleep, stretches himself way too thin but will still always make time for you even if he’s utterly exhausted. One time he nearly fell asleep sitting up while the two of you were on a date. You drove him back to your place, tucked him into bed and let him sleep it off. He felt awful the next morning for ruining the date and cleared his schedule the entire next day for a ‘redo’.

If ever verbally asked, Louis will vehemently deny liking PDA. In actually, however, he can’t keep his hands off you. He’s always touching you, caressing your cheek, holding you around the waist, interlocking your hands (especially the pinkies!! he doesn’t even realize he does that one, you’ll just look up and he’s totally aloof to this soft gesture), resting his chin on the top of your head/shoulder, nuzzling your neck (this is a big one for Deer and actually a declaration of love but you don’t know that). He’s pretty touch-starved but he hates to admit it so please indulge his clingy behavior (and he is very clingy.)

Speaking of clinginess, Louis is still incredibly petty and if he feels you’re not making enough time for him, expect to be called out on it.

“Am I not enough for you?” “If you prefer the single life, I can stop burdening you with this relationship.” “I see I come last in your life, as always.” “Don’t string me along. Either breakup with me here and now, or actually be with me.” “I see you do not take this relationship as seriously as myself. I will adjust my expectations of you accordingly.”

He’s a total drama queen and at first his proclamations scared you, thinking he was going to break up with you. But once you realized he was just overly dramatic about everything, you barely bat an eye now. You still try to make it up to him, though, whenever he’s feeling neglected. He’s enjoys that very much.

Any holiday, he’s asking you to come home with him. The mansion gets pretty lonely with just him and Oguma and he wants you there with him. You almost always comply.

At first he was pretty insecure about his leg and felt like you might think he was a freak because of it or worse: weak. You always let him know that you don’t care about his leg and that you love him regardless, even though you believe he has nothing to be ashamed of in the first place. That always makes his heart burst with love for you and he turns into absolute puddy in your hands.

Very jealous. Still holds on a little to that envy he has for Carnivores and thinks one might steal you away, especially since a couple of your male friends are Carnivores. In his mind, who wouldn’t want to be with some one bigger or stronger? He tends to lash out when he’s feeling particularly jealous and it’s the cause of almost 90% of the fights you two have.

When it comes to fights, even though Louis can be very petty, he hates every second the two of you are at odds so he usually apologizes fairly quickly. If you are the one who is in the wrong, he will continue to do normal activities (holding your hand, going out to dinner, cuddling) but he will do it angrily and give you the silent treatment until you apologize (please apologize quickly, he hates being mad at you even if he doesn’t admit it.)

His favorite activity? Anything where you lay on his chest. He lives for it and he really doesn’t get a restful sleep unless you’re on his chest. (Also he totally owned a weighted blanket before he met you because Deers usually sleep cuddled together in little huddles so it’s just kind of their ‘thing’ but it doesn’t hold a candle to when he has you sleeping on his chest. Actually had a “Is this what I’ve been missing all these years?” revelation moment when you two first started dating.)

Wear his clothes, it makes him feel manly also he thinks you look adorable. Plus he loves when you give them back and they’re covered in your scent, makes him feel so... owned? But in a good way! As if you were staking your claim on him which is a secret weakness of his.

Doesn’t really like Horror movies but will endure them if you’re into them. Likes to watch with you on his lap and his hands under your shirt (yes, he’s extremely distracting and yes he’s just trying to fool around. He couldn’t care less about the plot because he finds it unrealistic and not scary)

Though Louis had long ago cast aside the thought of having children (he doesn’t believe he’ll be a good father, similar to Oguma), any time he sees you interact with children and how well children respond to you, it awakens that inner ‘Stag’ in him and suddenly the thought of having kids doesn’t seem so bad, not if you’re by his side. He tends to try to not linger on those feelings for too long though so he doesn’t get any big ideas.

Okay now time for the NSFW portion.

Once again, Louis can! not! keep! his!hands! off! you!

Male Deer have a higher sex drive than the average Herbivore male so please be prepared for that.

Loves when his partner is kinda heavy, it amplifies the sex for him. His favorite thing is when they ride him/bounce on top of him, it’s practically an instant nut from him.

Louis can force himself to hold off on coming if he has to but he has a ridiculously quick recovery time along with the stamina for multiple rounds so he’d rather just come in or on his partner then keep going rather than prolonging it.

Oral is a power play to him and nothing turns him on more than using his incredibly long/skilled tongue to turn his partner into a weeping mess before him.

Has a habit of picking his partner up and throwing them over his shoulder to carry them to the bedroom. Asserts his dominance and he knows his long legs will get you both there faster.

He loves a vocal partner, and craves every syllable you can muster during sex. Whimpering his name mixed in with nonsensical affirmations of love gets his heart (and cock) instantly swelling.

Remember that he likes heavier partners? Well that ties into the whole thing with the weighted blanket and Deers just in general craving something on top of them, so naturally Louis prefers when you’re on top but is happy to participate in any position you prefer. Just know if it’s missionary or some variation of that, he is throwing your legs over his shoulders (so it’s kinda like a compromise?) The boy just really loves having you draped over him, okay?

Also in the case of a heavier partner, he is always trying to flex his strength and assure you that you’re not too heavy for him at all. Always picking you up (to fuck you against the wall), sitting you in his lap (to finger fuck you), carrying you bridal style (to take you to the bedroom to fuck you.) He’s very determined to show you just how obsessed he is with your body.

He’s very weak when getting his cock sucked and WILL come in your mouth within a few minutes. He’s not ashamed in the least bit.

You have about a five minute window after sex to do everything you need to do (use the bathroom, get cleaned up, etc.) because once he atttaches himself to you, you’re not going anywhere. Cuddling after sex isn’t optional, even if he’s mad at you.

Speaking of which, angry sex with Louis? Absolutely mind-blowing. Once he’s in full blown Stag mode, there’s really little you can do except lay there and take his huge cock while he pumps you with load after load of cum. Also, the overstimulation is out of this world.

Louis’ demeanor completely cracks after sex and he’s literally at his most vulnerable with you then. Openly confesses just how much you mean to him in moments like these while showering you with aftercare/ affection. Really turns into the lovey dovey type and likes to just sit there stroking your fur whispering sweet nothings in your ear while you lay on his chest.

This has probably gone on long enough so I’m just going to end this here but the boy’s madly in love with you, enough said.

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 17

of the wwx emperor au that’s now more like the terrible horrible time the Lan Sect is having ugh

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16

Night has fallen by the time the rain finally stops, and WangJi is still restless.

Nie MingJue had come to inform them that the investigation has seen no new developments. There is now a number of guards posted outside the Peach Blossom Pavilion, and no food or drink is to pass through their gates without being tasted first. The Emperor is anxious that no further harm will come to the Lan Sect, Nie MingJue had said, and it is still unclear if uncle had taken any comfort in those words.

The Emperor had also decided that the competition can proceed at a normal pace the following day. The lack of news is somewhat discouraging, but WangJi is very much looking forward to the competition. The earlier fight in the courtyard had barely taken the edge off his disquiet.

Uncle had gone to sleep at the usual time, but both XiChen and WangJi are still awake, neither of them tired enough to sleep. If uncle’s room had directly overlooked the courtyard, WangJi would have suggested another sparring session, even at the cost of more mud in his hair.

He is still considering whether moving through the basic forms on his own may quiet his restlessness, when he notices a shadow on the corner of the roof. The shadow is motionless, but WangJi recognizes it between one breath and the next, his heart skipping a beat.

XiChen is reading by the candlelight, looking peaceful and content. WangJi hates to disturb him. He stands at the entry for a long time, trying to find the right words, but still does not have them when XiChen finally looks up.

“WangJi? Is something wrong?”

“The Emperor is on the roof.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The Emperor,” WangJi repeats, “Is on the roof. Of the Peach Blossom Pavilion. I think he wants to speak to me.”

XiChen’s face is utterly blank. It is rare that WangJi cannot guess what his brother is thinking, but this is one of those times.

“Is uncle asleep?” XiChen asks.

“Mhm.”

“We will tell him about this tomorrow.”

WangJi nods.

XiChen sighs,

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

By the time he leaves the pavilion, the shadow has moved. WangJi lands lightly some distance away, and sees Wei WuXian sprawled on his back where the two peeks meet, face turned up to the sky.

He straightens up when he sees WangJi, and even in the gloom, the smile on his face looks delighted.

“Lan Zhan,” he calls out softly, “come sit with me.”

Do not kneel, Jiang YanLi’s voice echoes in his mind, it will only make him unhappy.

He settles down near the Emperor, who immediately offers him a white clay jar.

“Drink?”

“Alcohol is forbidden,” WangJi says.

“Ah, is this a Lan Sect rule?”

WangJi nods. He wonders if someone like Wei WuXian would hate living with so many rules. But then again, he thinks that the Emperor’s life would probably seem very restrictive to great many people.

“Will you still compete tomorrow?” Wei WuXian asks.

“Mhm.”

“Excellent,” Wei WuXian straightens up, and shifts closer, “I am going to tell you a secret, but you must promise not to tell anyone else.”

It is tempting to agree. It is tempting to agree to anything and everything right now, when Wei WuXian’s face is so open and relaxed, his hair mussed from lying on the roof, his eyes shining.

“I cannot promise.”

Wei WuXian tilts his head. His fingers drum against the clay bottle.

“Did you get in trouble? For keeping the rooftop thing a secret the last time?”

WangJi nods, grateful that he does not have to explain it in detail.

“If you tell your brother and uncle, will they keep it a secret?”

“That depends on the secret,” WangJi says, and Wei WuXian laughs.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, did you not know? You are not supposed to deny the Emperor anything he asks for.”

WangJi refuses to be intimidated. This is surprisingly easy to accomplish. There is something soft about the expression on Wei WuXian’s face, something that WangJi had only managed to glimpse in the South Lake courtyard.

“Fine, fine,” he waves his hand in WangJi’s direction, “please tell your uncle and brother that the Emperor would very much prefer to keep this a secret. It is nothing dangerous, after all.”

WangJi is fairly certain that he and the Emperor cannot possibly have the same definition of dangerous, but he nods anyway.

“I mean to enter the competition,” Wei WuXian grins, “I will take the place a Nie Sect disciple, and A-Sang will pretend to be me.”

WangJi frowns, and Wei WuXian laughs again,

“You do not approve?”

“What if you are hurt?”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei WuXian mock-gasps, pressing his hand to his chest, “do you think so little of my skill? Did I not manage to evade you, on that very rooftop over there, while completely unarmed?”

He does have a point. They had not faced off for long that night, but Wei WuXian certainly knows how to avoid being stabbed. However, this does not necessarily mean that he is skilled with a sword.

“You must give me a proper fight, Lan Zhan. I am tired of everyone always worrying that I will get hurt.”

WangJi is conflicted. He also does not like the idea of Wei WuXian getting hurt. The idea of WangJi being the one to hurt him is even less appealing. Historically, the Lan Sect has not fared well when it came to waving swords at the rulers of Shan Dynasty. Wei WuXian seems to have forgotten that little detail, and WangJi is not sure how to remind him.

“Ugh, I can see you are still unhappy. How about this? I will take the place of the Nie Sect disciple with the lowest rank, so I must fight my way to the top tier. If I can climb up to a match with you, without being hurt, then you must promise not to hold back.”

If Wei WuXian can truly fight his way through five ranks in one competition, without being hurt, and still face WangJi at the end of it, then he will certainly make a worthy opponent. An opponent WangJi does not have to worry about injuring.

“Not a scratch,” WangJi says, and Wei WuXian barks out a laugh.

“You drive a hard bargain. Not a scratch. I swear it.”

He nods, and Wei WuXian beams at him brightly.

WangJi has to look away.

Sprawling down across the roof again, Wei WuXian sighs, turning his face up to the sky. WangJi has to admit that it feels nice, sitting on the rooftop, being able to see all of the Immortal Mountain City stretched out around him. The air is cool, carrying a faint scent of rain, and although the City is never silent, it is peaceful enough.

“Hey, Lan Zhan.”

WangJi looks down to find Wei WuXian no longer smiling.

“I am sorry someone tried to poison you today,” he says sheepishly, “To be honest, I did expect at least a few assassination attempts for my birthday, but I thought they would only be directed at me.”

It is a bizarre apology, but WangJi supposes it is no more bizarre than Wei WuXian himself.

“Do people often try to kill you?” WangJi asks.

“Oh yes,” Wei WuXian says, grinning again, “all the time. But they usually prefer the more straightforward methods. I think sword and arrow attacks vastly outnumber the attempted poisonings. Although,” he frowns, “there has been few of those too. One time, someone actually managed to stuff a dozen scorpions into my bed. I was too drunk to notice. Luckily, A-Sang saw them and raised an alarm.”

WangJi does not understand why Nie HuaiSang being anywhere near the Emperor’s bed fills him with a helpless fury. It is an illogical, and stupid way to feel, and WangJi hates that he cannot seem to reason it away.

The Emperor can share his bed with anyone he chooses. The Royal Companion will eventually bear the title of the Imperial Noble Consort. WangJi needs to breathe deeply, and relax.

“I assume you do not have very many assassination attempts at Cloud Recesses,” Wei WuXian says carefully.

WangJi shakes his head. Once in a while, some overconfident cultivator will storm their gate and demand a duel, only because they know that the Gusu Lan have so little dignity left, they cannot afford to lose any by refusing. But although those can be troublesome, they are at least straightforward in their intentions.

“You do not seem very upset that someone tried to kill you,” Wei WuXian says.

“They did not succeed.”

“They may try again.”

“Mhm.”

Wei WuXian raises up on his elbow,

“That is all you have to say? Mhm? You are not even a little angry?”

WangJi wants to explain that he does not fear death. That there are things in life infinitely worse than dying, and that he feels angry about many things, much more often than he should.

Anger is always pointless and unproductive. It has never made his burden any less, and it has never helped him feel less wronged. Once he feels anger for one injustice done to him, it is so easy to feel anger for them all. And that much anger no person can carry, and still live a peaceful life.

He does not know how to say any of those things, nor is he is sure that Wei WuXian would understand them.

“I do not want my brother and uncle to get hurt,” he says instead.

That, Wei WuXian seems to understand.

He sits up and faces WangJi, his expression hard. The shift between the cheerful, careless Wei WuXian and the Emperor is so stark, that WangJi can only blink at him in response.

“I have sworn that I mean the Lan Sect no harm. I will swear to you now, that I will do all that is in my power to protect them.”

The words seem to take up all of the air on the rooftop.

WangJi is silent for a long time, struggling to comprehend them. Why would the Emperor  make such a promise? Why would he do such a thing for WangJi, or the Lan Sect?

The implications are too vast to even consider.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” We WuXian says, focusing on some point underneath WangJi’s chin, “do not look at me like that.”

His hands seem to be nervously twisting around the jar, from which, WangJi has noticed, he had not drank once since the beginning of their conversation.

“Mhm,” WangJi manages, and looks away.

Wei WuXian laughs softly.

No longer looking at Wei WuXian, WangJi can now see the window of the pavilion, where the candle still flickers, despite the late hour. Suddenly, he is sure that XiChen will not go to sleep until WangJi is safely back inside the pavilion walls.

“I must go back,” he says.

He does not want to keep his brother up any longer, but he also wants to escape from the Emperor, whose gaze he can clearly feel burning its way across his cheek.

He rises, and Wei WuXian immediately stands up as well, as if his only purpose on the rooftop had been to speak to WangJi.

“Do not forget your promise,” Wei WuXian says.

“I will not.”

WangJi wonders if he should bow, but Wei WuXian is already leaping to the opposite roof, running to the Jade Sword Palace, robes flaring behind him.

[47-shades-of-hitman]

In Your Likeness | Chapter 1 - Common grounds

Chapter 1 | Common grounds

Chapter warnings: Violence, blood, political conflict

For all tags, see AO3 : GoingHaywire

For more information, join my Hitman related Discord server

“Welcome to Jerusalem, 47.” Diana Burnwood’s voice stated through Agent 47’s earpiece. He stood as usually taciturn and obedient, analysing his surroundings. On the expanse of his head laid a kippah, donned as a distraction, out of place compared to the crisp black suit barely matching it.

But then, men of Jewish descent had no set appearance, so no one would question him too much. Not when he was in the holiest city of them all.

“Before you, you see the building of The Knesset, which holds the unicameral legislative branch of the Israeli government. Naturally, a restless country like this one has a fair bit of security around its political buildings. Despite its youth, this land holds secrets, one of them going by the name of Ewald Cohen. A powerful Jewish man, currently seeking aid for a wicked plan dabbling into force-migration. Long story short, he pleas for a Palestinian removal act. Our client wants him out of business, as to be expected. And so, it shall be done. Good luck, 47. And remember, I know it’s unlike you, but no unnecessary blood, especially not in there. It would mean a lockdown of the city, and the last thing we need is ourselves blowing our own cover.”

Agent 47 let his icy eyes take in every inch of the building before him – yellow brick, like a large box placed in the middle of a city, yet it had something of a temple – something ancient, like Jerusalem itself. He was not one for pretty architecture, though found interest in knowing how to get in – and out.

The way he looked now, he knew there would be no way that he could get past security without being frisked – if he took the main entrance, that was. Metal-detecting gates would be too troublesome at the moment. And without the correct papers, he wouldn’t get past the front desk, not with all those guards around.

The first thing one would notice was the plenty presence of soldiers, standing on watch. Judging by the stance of one of the younger men, 47 deduced that the change might soon be there. He should take advantage of it, knock one of them out and don a disguise. In the crowd, he’d be hardly noticed.

Deciding it the best approach, he made his way to a more secluded area, successfully knocking out a guard after distracting him, and put on his uniform. He discarded of his suit and the kippah by stuffing them into the stranger’s backpack, hiding the unconscious body of the soldier in the shrubbery. 47 brought the backpack with him, going forth.

In the distance, doors opened. Right in time, he thought to himself, creeping back to the place where the guard had stood. A new row of guards went up to the ones standing at the gates, freshly uniformed and without dark circles under their eyes, like the ones that the men at the gate had been sporting.

A wordless exchange, 47 mimicked his temporary peers with a gesture to the side of the head, saluting them. One of them raised an eyebrow, unfamiliar with the piercing blue eyes meeting his.

But then, the IDF stood never still in the stream of new guards, with drafted soldiers in their late teenage years obligated to serve a short time. There would be new recruits every time of day, so there lingered no long suspicion.

He followed them inside, proceeding through the halls until they stopped at what seemed like a canteen. It had never been so easy to march into such an important building with an automatic weapon in hand.

“I hadn’t noticed you taking over Adam’s shift.”

Agent 47 had already taken off the boots he had been wearing - a size too small - when he noticed that he was being spoken to. Before him stood a young man, no older than twenty-five, a toothpick between his chapped lips.

“Oh, yes. Adam felt ill so I was sent to take his place.”

“I don’t recognise you.”

“I haven’t been here for long.”

“You don’t seem to be drafted, either. What’s a man of your age doing in the lowest rank?”

47 sighed, feigning exhaustion. “Listen, yadid. I��ve been standing all day and I’m tired.”

The young man let out a scoff. “I’m not your friend, old man. Well then, guess your age is getting the better of you. Have fun returning home with your walking stick.”

“Shlomo!” a man of higher status called, sending him a warning glare. “Stop picking on our new recruits.”

With a shake of his head, the young soldier named Shlomo, so it seemed, stalked off.

Agent 47 was soon done dressing himself, hiding his pistol in the safety of his suit. He arose and set to the exit, pushing way through the business of the canteen, ignoring cheers to stay a bit longer, and was soon standing in the main hall.

A trained hitman like him had no trouble in making his way to the conference room. Diana stated through his earpiece that it would be plausible that the target would be roaming around there, for she had figured out that his so called bill of Palestinian removal was moving up in the list of cases to be discussed.

47 moved stealthily through the halls, successfully knocking out every burden in his way. He remembered what Diana had said – no unnecessary damage, just Mr Cohen. This city was desired and dangerous, and he knew. Any other important politicians meeting their end would mean disaster. Not that 47 ever caused collateral damage, anyway, unless utterly necessary.

A waft of the smell of blood pricked in his nose when he turned the corner, immediately pressing himself against the wall to eventually stay out of someone’s line of sight. Silence, but the scent was there, and he was certain that it didn’t come from his own doing.

“Tread carefully, 47.” he heard through his earpiece, his handler noticing as well that something was off. The smell, the eerie silence, almost as unnatural as 47’s own movements, stiff and overly calculated.

Something was not right. The air was denser than usual, for where he was usually the threat, he experienced uneasiness, like he was in danger as well.

It was a feeling unfamiliar to him – what was causing him such a notion?

Then, noise from the room where he was creeping next to.

He proceeded on through the hall, momentarily focussing on what was going on in the adjacent room. Noise, albeit stifled. A whimper, though muffled, so it seemed. Footsteps… He pressed himself against the wall a bit tighter, trying to listen in on what was going on in the main room.

A soft rustle of fabric whilst someone slipped through the heavy doors at the end of the hallway, closing them as quietly as they could.

Clad in dark, supple cotton and leather, hooded, a pine-green sash hanging over one of their shoulders. The insignia on the fabric was immediately recognisable. From under the hood, a pair of piercing eyes shimmered as they moved to look behind them, alarmed by his proximity.

Agent 47 moved instantly, alerted by their presence. This had never happened before, despite the feud he had sometimes heard about. Now that he encountered one of them for himself, things ought to get clearer. He didn’t hesitate to draw his gun, silencer tightly screwed onto the front.

The stranger had noticed him, too. A small, silver handgun laid in a gloved hand, barrel pointed right at him.

“Well, well…” the figure stated, female, judging by the sound and pitch. “How interesting. A hitman and an Assassin walk into a foreign parliament building. Says one to the other—”

“Who are you?” 47 interrupted, making the Assassin chuckle.

“No, you’re ruining my joke. Says one to the other—”

Agent 47 clicked the safety off of his gun. “I asked you something.”

She stepped closer, the sound of her thigh-high boots muffled against the carpet. “Let me counter that question, sir .” Her voice was thick with disdain. “You work for the ICA, do you not? Actually, don’t answer that question, I know you do.”

She halted in front of him, their guns still aimed at each other. She sniffed nonchalantly. “Do you see this insignia, sir?” She pointed at the buckle on her belt, then the one on the gauntlet around her arm. Its blade was stained with fresh blood.

“The Brotherhood of Assassins.” 47 said.

“Correct. Listen, sir. I know what you’re here for, but I suggest that you walk straight out of that door. I arrived here first. Deed’s already done.”

Agent 47 held his stoic expression, unfazed by the gun aiming at him. It wasn’t like his opponent was scared, either.

“Who is your contract?” he asked her.

“Does it matter? Whoever you’re after, they’re dead. Get out, before I stain the carpet unnecessarily. Would be a shame if your pretty eyes were to be closed forever, too. Poor Mr Rosenthal didn’t know what was coming to him. He had nice eyes as well. They’re dull, now.”

47 pressed the barrel of his silencer against her forehead. With a gentle nudge, he forced the hood off her head. It revealed the female Assassin to be younger than him, (h/c) hair conveniently pulled back into a braid.

“Shoot me, then. It would be unwise, though. The world lacks good Assassins.”

It was almost sickening, the way this woman lacked fear of death despite being so intimately involved with it. She spread her arms, dropping her gun to the ground. “Go on.” she pressed.

Agent 47 narrowed his eyes. Why wouldn’t he? Her (h/c) hair framed her taunting face, a wicked smirk spreading over her lips. “You’re hesitating…” She pressed her forehead a bit firmer against the gun. “Why… Are you… Hesitating…?” Her voice had become a whisper.

Agent 47 tilted his head slightly, taking her in completely, trying to calculate her next move. The odds were all against her, so why was she so cocky? Her (e/c) eyes shimmered in the dim light of the spots mounted on the wall, playful almost, careless.

“I thought your Brotherhood trained more capable Assassins.”

“Oh, but I am. I’m the best one they have, mind you.”

“Hence the way you act.”

She let out a chuckle and pursed her lips slightly. “Oh, alright… I know when I can take risks. Really, mister. I suggest you turn around and walk out that door, because I am not afraid of you.”

Slowly, he lowered the barrel of his gun. Gaze fixated upon her still, he took a step back. He towered well above her, yet she knew no fear of death. Quite the contrary, she laughed it in its face.

Agent 47 sighed, gesturing at the door leading away from him. “Get out now and I’ll let you live.”

The Assassin remained nailed to the ground, hands folded on her back now, staring at him unfazed.

“It’s officially against the rules to kill people who aren’t involved with the target.” he dryly stated,

“Let me guess. The unofficial version is a lot bloodier?”

“No one will question my disposal of one of a rival organisation’s puppets.”

“Says the man working for the ICA. If there’s a puppet here, it’s you.”

For a split second, it threw him off-guard, something that had never happened before – but now it did, and before he could bash the back of his gun against her temple to knock her out, he was blinded by thick, grey smoke. He coughed, disoriented, staggering backwards as a light laugh echoed through the halls, just as taunting as her gaze had been.

“Too late…” she sang, “Sorry, should’ve pulled the trigger. By the way, you aren’t the only one with rules like those. The reason why I let you live. Don’t forget to close the door after you leave, sir. It would be disastrous for the electricity bill.” The sound of her boots was faintly audible, and when the smoke died down, 47 remained on his own, opting to not go after her.

He straightened his tie, sighed deeply, and proceeded to push on through his mission.

“What can you tell me about her?” he quizzed Diana when he was about to push open the doors.

“She comes from the Brotherhood of Assassins. I believe she’s from the (L/n) bloodline. The ICA has encountered them more than once. Truly dangerous, those ones. I suggest you keep an eye out, 47. You never know who lingers in the shadows.”

He wrapped his gloved hand against the handle of the door, holding his gun close as he pushed it open.

“Didn’t she mention a contract named Rosenthal? Who was that target?”

“Yes, she must’ve mistakenly thought that your contract was on his head, as well. No, Ser Isaac Rosenthal is – or was, in better terms now - a Templar mole infiltrating the Israeli government. Turns out, they have found out his true identity. As you know, the Templars are the sworn enemies of the Brotherhood of Assassins. Focus on the matter at hand, 47. You should hurry now, before people come looking at what’s going on.”

The stench of blood became even more pungent when 47 pushed on through the heavy doors, being met with several dead bodies, adorned with red slits on their throats. Carefully, he stepped over the corpses, identifying them one by one.

“None of them is Cohen.”

“That means that she hasn’t stolen our kill. That precludes further feud along this path. So, I suggest you make haste. This is taking way longer than it should and people will catch up.”

The agent walked out of the room again, seeing no other exit than the one where he entered. He went to the large hallway again, trying to blend in as well as he could. Where he had left his soldier’s disguise to be in the hallway right in the army’s canteen, he now chose the façade of a rich businessman.

Scanning the crowd, he tried to find Ewald Cohen. It wouldn’t be too difficult, for the man’s bulky build could hardly be missed. Somewhere in the back of the building, he could hear people panicking, presumably caused by the finding of five dead men.

“Find him, 47, and be quick.” Diana spurred on before the line quieted again.

It took a few minutes to find Cohen’s office, where said man was dictating a letter to his secretary. The young woman penned along rapidly, frightened to lose her job if she didn’t.

“…However, where the amendment of freedom lay, I must counter that we are a state of sovereignty and thus allowed to proceed with removing… Hey, what was that?”

The clink of the coin 47 had tossed onto the tiles pulled him out of his speech. “Go look.” he ordered his secretary, sighing as she stalked off to check out the noise. Cohen sat in his chair, folding his hands on his large stomach. His chair creaked dangerously and the man seemed out of breath from just walking.

With an aim like no other, 47 pointed his gun at the hook of the painting that hung on the wall above Cohen’s desk. He took his shot – the hook broke and the large canvas fell onto the bookcase below with a dry thud.

Ewald looked behind him, eyes widening at the sight of the canvas toppling over, crashing down on top of him. The chair creaked under the unfamiliar pressure, finally giving out. Cohen fell from his seat, landed on his butt and thus, cracked his spine. The weight of the painting suffocated him, killing him in mere seconds.

The secretary returned richer a penny – the sound that left her throat proved imminent doom. Silently, the Agent who just successfully killed his target slipped out of the room, away from possible suspicion.

“Ewald Cohen is eliminated. Good work 47. Now, proceed to leave the building, and make sure that you aren’t caught.”

47 frowned, unsure of why Diana would add such a thing after her sentence. She never told him to watch out after an elimination, trusting him to be discreet as always.

He slinked up a few flights of stairs, trying to act natural whenever he passed by some people. His strangely stiff composure would give him away one day.

The door to the rooftop wasn’t too hard to find, marked with a unevenly blinking exit-sign right above. He went through it, hearing it click in its lock behind him. Upon stretching his shoulders to prepare himself for his climb down, a voice behind him spoke;

“Why didn’t you do it?”

Agent 47 had his hand on his gun right away, aiming it at the source of the disturbance. There she stood again, unfazed by the threat of death, (h/c) locks blowing in the wind. The light of the lowering sun cast a curious hue over the odd scene.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Why didn’t you shoot me?” she clarified.

“I am aiming my gun at you right now.”

“That’s beside the point. You didn’t do it before, and that’s interesting.”

47 took off the safety. “I should have.”

The woman smiled, her eyes shimmering with amusement. “Oh, please. There’s no suspense. No build-up leading to an all-concluding finale. No stand-off, no time-pressure.”

Diana’s voice interrupted the Assassin’s monologue. “What is taking you so long? A car is waiting for you.”

“I’ve ran into a bit of trouble. I’ll be right there.”

The woman scoffed, smirking. “A bit of trouble, you say? Is that all I am to you? I am offended… Thoroughly.”

“The rival Assassin…” Diana deduced, “Let her be. We don’t need another war right now for the world’s sake.”

He lowered his gun at Ms. Burnwood’s command.

“What is your name?” Assassin (L/n) asked him.

“Names are for friends.”

She stepped closer, once again halting at an arm's-length away from him.

“In that case, my name is (Y/n) (L/n).”

She held out her hand, waiting for 47 to shake it.

He eyed it, and then took it, unsure of what to respond.

“So, what’s your name?” she repeated.

“I don’t see why that is any of your business.”

Diana grew impatient. “Will you hurry?” she rarely lost her composure like that – perhaps it was the sudden appearance of the Brotherhood of Assassins.

Agent 47 just kept standing like he did, releasing her hand, frozen in place.

“Whatever your name is, I have a message for you.”

(Y/n) leaned closer, decreasing the volume of her voice to a whisper. “You’re in my country now. This is my city, these are my streets, and whatever Templar activity you’re involved in, I will shut down personally. The ICA claims neutrality, but I know better. You shouldn’t mess with the Brotherhood of Assassins, agent.”

She deeply inhaled, looking him in the eye. “If I see you once more, I will kill you.”

(Y/n) stepped back slowly, and then a bit quicker. “Hope we’ll never run into each other again.”

She ran to the end of the building, flinging herself off the side, gloved fingers soon gripping the edge, disappearing out of sight.

He clenched the gloved hand she had shaken into a fist, whispering a reply. “Likewise, Miss (L/n). That fate will do all to prevent that from happening.”

He was unsure of why he said that, for it could be taken two ways – that fate would prevent them from meeting again, or that it would prevent her statement from coming true.

Whatever it was and whatever caused the foreign twist in his stomach, he knew that he had to move again soon before Diana would call again and cause a scene at his unusual tardiness.

Spinning on his heel, he walked to the edge, onward.

[mopeytropey]

a beer bud series: chapter 11

author’s note: times are tough. stay safe. read some fluffy fic. take care of each other.

Timeline: this is set just before Lincoln and Octavia's wedding, probably in the realm of chapters 11 and 12 of apu, after Clarke has given Lexa a key and asked her to move in (because they are both too gay to function)

Beer: La Ferme Urbaine FARMHOUSE ALE

Influenced by the Belgian saison style, La Ferme Urbaine features a complex blend of German hops, pilsner and pale malts, wheat, rye, oats, and spelt. The beer pours a hazy straw color and delivers a spicy, dry finish.

ABV 7.8%

Posted to AO3 here, or below the cut: 

:::

:::

“This is going to require some intense renovations.” Lexa stands with her hands in her front pockets, neck craned towards a dilapidated two-story house on a small corner lot. Its Victorian architecture is nearly eclipsed by peeling paint, broken windows, and a sagging porch, but the way Lincoln’s face beams, it’s as if the house shows no signs of disrepair. “You sure you’re up to task?”

“Hell, yeah.” Lincoln’s confidence is as strong as the late afternoon sun, glaring in a burning orange glow as it reflects off the windows of the historic city buildings surrounding them.

He then launches into an animated diatribe of improvements and restoration projects, pacing the perimeter of the property as he gestures to certain aspects of the house with broad hands. He and Octavia have likely discussed these visions of their future home endlessly as they await inspection reports and closing signatures to make everything final. Their initial offer had been accepted almost immediately, and Lexa has to believe it is thanks to, in part (if not entirely), the authenticity of her good friend’s charming demeanor.

“It’ll be a massive undertaking, but with the right help—”

“You planning to swing a sledge with me during the demo stage?” Lincoln grins.

“God, no.” Lexa nearly shudders. “Though I imagine Clarke might enjoy the destructive release of aggression after some of her more challenging bar shifts.”

Lincoln chuckles and returns to stand by Lexa’s side as they continue to gaze up at the house. “Yeah, Octavia too.”

“I’m so excited for you.” Lexa smiles up at him, nudging their shoulders together as Lincoln meets her eye with a grin of his own. “About everything.”

His upcoming nuptials (which have explicitly been banned from being referred to as a wedding) are less than two months away, and Lincoln hopes to have the keys to their new house in hand before the ceremony. He and Octavia seem happier than ever—real life exemplars of a healthy, supportive relationship between two friends in love. Lexa feels a kindred satisfaction at having found something similar with Clarke. Perhaps no one would have predicted these outcomes, but she and Lincoln have done rather well for a couple of kids who spent years feeling unwanted and unloved.

“What can I say: I’m living my best life.”

“Truly,” Lexa laughs, leaning into the nook of Lincoln’s armpit as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

Even for early April, the weather has warmed, and the sun hangs in the sky for longer intervals. There’s no longer a bite in the air, even in the cooler, evening temperature. The breezes coming in off of the harbor have a fresh scent, like rejuvenation in the air that will soon breed blossoms on all the trees and fresh shoots of grass beneath their feet.

Lexa is perfectly comfortable in her jeans and a soft, grey henley layered with a pastel flannel that she has permanently borrowed from Clarke’s side of the closet. A closet that they now share in an official capacity. Lexa’s mouth slopes into a stupid grin at the thought of their now shared space. Her stomach swoops because of the new gold key in her pocket that she can feel between her fingers.

“I could say the same for you,” Lincoln tells her, somehow reading her thoughts. “You get all your stuff moved in yet?”

Her breath stutters at the mention of it, at the vision of scattered boxes and her random belongings that have slowly infiltrated Clarke’s space. “My lease isn’t up until the end of the month, so I’ve been moving things gradually.”

“Not ready to fully commit, huh?” Lincoln jabs with a teasing grin.

“I feel exceptionally confident about it, thank you very much.”

“What? Just like that?” Lincoln laughs. “Where is the torturous, internal Lexa struggle? Where are the mountains of anxiety about making the wrong call or moving too fast? Is this what four months as Clarke’s girlfriend has done to you?”

Lexa shrugs as if her chest hasn’t just snapped like a rubber band at being called Clarke’s girlfriend, a title that still sparks jittery excitement. Particularly when she is still grasping the house key that Clarke has recently given her. “Apparently.”

“Well, it’s a good look on you.”

“Thanks.”

They’ve stopped at the house Lincoln intends to buy with Octavia on their way to food and beer at Dockside, having fallen into the habit of visiting the girls during their longest shift of the week. With the mention of Clarke and the newest development in their relationship, Lexa feels a sudden wave of impatience to continue their walk to the bar where she knows Clarke and Octavia will be waiting to greet them.

Lincoln releases a long, contented sigh. “Should we head down to see the girls?”

Lexa exhales in turn and attempts to answer in a measured and completely unhurried manner: “Sure.”

:::

It’s just shy of six when Lincoln pulls open the front door of Dockside, allowing Lexa to walk through into the familiar establishment. Her eyes perform a practiced scan of the room, but Clarke isn’t immediately visible as she and Lincoln head straight for the half-empty bar counter.

Octavia is chatting with other customers as Lexa and Lincoln approach, but she winks at Lincoln, her mouth curving just so, mid-conversation, which has him beaming as he slides into a bar stool.

“That’s my future wife,” he stage whispers, and Lexa can’t help but smile at how ridiculous being in love with Octavia has made him.

They’d been more than halfway to the bar when Lexa had received an S.O.S from Clarke about caffeine and sudden fatigue and exaggerated pronouncements of loyalty, commitment, and sexual favors if Lexa would bring her coffee. Of course, it strictly goes against her better judgement to enable Clarke’s reliance on caffeine in unhealthy measurements.

Then again, Lexa has lost almost all ability to ever actually tell her no because being in love with Clarke has made her better judgements ridiculously feeble.

As such, she stands beside Lincoln with a small half-caf drip in a paper cup from Clarke’s favorite roaster, a generous concession without fully giving in to her girlfriend’s unredeemable habit.

“Clarke’s in the back if you want to bring that to her,” Octavia says as she approaches.

“Oh. Okay.” Lexa starts for the black swinging door of storage before Octavia calls out again.

“Sorry—not the stockroom. The other back.” She’s jutting her thumb over her shoulder when Lexa turns around, indicating the narrow corridor behind the bar counter that leads to Clarke’s office and the back entrance.

“Oh. Right. Thanks,” Lexa smiles. “I’ll be right back,” she says to Lincoln.

“I’m starting a timer on my phone,” he calls after her. “Just because I’m curious to see how long it takes you to deliver a cup of coffee.”

She just manages to stop herself from flipping him off before pushing through the door, leaving him with a meaningless scowl.

:::

Clarke looks up from whatever she’s been working on as Lexa steps into the open doorway with a smile she intends to curb by biting her lower lip.

“Hey.”

“Oh my god, I can't believe you actually brought me coffee. I love you.” Clarke says it offhand, a bit theatrically even, but Lexa’s stomach flip-flops all the same.

She enters the office with a slow stride and gently places the paper cup onto Clarke’s desk. “That’s half decaf, by the way.”

Clarke’s face falls as she eyes the beverage with sudden disdain. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we have to break up.”

“Ouch. It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Get over here.” Clarke has already snared her wrist with a widening smile, pulling at Lexa’s arm so that she is forced to lean across the desk and meet Clarke’s waiting grin. “Hi,” she almost whispers after their lips part.

“Is this how you typically break up with people? Because it’s actually pretty enjoyable,” Lexa murmurs into the space between their lips.

“Shut up,” Clarke laughs before they are kissing again, Lexa’s palms flat against the desktop while Clarke’s fingers thread into her hair.

It’s still a soft greeting and nothing obscene—two people happy to be in the same space again after a short time apart—but Lexa feels the quickening of her pulse all the same.

“Thank you for my fake coffee.”

“Clarke.”

“Lexa.”

Never before has she felt so unapologetically mocked by a single person yet utterly enamored in spite of it. Lexa pinches her lips together and looks away from Clarke’s teasing smile.

“I have to get back out there,” she announces, finally pulling back to stand at her full height. “Lincoln thinks he’s being clever by setting a timer for my return.”

Clarke stands with a laugh. “I’ll come with you. I need a break from these orders anyway.” She holds her fake coffee with one hand and finds Lexa’s fingers with the other. She kisses Lexa’s shoulder cap and regards her fondly. “I’m never getting this shirt back, am I?”

“Especially not now that we’ve broken up.”

The genuine hurt that immediately darkens Clarke’s eyes coupled with her protruding lower lip stops Lexa from moving towards the office doorway.

She stills her movements entirely as Clarke says, “I don’t want to joke about breaking up anymore.”

“It was your joke to begin with,” Lexa softly reminds her, nevertheless smoothing the pad of her thumb over Clarke’s lower lip.

“I know,” Clarke says, frowning still. “It was a stupid joke, and I don’t like to think about it.”

A soft press of her lips to Clarke’s forehead has her leaning into the touch, releasing Lexa’s fingers to curl an arm around Lexa’s waist.

“If you think you would be able to get rid of me that easily, Clarke, we might need to revisit some previous conversations about my intentions in being with you.”

“I seem to recall some very persuasive measures that we engaged in alongside those conversations,” Clarke says, her smile pressing into Lexa’s neck where she has tucked her head beneath Lexa’s chin.

Lexa hums through a smile of her own. If she didn’t know Clarke so well, it would be easy to mistake her perpetual, single-minded focus on sex as a complete lack of sentimentality.

But, Lexa isn’t fooled.

Clarke thrives on crass innuendo and well-meaning objectification (both of herself and Lexa), but she can also be openly sensitive and affectionate. Vulnerable in her need to be near Lexa—to feel safe and connected—as often as possible.

Lexa can’t say for sure if they will always be so desperate for each other’s company, if small fractions of time spent apart will continue to breed an urgency for reuniting. She has been in enough relationships to know that attachments usually fade and the needs of each person most often change over time.

Still, something tells her that when it comes to this relationship, Clarke will break the mold of every truth Lexa has previously known.

“The point is: I’m not going anywhere,” Lexa tells her, and Clarke looks up at her with a renewed smile. “Although, you’re still not getting this shirt back.”

Clarke kisses the underside of her jaw and tightens the hold she has around her waist. “You can keep all of my shirts as long as I get to keep you.”

“Deal,” Lexa answers, finally leading them out of the office.

Lincoln will roast her for having taken an exorbitant amount of time to deliver Clarke’s coffee, but having Clarke hugged against her side, Lexa finds she doesn’t exactly care.

:::

In an hour’s time Lexa has been fed no less than six times—small plates of food from the kitchen’s rotating menu like an assembly line in front of her and Lincoln—and an empty beer glass is no sooner bussed than another full one appears. As it turns out, dating a bar manager and sustaining a lifelong friendship with her business partner’s fiancé is a pretty good gig for libations and keeping well fed. By 8:00, she’s not necessarily sober, but the continuous parade of appetizers that Octavia and Clarke slide in front of Lexa and Lincoln keep her from tipping over the edge into properly drunk.

“This one is my favorite.”

“You’ve said that about the last three.”

Lincoln crunches into his charred nopales and street corn tostada as if to be sure. “Nope. This is the one.”

Lexa smiles around a second bite of her Korean short ribs and savors the balanced marinade—a perfect blend of smoky sweetness and tangy spice.

She is washing it down with a saison from Rhode Island as Octavia swings out of the kitchen and approaches their end of the bar.

“How good is that corn?”

“The whole thing is amazing,” Lincoln tells her.

Octavia swipes an avocado off his plate without hesitation. “What about the Kalbi?”

It sounds conversational, the way that Octavia, as a friend, is asking Lexa about her meal. But, in spending the past year of her life in proximal relation to her, Lexa has determined that, in some capacity, Octavia is actually always working.

“These are easily some of the best short ribs I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah,” Octavia grins. “I’m obsessed with them. Jane has been on staff for less than two months, and she’s already killing it back there.”

“Be sure to extend my compliments to the chef. Beer is incredible, too,” Lexa adds.

“What did Clarke bring you this time? The Foolproof?”

“Their farmhouse, yeah.” Lexa’s attention is drawn to the kitchen doorway again as Clarke exits carrying plates of food. She doesn’t glance in their direction as she drops the plates farther down the bar, but her smile is warm and bright, and Lexa can’t look away.

There’s a generous crowd strung along the bar counter, plus a few of the nearby tables that keep rotating with guests who stay for a drink or two before heading off into the night. Clarke is engaging with the three men who have just received their plates of food, and Lexa’s ears attune to the friendly pitch of her voice while Octavia and Lincoln momentarily hold their own conversation.

Lexa sips her saison and enjoys the way Clarke handles herself in conversation—confident, approachable, friendly, but with a distant professionalism. It’s not until she registers the distinct tone of patriarchal arrogance coming from a few of Clarke’s guests that Lexa realizes Octavia and Lincoln have also clued into the nearby exchange.

From what Lexa can gather, over the din of other surrounding patrons, the men are attempting to challenge the accuracy of Clarke’s knowledge on one of Dockside’s pours. Clearly first-time patrons, to these men, Clarke is easily mistaken as the beautiful bartender in a nice dress with a friendly demeanor who pours their pints and delivers their food. They would never suspect that she is also the unassuming curator of every beer offered within the establishment and a well-read expert in the field of craft brewing.

If she didn’t find misogynistic biases against women in male-dominated fields to be nauseatingly unforgivable, Lexa would almost feel bad for what these guys have coming to them.

“This should be good,” Lincoln mutters with a deviant smile, and Lexa flicks her gaze to find Octavia looking half-amused, half-poised for lethal intervention.

In short, Clarke absolutely eviscerates the men’s inflated egos by seamlessly rattling off a short history on the brewery in question, explaining their evolution of kettle sours and dry-hopped IPAs with thrilling precision, all while maintaining her hospitable smile. The cohort of sexist men are left silenced and stunned as Clarke moves on to tend to the rest of the bar, leaving their gaping jaws in her wake.

“What a bunch of fucking morons,” Octavia grumbles with an eye roll just before another table of guests catches her attention and she is pulled away.

“I love it when she does that,” Lexa says, smiling in Lincoln’s direction.

“It is really gratifying to watch someone’s fragile masculinity skillfully shattered,” he agrees with a satisfied smile. “I’ll never understand it, that intrinsic need to be an expert on everything, but it’s entertaining as hell to see O and Clarke flex on these random assholes who waltz in here and mistakenly try to out-beer them.”

Lexa's smile widens as she and Lincoln clink their beer glasses together. “It really is.”

:::

“One strand of lights.”

“No.”

“A single banner. A classy one.”

“No.”

“Candles. Come on, O, no one can say no to candles.”

“Watch me.” Octavia, who up until this point had been withholding eye contact, gives Clarke a pointed glare. “No.”

Lexa smiles at Clarke’s frustrated groan while sipping her glass of water. Three-and-a-half pints of beer and countless plates of food have left her feeling fully satisfied if not also ready for bed. Clarke won’t close the bar for another few hours, and though Lexa acknowledges this is the reality of their chosen professions, she also wishes to steal Clarke away and take her home for a cuddle.  

“Think about Lincoln,” Clarke continues, beating her dead wedding horse, much to Octavia’s dismay. “You’re depriving him of this fanfare, this pizazz, this well-deserved—”

“Don’t drag him into this,” Octavia interjects.

Clarke’s jaw drops. “He’s literally one half of the reason we’re celebrating! And honestly, with how difficult you’re being about this whole thing, it might be more like 70/30.”

Octavia rolls her eyes and starts to walk away, busying herself with clearing empty glasses from a table whose guests have just vacated. “When you two leave, will you take her with you?”

Her voice carries across the now mostly empty bar, and Clarke scowls at Octavia from where Lexa and Lincoln sit at the far end of the counter. They often lay claim to this section of the bar during their Wednesday night visits, and it always feels like a sacred, little huddle.

“That’s a tempting offer,” Lexa answers as Octavia breezes past them to deposit the empty glasses into her bus tub behind the bar.

Her comment successfully erases the look on Clarke’s face as their eyes meet, and she watches Clarke’s frown melt into a dopey smile.

“I’m not leaving you to close by yourself. Stop being so dramatic,” Clarke admonishes, though she is still smiling as her eyes leave Lexa to look over her shoulder at Octavia.

“I’m not by myself,” Octavia grunts, hoisting her black bin of glassware and dirty plates off a low shelf. “Jane and Murph are in the back. Take the orders home and finish them there. You know the last two hours of the night are the slowest midweek. I’ll be fine.”

“Stop trying to get rid of me just because you’re throwing a fit about candles,” Clarke shouts after her even though Octavia has already pushed through into the kitchen.

Their small end of the bar counter temporarily swells with music blaring from the line cooks and back-of-house staff, a stark contrast to the lo-fi hip hop Clarke has playing on a lower volume in the main room.

“I should get home either way,” Lexa admits with a short stretch of her arms, pulling taut the muscles of her back. “You fed me too well, and now I’m sleepy.”

“You’re a grandma every night of the week—in bed before ten or cranky as hell the next day.”

Lexa furrows her brow at Clarke’s unnecessarily accurate depiction of her sleep routines, but Lincoln laughs openly while nudging her shoulder.

“This one’s never been able to burn the midnight oil. Needs that beauty rest to maintain her cheerful disposition.”

“I’m officially breaking up with both of you.”

“Hey.”

Clarke’s pout is back, the color of her eyes saturated in renewed hurt at Lexa’s bad joke. Three-and-a-half beers have also made her forgetful, apparently.

“Sorry, sorry.” She reaches for Clarke’s wrists across the glossed wood of the bar and is gently rubbing her thumbs across Clarke’s pulse points when Octavia reemerges. “Just Lincoln then.”

Lincoln offers a good-natured shrug. “That’s fair.”

“See?” Octavia eyes the affectionate gesture between Clarke and Lexa with a practiced look of exasperation. “You could be doing this loved up shit in the privacy of your own home.”

“Says the one who is about to profess her undying love and commitment publicly in front of all our closest friends,” Clarke argues.

“I feel like if you keep reminding her, she’s more likely to back out,” Lincoln muses, and Lexa wonders if he is only half kidding.

Octavia pins him with a look. “Never.”

It’s a charged moment just for them, despite the fact that Clarke and Lexa are caught in its crosshairs, Lincoln grinning as he catches Octavia’s crooked smirk.

“I really should go,” Lexa reiterates quietly, not wanting to interrupt. Her day will start early the following morning with a delivery just south of Boston, and traffic will be nauseating through Sumner Tunnel. “Are you sure you don’t—”

“Seriously, get her out of here,” Octavia interjects. “She overworks and stays late out of guilt and loyalty, and it’s entirely unnecessary.”

“Keep insisting, and I’m gonna say yes,” Clarke shoots back, almost threatening if not for her smile.

“Good. Then you can stop badgering me about fucking tea lights.” Octavia flicks the side of Clarke’s head and smacks her ass as she passes by to clear more tables, and somehow Clarke is charmed by the violent affection.

“I’ll stay and keep her company,” Lincoln offers. “You guys should take off. Enjoy the early night.” He then leans in closely to them both, his head bent in conspiracy. “And, I really do like those paper lanterns that you guys string up on the deck sometimes.”

The way Clarke’s entire countenance glows, eyes sparkling in victorious mischief, has Lexa’s smile growing in kind.

“I. Love you. You wonderful, wonderful human.” Clarke places her hands affectionately on either side of Lincoln’s face and looks as if she might actually plant a kiss between his eyebrows. “I will not let you down or betray your confidence.” Her tone is gravely solemn as if they are alluding to something far more serious than wedding decor.

“Give me a second to gather my things from the office?” she then says to Lexa, her voice shifting to that delicate timbre that turns Lexa’s beating heart to a useless puddle.

She tells her, “Take all the time you need.”

“I’ll be quick.” Clarke reaches for her fingers, giving them a quick squeeze, and disappears into the back hallway.

“Did I mention we did very well, ending up with these two?”

Lexa looks over to catch Lincoln’s giant grin and feels her own lips stretching into a smile. “I’m proud of us.”

Lincoln very nearly giggles. “Me too.”

A beat or two of amicable silence passes between them, in which time Octavia has returned behind the bar to tend to her few, straggling guests.

“What are the chances Clarke already has a shitload of decorations she’s been stockpiling for this party?” Lincoln contemplates aloud.

Lexa’s response comes without hesitation.

“Oh yeah, without question.”

:::

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 11)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER. 

CHAPTER 10.1

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Men couldn't really be trusted with a girl who had her first menstruation especially in their dimension because their hunches could get a good laugh out of you; suggesting that Cirilla has been attacked by some beast. Feelings are shown and couldn't be avoided, however; after the Djinn incident, it seems like those feelings turn into cravings that seem to be voracious for you and Geralt.

Warnings: Sexual implications. (But, still no smut. I'm frustrating myself in this one) Mention of breasts. Ha! Geralt being one enchanted and cheeky lil' shit. (Ya’ hot witcher 😫😘🥰😒) Reader being one innocent, naive lil' shit as well. Jaskier and Geralt being idiots. Cirilla being our soft baby. Mention of coochie. Honeypot slang also means vajayjay. The menstruation talk. Blood. Also mention of WOW characters and LOL. 

Words: 8.8k

A/N: 💖 Thank you for all the positive feedbacks I've received from this fic of mine! This is quite long but I hope you'll love it because I did! Hehehehhe!  Thank you to @uncoolcloudyhead​ because she has told me about the menstruation idea and I actually liked it so here it is! THANK YOU, BB'S! Also, this is prolly my bday update for Henry Cavill! (It’s already May 5 in my time, so...Heehehe) HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LOVEYYYY! *CRIES* WHERE YOU AT? WE STILL HAVE BABIES TO MAKE, HENRY. 😭😭👶😭😫🥰😂😂😂

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren’t from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM!

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

Random familiar voices came echoing outside the room. The sun was shining, in a way that got you groaning because it was attacking your face in full blast. There were ravens standing on the edge of the windows, chirping quietly as a form of your alarm. You've straightened your arms to reach for a certain person who had slept beside you, but you've tapped the mattress to feel the cold white sheets, informing you that he had already been up for hours.

You were alone. Again. Well, it wasn't like you and Geralt had a rule to not leave the bed when the other hasn't yet nor did you both have some sort of relationship that gives you that kind of priority.

The loud exclaims began to echo louder, lifting your back to squint your eyes and scrub them with the back of your knuckles; swiping off the morning glory that has been stuck on your eyelashes. You've heard the panicked voice of Cirilla down stairs as you rested your back on the headboard, listening to their talk, "I'm bleeding, Geralt. Why am I bleeding?!"

Then, Jaskier's voice resonated next, "She needs a healer!" pause. "What beast must attack her in such a delicate part of a child?!"

The witcher woke up with Cirilla never leaving her bed. He'd knocked on her door three times because they had training today before he'd heard her screech so loud, throwing the sheets away to see her bed with blood.

Shock was the least to describe Geralt's expression, he was utterly floored when he realized that their house has been invaded by some type of beast that devours a woman's delicate pearls. He deeply tried to search inside his head for whatever was close enough to be too sleek that he hadn't heard the monster enter their house nor did he even got the gist of its smell.

The monster was technically too good or maybe somehow idiotic as well because of how it probably only bitten Cirilla in between her legs.

"Jaskier, calm down." Geralt deeply rumbled, eyebrows tightly creased to the extent of thinking too much. The bard huffed to himself, crossing his arms in a snobbish way to watch Geralt leaning on their new dining table, hands flat as he had his head dropped down, thoroughly thinking it through.

"You're panicking as well because you've been too distracted with your delightful slumber with your midget that you were slacking and your witcher senses were unrealiable because of your protective fingers threading along the scented locks of her hair---"

The witcher snapped his head back to see Jaskier forming flowery sentences about what he saw last night. Though, he processed it and simply to say that he peeked through his room to see you and Geralt cuddled in each other's arms, "Did you enter my chambers?"

Jaskier looked around to see who he was talking to, but see no one and muttered an answer devoid of guile, "No?"

Geralt roughly growled, his nose scrunched in ferocity as he gave the bard a sharp glint of his cat-eyes. He should've left the door locked last night, "I'm locking the door next time. You can't be trusted anymore, bard."

The bard had a smug look on his face, a winning grin because of how he had caught the witcher red-handed. Geralt gave him a subtle roll of his eyes; ignoring the gloat etching his features.

The princess of Cintra stood in the middle of the kitchen, her beige silky night gown all bloody from her thighs down to her feet like there has been bloody murder. She was cocking her head in a way that tells she was wondering what has happened and why she feels no pain other than the part of her lower belly.

"Geralt, the only thing hurting is my stomach. What beast was it?"

"I...don't know," the witcher sincerely murmured, sighing a loud one as he straightened his back and stood tall, his amber eyes scanning Cirilla from head to foot to see what else was wrong; though, she appeared to be utterly normal, "---If it was a beast, then it is too conniving to have invaded our home,"

You cautiously took a trek down the stairs, your soft pitter-patters along the wooden staircase can be heard by the witcher as he instantly snapped his head to where you're coming from. Howbeit, before even jumping on the last step, you've took a sneaky peak at the family; head out in the open as your eyes immediately saw questioning amber eyes that held softness beneath the glow while Cirilla and Jaskier has been arguing.

What a wonderful sight to wake up in the morning; maybe having your three wishes from the djinn can be worthwhile when having Geralt look at you with a hint of such tenderness; stirring warmth growing in your belly.

You've raised a hand to give him a little wave before receiving a surprising small beam from the witcher himself as it was completely out of the blue; you've expected him to arch a brow or scowl but today seemed like a better day than he had prior to the mornings before.

Jaskier continued to deliver his tirades, palms spread out to exclaim Cirilla's current condition that knocked down all their feathers first thing in the morning, "Oh, dear gods! You looked like you were stabbed--stabbed in the---"

When you've suddenly emerged from the staircase and in the guise of being sardonic, your face was apathetic as you sarcastically muttered; pacing through the middle of the kitchen and interrupting their panic attacks, "This is why men can't handle a child alone; more so, a woman especially in times like this,"

From the moment you've seen Cirilla and that blood trailing down her legs, staining her night gown; you instantly knew what was happening. It was a natural circumstance in the lives of women.

Cirilla was having her first ever menstruation and these men were thinking of other worst case scenarios that made you wince from how uneducated they were about a menstrual cycle of a woman.

"Midget." You've heard Geralt acknowledged your presence, those butterflies in your stomach twerking from his gaze that rested upon your face; yet you tried your best to appear like he wasn't giving you any effect.

Probably too late for trying to let him know that you weren't that into him because you actually were. Big Time.

You were head over heels for the amber eyed witcher; even feeling a lot more after you've wished to a genie.

You bashfully bit the insides of your cheeks, clearing your throat to retain from squealing by how the witcher was trying to melt you with his peepers, "Tell me what beast it is," a demand was sent to the bard who gave you both rogueish looks when he glanced at the witcher who kept on staring like he was smitten with you.

The bard couldn't help but try to bite his tongue from saying any mockery to the both of you because there was a serious situation at hand, "Ughm. We've had hunches about a Nightwraith because it has been a full moon last night," Jaskier explained, holding his cup of water on one hand while the other was used as gestures as he continued to widen the scope further, "---Also, they appear in meadows or fields, and apparently we are in one. Right, Geralt?"

Jaskier glanced at the witcher, his forehead furrowed in seeing the witcher who still has his gaze fixated on you. The latter only gave him a pleasant hum to answer his question; never sparing him a glance.

"Hmm."

In which, Jaskier couldn't help but dramatically roll his eyes at Geralt from not being able to keep his eyes away from you, "Oh. Oh-no-no-no-no, here he goes again,"

You've clicked your tongue, trying to hide the blush from the witcher as you turned your heel a little and angled till you were face front with Cirilla and Jaskier, your side-profile only being seen by the man who kept his eyes solely on you like he was trying not to let you get away from his line of vision.

Oh, dear. He was utterly making your insides go in a twist.

"Nightwraiths eat women's coochies?" you lightly snorted, biting your lips to keep yourself from laughing out loud by how clueless Jaskier was.

He slanted his head to the side, thinking what you actually meant and raised a hand, "I eat coochies," pause. You've snorted another one, louder than you had before as Cirilla was looking at the bard like he'd transformed into something else, "I mean, you were referring to cookies right?" Jaskier subtly pointed to the witcher beside you.

"---Geralt does too,"

Your snorts were suddenly ceased all of a sudden when the bard pointed to the witcher who still had his eyes fixated on you. The snort died down and so was the smile that was about to creep up your face at the realization and memories that Jaskier and the lady in the marketplace said that he'd bedded a lot of women already, only does his whores in brothels and actually thought he'll live like that forever.

Huh. So much for the hoity-toity. Geralt was a fuck boy in his dimension. He's a fuck boy, you needed to remember that. Do not relish in the thirst. Do not. Not today. Not ever.

Fuck boys are assholes. But, if it were boys looking like Geralt...then, why not the lucky impaling?

You cleared your throat and push those thoughts away, "I bet he really does. No doubt," a nasal, sarcastic response was enough for Geralt to give the bard a glare of his cat-eyes. He sensed the hostility when Jaskier has said whatever he did, and the small frown etched on your face was no good.

The bard gave him a shrug, eyes all guileless and questioning.

You crossed your arms in front of everyone, masking up the prior disappointment and insecurity with a small, teasing smile, "What's the next theory? Sylvannas Windrunner? Illidan Stormrage? any world of warcraft characters? Or maybe league of legends too?"

Jaskier was expressive as he bellowed, "Gibberish. Utter gibberish, Small rat. We do not speak alien language,"

"You know aliens?" you blinked in surprise, eyeing the bard with a look of antonishment for even knowing what an alien is before he began to take it back, "I don't know, did I say aliens?"

You've narrowed your eyes at the troubadour, trying to see if he knew what he was saying but see none but only a confused epic teller. One tap, two taps on your arm and you gave a tiny beam at everyone, giving each a look of reassurance as your gaze lasted longer when you've passed by Geralt and then Kolby who was crouched under the living room table.

They've waited for your answer, patiently and intrigued by what they could learn from a person who lived in another dimension. You gave a soft sigh before grinning like a cheshire cat, "You are panicking over a girl having her period,"

Thus, your explanation made their foreheads crease a lot more as they couldn't understand.

"Do you both trust me?" you've given Jaskier and Geralt a look. The witcher gruffly answered in a jiffy, quick as a wink when he did so; leaving Jaskier to give him the craziest expression he could create.

"I do."

"We don't especially when you came from another dimension---" he gave his friend a double take, feigning the stun and offence as he brought a hand to his chest like he broke his heart, "---A traitor you are, Geralt!"

You gave the bard a crooked grin, shaking your shoulders to infuriate him, "It seems like your witcher trusts me enough, Jaskier."

He crossed his arms like a braggart, loudly huffing to his disappointment and shaking his head in consternation, "Oh, I swear he's acting like the dunderhead he is again. Next thing you know, he's as cold as a dead Alghoul's bum,"

A quick trudge towards Cirilla, you've gently held onto her shoulders; giving her a genial gaze of your eyes as she eyed you back skeptically.

"Cirilla, you need a warm bath. You feel uncomfortable, correct?" in consequence to your question, she'd felt another blood flow down her thighs, making her squirm from how uncomfortable it felt. It's like an endless stream that she couldn't handle, "I want the blood to stop, it doesn't cease!"

You gave her arm a gentle pat, trying to dispel her fears and perturbation about periods, "Don't panic. That's normal. I also do get that because I'm a woman. I prolly would soon. We get it every month, alright?"

Jaskier paced towards where Geralt was; regarding what seem to be a captivated witcher who was watching you handle Cirilla like a mother.

"Geralt." the minstrel tried to catch his attention, yet he paid no heed as Geralt was likely and certainly giving you the heart eyes already, "---I thought I may never see you acting like this again but this is perfect for bribery and another marvelous epic to be written. Geralt of Rivia, thoroughly under the rat's spell as you may see fit, looking like the witcher would give her the sun, an eye of a dragon, a dead body of a Golum or the moon if she wanted to," his bard of a friend scoffed, finding humor from the doting Butcher of Blaviken.

Geralt turned a blind eye from Jaskier's jeers. His expression lethargic as he continued to gawk.

"Why? Why must I be born as a lady?!" Cirilla fumed out of nowhere, slightly growling to whatever mischances she have gotten.

The rhymist threw an arm around the smitten witcher, his silence humoring him to the bones as he snorted, "You can ask Pavetta and Duny on that,"

Cirilla of Cintra gave him a lour as you bunched the hem of her nightgown, bringing the ends of it in a degree that let you saw the small pool of blood she created. Obviously, there were no napkins in their time if the men in the household don't even know what a period is. You tried to think how you would get one when you remembered those DIY menstrual pads in Pinterest that you have saved in your phone; maybe making one would be nice, "Will you get me new clothes for Cirilla? Let's give you a bath, shall we? I'll also try to create something that can help the blood from dripping,"

The request was sent to Jaskier, since he wouldn't be frugal for any help that was asked. Though, you were moved and taken aback when you've instantly saw Geralt stepping out of the ground he was rooted on and literally given effort to your demands.

He was certainly giving you wonders that will never cease in each passing day.

"I can get that---" the bard stumbled when Geralt moved away to your command, puffing out a breath as it gave his heart a jump, "---Oh. Geralt's doing it already, you're quite helpful today, witcher. You're very much appreciated!" he loudly tattled, watching Geralt evaporate from the walls of the staircase.

The bard snickered; giving you a shit eating grin, "The power of honeypot can be quite impressive, don't you think?"

You've gave him a baffled glance, tilting your head in wonder. Honeypot. You thought in the back of your mind, it sounded nice and scrumptious to your ears and so you left it at that; sending the bard a twinkle of your smile and an ingenuous flicker of your eyes because you didn't understand him and his references but chose to be kind.

"Maybe it is quite impressive, Jaskier."

You were gobsmacked to see a room that had a largely square in-built bath tub nailed to the floor of the room; like a bath house back in the medieval times. You've crouched beside the undressed princess, mindlessly tapping the floor with your index finger as you waited. They seem to be bold in terms of their body; thinking she would dismiss you once she was unclad from her night gown but alas, Cirilla wanted you with her. Not that you mind because she was also a woman and maybe she was just very much comfortable with you.

"I must say, you like Geralt?" she uttered, very straight to the point as you stopped tapping on the marble floors. You've heard a splash and realized she was already washing the milk away from her skin.

That question. Do you want her to know your honest thoughts?

"Oh--what?! yes, I mean--no. Yes?" you sheepishly stuttered, swallowing your embarrassment down your throat because it was that obvious to the eyes of people.

Cirilla quietly giggled from your bashful reaction; finding it funny that you were that shy enough to tell her.

"You always blush. Always clumsy and fidgeting whenever he's around. It tells me how much you like him when he could get you acting weird like that,"

You bit your lip, feeling the heebie-jeebies come around because of the topic at hand, "I think he likes you too," she surprisingly revealed, scrubbing some Epsom salt around her skin.

The abrupt presumption made your heart skip a beat. That wouldn't be possible especially that you were...you. A weird, insecure, small woman who came from another dimension wouldn't be liked by a dashing witcher. You expected nothing with the affection you had for Geralt, your hopes always on the low to keep the disappointments lesser and the pain more tolerable.

Besides, you were useless. A midget who held no strength nor magic within you. Your existence would certainly only be a burden for the witcher, so expecting fondness from him was the least of your worries.

You were happy this way, just seeing or having the witcher around before he sends the cargo off to her rightful dimension.

Cirilla was unaware of your frown as you crouched behind her, she continued to tell her findings out in the open; oblivious of how your self-doubt was starting to eat you up alive, "Geralt can be quite unscrupulous by bedding tons of women in brothels,"

You studied her from behind, forcing a smile at the honest facts you've received since the day you've arrived, "Who'd given you that talk?"

"Jaskier. He tells them whenever he's drunk. You couldn't trust the bard with your secrets, he tells them in the midst of his intoxication,"

"Yet, he didn't give you the period talk. Nobody did, even though they knew what it was and just chose to act like idiots," Your mouth fell into a tight, thin line. Obvious that you were dismayed by their lack of teaching thereof, it was not like you expected the witcher to give her the talk; Geralt of Rivia, teaching Cirilla what a menstruation is to his child of surprise. It can be comical because all he'll ever say was 'Hmm's' and a ton of 'horseshit' with that scowl on his face because he didn't know what it even is. You've had hopes for the toubadour but he'd crashed those faith of yours by telling Cirilla that it was probably a Nightwraith.

You'ce softly bitten your lower lip as you tried to elucidate what a menstruation is to the princess, "Having a period, symbolizes your maturity. You're beginning to grow older, a flower that's about to bloom. You're turning into a woman now," pause. "You can bear a child if you..do the birds and the bees with the man you love, Cirilla. But, bleeding means to tell you that your ovaries is actually punishing you to death because you haven't gotten pregnant yet,"

You've heard soft splashing of the waters, seeing the child turn to her curiosity, "Birds and the bees?" there was a soft wince that came from you, lately realizing the words that came out of your mouth. So much for being educated about periods yet here you are labeling sex as 'birds and the bees' like you were a Tumblr account.

Nevertheless, you continued for the better of life and for her sake as well, "It's an act where a man and a woman does a natural deed after they're married or before when they both prefer it to as long as it is with consent. It can bear you a child," another biting of your lip got you scrapping your dried, chapped lips; tasting a little bit of blood as you do and suddenly hissing to yourself as your fingers held onto your vermillion, "---Sometimes, it can be because of love or utter lust. Happens between lovers,"

The lioness of Cintra gave a nod of understanding, swashing herself with her bathwater before straightaway delivering her thoughts to you, "If you and Geralt become lovers will you do the birds and the bees too?"

The question caught you off guard. Entirely floored as you felt your saliva caught in your throat, igniting loud sputter of coughs as you felt like choking from her query, "W-WHAT?" Cirilla beamed back at you, looking so child like as her smile turned into a grin.

You couldn't imagine how stunned you appeared to be like at the princess, "---Did you even understood a single word I said?"

She seemed to not care for your genuine explanation about menstruation and took your 'sex' labeling into account, the mistake of naming it like a fable would probably drown you in your own shame as she went on; especially now that she knew you honestly told how you liked her father or step-father or---how Geralt is labeled for the princess.

Her smile turned pensive as she poured the water from her palms down her arms. She continued to wash, "Though, you probably won't be bearing a child of your own,"

Your eyebrows were tightly furrowed together, perplexed by what she was trying to point out, "Huh?"

"Barren. Sterile. Comes in becoming a witcher when they had their trials,"

Now, you were gobsmacked. Utterly dumbstruck that you couldn't form any words to say.

Your heart stopped beating from the news. His fate took everything away from him, included being infertile; a man's duty on earth to have an heir or another form of happiness for one man is to see a child of his own. Yet, because he was a witcher; it was impossible that any form of magic wouldn't do the job just as how Cirilla explained the whole thing to you.

Though, there was Cirilla as his child of surprise so you didn't know if it was a bad thing or a good thing for Geralt.

You've looked at her, solemnly. "They've taken that away from him too?"

She subtly nodded, peering back at you, batting her long eyelashes as her blue eyes gave you an earnest gaze, "They've taken everything from him. Even his childhood which explains why he's...unstable and complicated to understand," pause. "---If he somehow hurts your emotions with his words, he probably doesn't mean that at all or it's just a habit that he does; pushing people away because he doesn't know how to handle his feelings well,"

Thus, as she muttered her next words; her eyes turned downcast and face turned as long as a fiddle like she'd remember something that already was in the past, "---It took decades for Geralt to accept his duties for me,"

The whole talk ended with that. His duties for the princess of Cintra; giving you a head start that she was his child of surprise for a distinct reason. A reason that made the princess fall into silence and you didn't try to dig onto the information because apparently, she appears to be sensitive at the topic and you respected it.

Cirilla offered that you should bathe as well when she was finally dressed in casual leather clothes that had been given by the djinn since you've wished for it. They were now blessed with more clothes and food; you name it, the Djinn has made it possible.

You gently took your bandages off, seeing how it was better than before. A lot better. The medicine was magical for it to be better in just three days; or maybe the numbness tells you that it was going well when it probably even wasn't on the inside.

"I'll fetch you your towels, Y/N." Cirilla softly announced as she was all dressed and proper, her ashen hair wet and all down as she fixed her leather boots.

You gave her a genuine smile as you tried pulling your tight leather boots free, "Thank you, Princess."

She stood beside the thick frame of the wooden door, brushing her locks with her fingers and trying to untangle them as she talked, "Ciri or Cirilla will be fine. It feels different and...enlightening when somebody doesn't tries to treat me like one,"

She was that type of princess. A humble one too. You were obviously lucky on getting to meet them because they were decent and kind. A quick nod was sent for her wants as you deeply respected it before she left the bathroom.

Before you could even go stark naked, Jaskier was kind enough to drop the towels for Cirilla; you've sent your thanks to the bard but eventually groaned when he left and saw how it was a bunch of face towels and not actually a large bath towel that you could use while you try to get your clothes in Ciri's closet because you forgot to take them with you.

So, there was reasons as to why Geralt was sometimes hostile as he can get. However, the antagonism has somehow faded through time to time for certain reasons; especially noticing how gentle he can get after raking those fingers through your hair as he slept was the most amiable gesture you have gotten from any man, ever.

But, Jaskier was right. You never know when he begins to turn cold like an Alghoul's bum because he was complicated to understand sometimes.

You were thinking about Geralt as you sat in the end of the tub. His prompt thoughtful gestures that certainly dithers your feelings for him while you were in your birthday suit. A soft creak of the door was heard and you languidly continued to scrub at your breasts; giving them gentle rubbing with some Epsom salt with a little bit of lemon that you've managed to get from the cupboards; not glancing over the princess as you pointed at a small wooden chair and expressed your gratitude for her kindness.

"Thank you, Cirilla." you continued to heedlessly exfoliate your body; abruptly pointing at the chair as your eyes were fixated on your body, "You can lay the towels over there, I can get it."

Chances of being lucky has never been a part in your life. Hence, hearing that familiar, rough, low baritone of a voice you've desired to have for the rest of your life as you bathed was surely giving you the shilly-shally when you've seen Geralt of Rivia standing rooted on the ground; his amber eyes bemisting with obscure thoughts that you certainly also felt as his eyes were glued to your perky, unclad chest that was displayed before him.

He was a man; heedful of his needs and wants. Especially that the woman bathing in front of him has been clouding his mind since day one. The witcher would obviously stare and ogle at the unexpected blessing that you ought to share.

Geralt was apparently staring at your boobs and he shamelessly seemed to not care at all.

"Ugh," he hoarsely croaked out, those glowing peepers clouding with something primal, raking your form with those piercing eyes as you were knocked out of your socks by seeing the witcher whom stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the bath room, "I've fetched you your---" Geralt cleared his throat, forehead creasing in surprise as he went on with his gawking; ceasing the moment to sketch the image inside his head by heart.

"---breasts---towels, I mean towels. Fuck," the latter gruffly cussed, scrunching his nose for even admitting that he was impudently ogling at your tatas.

You didn't know what to do as your arms began to fidget, trying to find anything that could cover you up as you panicked; not used to being in decent in front of people especially by a man who has crept inside your heart. The water furiously splashed as you squirmed in your side of the tub, yelping when you've seen those face towels far from your reach and you've decided to just cover your breasts with an arm.

Fortunately, your breasts weren't that huge enough for some nipple slipping. So, an arm would suffice. As well as your heated center that was covered with your bath water.

"Geralt!" you've finally called out the elephant in the room, doing nothing but stare at you like you've saved his life, also humming in a pleasing tone as he blinked, arching a brow in amusement.

It was utmost shameful to be seen by a man you were fond with; thoroughly starked like you were showing him your adorable sized watermelons at the witcher who didn't seem to mind the image. "Where is Cirilla?!" you demanded and panicked, the heat flowing up your face when you glanced at Geralt in utter stupefaction.

The witcher was trying his best not to snicker from what he'd seen from you like it was a gift to mankind; his mankind, "Plotting her vengeance for my attitude prior to that day," he remembered that he'd pissed the princess when he planned to bring you back in your world with a Djinn. Therefore, Cirilla was salty about the whole situation and didn't forget the retribution that he needed to receive after pissing the child off.

You could hear the nark and frustration in his timbre, though he sounded to be too quelled to your surprise that he actually didn't find Cirilla's plan to be rather much annoying because of what benefits was given, "---and she already got what she fucking wanted. That cunning child,"

The latter clicked his tongue, blinking out of his amazement in giving him an accidental flash of your breasts. Well, he'd seen more breasts than any type of normal, but seeing yours was different. You could see the crooked smile wanting to carve upon his lips, making you narrow your eyes back at the witcher who found everything delightful, "She promised you were...decent,"

Your brow instantly rose at that, skeptically glaring back at the witcher, "Is this decent enough for you?!"

Thus, he cocked his head to the side, feeling his heated gaze on you alone; never leaving, "Even...better?"

You've finally hugged yourself together, both arms crossed to cover those angels you were hiding from, giving Geralt the death stare as the witcher continued to gape; eyes definitely intrigued for what else could he find pleasing to look at. His face was now back to being stoic and serious but his eyes seem to be the opposite.

"Stop staring!" you timidly commanded, voice higher than usual due to the embarassment.

He didn't need to be told twice. Geralt sighed in way that got him smiling, entirely beguiled by your reaction.

You were a conservative woman, even pure as well based on how you were panic-stricken by being immodest. Unlike those other women who he has been with, they were all poised and unfazed by showing their perfectly shaped bodies at the witcher who they find utmost alluring and ravishing.

Yet, here you were. Being you.

"I'm trying." Geralt snickered, his grin lifting his lips in haste when you couldn't see his face as he turned around.

It was like you can feel him grinning. You knew he was grinning and so you stated your accusations out loud as he was grinning from ear to ear, "I can see you grinning! Judge my body for all you want! You probably saw better," "

But, his smile slightly fell when he'd heard your voice waver a little at the final thought of your message; hearing a little bit of insecurity or maybe a lot more if you were covering them up to not let them see.

"You---You can leave the towels there. Don't look as you do!" you pointed at the wooden chair close to him, raking his form from hair to foot and still couldn't believe how large his build was. A puff of breath left your lips when you could feel yourself grow hot that had more than a blush, your fingers suddenly flying up till you've touched the weird symbol that was inscribed in between the valley of your breasts.

The symbol was totally strange although familiar because it held no meaning for you. It was like a colorless tattoo or a scar that was meant to be there; an image that you have already seen or encountered because it was with Geralt.

It consisted of the witcher's medallion.

You've only seen it when you began undressing, wondering why it was even there in the first place.

"Hmm." he gravelly hummed, seeing his shoulders slump as he thought about it too long. How would he even place the towel without looking like an idiot pacing backwards? "I'm warning you!"

Geralt gave a scoff, turning his booted heel halfway that you could only see his gorgeous side-profile. He never looked at your way again, though it was thoroughly tempting for the witcher but he respected your wishes and just stared straight at the wooden chair that was a meter away from him.

Your naked presence didn't cease his jests, "It doesn't sound too threatening now, does it? Especially that it comes from you,"

An adorable growl erupted from you, igniting a chuckle from the witcher as it was the first time he heard it for all his life and it was certainly the cutest, "What are you implying then?!"

"That you're a tiny midget trying to scare off a big, bad witcher," his grin grew bigger as he went on with his teasing.

You've eyed the large towel in his hands, actually thanking the witcher for sending them off to you because of Jaskier's foolishness; grateful that you wouldn't run off the hallways completely naked because you only had face towels, "Is that even a decent towel? Not a face towel like how Jaskier tried to give?"

Despite of only seeing his side profile, you were sure his grin fell from the moment you've mentioned the bard, "He'd went in?" he grumbled with a spiteful tone, making you question him in silence, "---with you bathing?"

"What's wrong with that, Geralt?"

There was a murmur, and you couldn't quite comprehend what he said but you knew it doesn't sound like he enjoyed the idea of Jaskier walking in on you while you were unclad like it was nothing unlike him who'd been given warnings and death stares like you wanted to throw knives at him.

"That bard,"

Was he feeling the way you're actually thinking how he felt? you couldn't help but try not to scoff this time, never wanting to get caught that you were finding his irked reaction rather funny, "I was clothed when he did. Unlike you,"

He'd ignored your response as you watched him saunter towards where the chair is, gently dropping them on top of the clean set of face towels that Jaskier has managed to give, "These are your towels, midget." Geralt mindlessly muttered, heedless of his next words that came out of his mouth, "---all new, soft and perky...Ugh, fuck."

The witcher rigidly stood straight, his shoulders falling as he exhaled a long breath; waiting for the tumult of your loud protests, "You're describing my boobs!"

Did he seriously just tell you that your breasts were perky? Small? Or you just thought perky meant small for you?

Geralt had his brows in a twist, crossing his arms as he glared at the wooden chair, probably already dying from how he was giving daggers to the poor seat in front of him, "Your what?"

"My watermelons! My tatas! I know what you're thinking and how dare you tell me they're small?!"

The latter didn't meant it that way. He meant that it was upright and firm. Definitely firm as he'd already seen it with his own amber eyes, "I wasn't saying it was miniscule," he explained with a very relaxed pitch of his voice. The topic not shaking him off.

"---It's the right size for you,"

You were now red-faced, finding the whole ordeal of talking about your breasts with the man you fantasized about was giving your features a reaction of being too flustered by the words he say, "Geralt!" it was a sheepish loud hush and scold for the witcher to cease his talking, "Stop talking about it! This is embarassing!"

Geralt amusedly clicked his tongue, amber eyes downcast as you saw a slip of his smile before fully turning his broad back as he ignored you on the side, eyes focused at the door which will give him a way out.

Maybe after you bathed, he needed to also have his based on how your irresistable presence began to take its camp inside his leather pants.

"I'll...alright," he roughly cleared his throat, a hand on the wooden door before you suddenly beckoned him to stop.

"Wait!"

The witcher could help you with whatever symbol was on your chest. He was the only person who could explain what was happening to your body right?

Those constant withering you feel on your chest whenever he was around, a desire that wanted you having him up close and maybe ever closer than you wish for? The scorching want to touch his face, feel his body caressing you in a way that nobody else could?

The type of scorching thirst that made your soul corrupted from all the lewd thoughts inside your head. You've had it last night, when Geralt was up close and raking his fingers through your locks; by the time you were sweating and having the potent urge to just devour the man who was thoughtful enough to put you to sleep, all you wanted was to be raunchy with all the obscene whisperings inside your head.

It was like somebody wanted you to do it; to have your body corrupted by the witcher and you didn't know if he felt the same way.

Your thoughts was heading to a path that you didn't know about; since the moment that the witcher came into your life.

Geralt heard the splashes of the water, meaning to say you stood up; utterly naked and wet from your bath that it made the witcher's body turn stiff. "You're making this difficult for me, midget..." it was a serious warning that got your chest feeling all sorts of things again.

You swallowed the filthy want away and covered your body with the towel that reached beneath your knees as you paced towards where he was, "Don't worry, I'm all clothed now. I just need to show you something,"

"I've seen more than enough of your breasts that can get me---" he started with a dangerous tone of his timbre, but you immediately backpaddled and tied the towel in between the valley of your breasts, the symbol showing above the towel as you awkwardly fidgeted your toes on the ground, "No! Not that! This!"

He'd felt your nervous pats on his shoulder, urging him to turn around and when he did; Geralt was aware of that shining symbol carved on your chest like a necklace that he also had.

The witcher stared at it with utmost peculiarity, his forehead creased too deeply that made you ponder if he was mad at what he was seeing but you knew he was just trying to understand whatever it is that was outlined on your chest.

Thus, he'd inspected each and every curvature, ending at an image that he also had on as he worn it as a necklace for whenever he was in battles since it was sensitive to magic.

"It's...weird," you curiously mumbled, glancing down at the glyph on your chest before tilting your head till you could see the real one gleaming before you, rested upon his wooly chest that you so wanted to touch since last night.

The way it crawled in the deepest parts of you was antagonizing as you couldn't find any relief other than whenever Geralt was touching you, it somehow lessen the uncomfortable, scathing feeling.

A very odd feeling that couldn't be helped.

Hence, in the twinkling of an eye; Geralt already has his calloused, rough fingers merely brushing that mark you had on the valley of your chest, sparking a hitch of your breath as it got stuck in your throat; the witcher, touching a part of you that nobody else did yet.

"Did I say you could touch?" you bashfully whispered, all flustered when you've felt him gently tracing the emblem.

"Hmm."

"But, your touch somehow helps the ache and the bath did too as well," an earnest answer was sent to the witcher, his amber eyes snapping away from the symbol to give you a glance; seeing a satisfied flicker of your eyes as you found it soothing, "Very weird,"

From the moment his fingertips came in contact with the image stuck in your chest, you've held out a satisfying sigh; feeling the slight sting slowly pass by like a wind when Geralt has his fingertips on your flustered skin. His amber eyes were heavy, focused and entirely warm as his gaze darkened in question.

"How weird must it be?"

Was it also the same feeling he had before you both went to sleep? the moment you both had when you've first arrived after going home from the swamps? That temptatious feeling that got him all frustrated for desiring you?

Thence, you continued to dance on fire, whispering your next words like a secret you never wanted to reveal. A surprising urge that got you all bashful but somehow gaining self-assurance for even saying these things out loud, especially to the man whom you were smitten with, "I...feel things that shouldn't been thought about, corrupted feelings that would describe me as sinful..."

Were you really saying all these out loud? How? Why? yes, you were and you didn't know what force has taken you to even say these out loud like a minx.

The witcher leaned down for your sake, never getting to entirely tilt your head till you were giving yourself a stiff neck. He'd had those amber eyes of him, dancing in curiousness; his eyes sharp, cimmerian and held scampishness that you never saw until today.

"---about you..." the sound was utterly guileless. His thoughts wanting nothing but to taint the purity away if he was given a chance. The silence he has been giving, blinding you into saying more; hoping he would take the chance before it even ended without you knowing, "---It's like I've wished for something that will make me suffer...makes me more curious about you than I've ever been before,"

You've held your breath, seeming to be enraptured by the witcher who wanted nothing but to melt you in his gaze. His glowing Aurum eyes enticed by the perilous spell you've cast as he cocked his head to the side, a look of mischief mixing with the curiosity drowning in his peepers.

"You are having desires," he murmured as a matter of fact, enticed by the close proximity that you both shared. His breath fanning your face in a way that got you smiling as you've genuinely thought out loud, "Scorching...desires that makes me pant like a dog in heat, Geralt."

You could feel Geralt slightly move closer, inclining his head a bit more to have a better look upon your face, the brilliance of his enchanting eyes definitely more bewitching as he was giving you the mischief that pooled around his eyes, "Which explains...last night?"

Your heart was pounding so fast as you've held onto the ends of your towel, tightly than you could ever do because playing with fire was technically not a great idea especially when it was his; feeling the apprehension starting to take over by his intimidating but fascinating presence.

"Yes. You--You didn't need to state the obvious---"

A soft yelp was released as the witcher abruptly hauled an arm around your waist, grabbing you like a basket of groceries as he pulled you closer; overlapping that personal space you needed as he peered down before you, amber eyes burning with the desire you both wanted to release. You've ogled back at the man, blinking with that vindicated look of yours as it made him crazier and unstable.

Hence, his reply made you crazier as well because the least you expected was his virtue on filling that forbidding feeling that was needed to satiate.

"I could revel those desires you have that is needed to sate," he hoarsely taunted, emphasizing his words while he somehow stared between your lips and those batting doe-eyes as he seemed to be ensorcelled by you, "---I'll indulge your curiosity all night long or even days thereafter," his next words turned breathlessly low, stirring a primal warmth that got you suddenly excited for what he could offer.

 "---If you'll let me,"

You were totally swept off your feet, maybe literally as you felt the tip of his nose tickle yours in a way that got you captivated, saying words that surely got the better of yourself as you fluttered your eyes closed, feeling his warm breath hitting your mouth enticingly palpable and peril to even experience, "God, That...was hot,"

Was that the response you only managed to create? Yes. You've honestly told the witcher he was hot when he was basically trying to woo you over and fill in those desires you wanted.

You've felt his breathing turn slow and erratic, the pillowy texture of his vermillion slightly tickling your mouth as it made your heart thump so fast that you were worried you were having a heart attack. Your eyes tightly shut just waiting to be kissed by the witcher himself as this moment was undeniably flattering.

You knew you were looking constipated while you awaited for those soft lips to land on yours. But, what you got was just a low, hushed growl and a puff of air that roughly slapped your lips as the witcher groaned out loud, his mouth momentarily whisking away that made your heart itch in a way that got you softly whining to yourself when he'd slightly leaned back.

Your nose was scrunched up to the extent of telling him that you were dismayed from the lack of lip touching like it was an intentional tease of his sly self. But, you never said it out loud to lessen the embarrassment that you wanted to kiss him that badly.

He was truly the living thirst to your randy teenage life before and a person who made you insane.

"The bard just doesn't know when to stop," his fiery, golden eyes looked through you, but it seemed to be distant as he had his eyebrows in a frustrated twist, nose also scrunched in a way that he was completely irked to the bones.

The witcher had a nasty scowl on his face. Did your breath stink?

"JASKIER." Out of nowhere, Geralt loudly exclaimed through gritted teeth, his arm around you never leaving as you stared into his eyes that also never left yours since he had you in his burly arms.

Due to your frantic state that keeps you antsy and fidgety, it decides to strike while the iron is hot. Meaning to say that you're taking the perfect opportunity to do something embarrassing. You've arduously stood on your tippy toes, struggling to reach Geralt's height before puckering those chapped lips of yours and doing the inevitable.

A quick, soft, honeyed peck on the side of Geralt's lips got him rooted on the ground, expecting it to land on those mouth of his that you've been dying to kiss but decided to taunt the big, bad witcher by pressing a peck that was dangerously close to where he wanted.

The latter was used to women who were straightforward, sexual and knew what they wanted. Thence, having a woman who's timid for wanting what she wanted was giving him a headache because of how your taunts were poking that rage of desire he had with you.

It was utmost frustrating and irksome because he wanted more.

You've dropped your feet to the ground before you heard the door creak where Jaskier emerged from and had a huge grin on his youthful pretty face, "Why, does anyone want me to rub chamomile onto their lovely bottoms?"

Geralt's hold on you slightly loosened as he looked at you with that questioning and frustrated look on his face, giving a grimace for whatever child-like kiss you have given him. It was completely unsatisfying. He didn't expect that and you couldn't help but want to snort and giggle at the same time from how stunned he appeared to be.

The witcher snapped his head to where the bard is, giving him a sharp lour that tells Jaskier that he ruined something important and he better get ready for some beating.

Jaskier gave a nonchalant shrug, "Don't give me that look, I was about to give the small rat her chamomile but it appears to be like she's having her own kind of chamomile being given by you, witcher." he roguishly muttered, wiggling his eyebrows.

You were sleek enough to slide away from Geralt's sturdy arms, swerving from his delightful presence with those butterflies flying wildly inside your stomach. A deep groan of disapproval was heard in the room when you've both given the men looks of query and saw Geralt glaring at the bard for his interruption.

Your fingers began to fidget over the hem of your towel, hair all drenched as it dripped to the ground. The citrusy scent that has been your brand lingered in the air as Jaskier gave you a once over, his pretty blue eyes scanning your indecent outfit before you've seen his adam's apple bob up and down; the bard's eyes twinkling in some sort of way that made you even more flustered.

"Ughm, I need to dress up? Bye!" you nervously exclaimed, shifting on your footing before grabbing onto the door and escaping from the eyes of both men that lingered on you.

When the door slammed shut, Geralt continued giving the bard a stinky scowl. Jaskier eyed him skeptically, muttering a defensive 'what?!' before hearing a dangerous grumble of the witcher's protests.

"Bard." Geralt gravelly warned, his mouth releasing an intense blasphemy for the defensive troubadour who tried appearing innocent like he wasn't admiring your newly bathe look, "I hope a fucking Nightwraith gelds you at night,"

YES. IT’S FOOKIN’ LONG AND Y’ALL GOTTA HANG ON TO THE NEXT CHAPTER BECAUSE IT’LL BE LIT! (Sorry if there are typos in this chapter!) FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!

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[invincible-selfxmade-punk]

My So Called Rise Against Life

All lyrics written and owned by Rise Against

No band, not even AFI, sings the soundtrack of the last 20 years of my life like Rise Against has. I was dragged to my first Rise Against show by Emily. Emily, the suicide girl, quite possibly the hottest girl in Corpus Christi, barely 5'1 and 98 pounds soaking wet, covered in tattoos and with Angelina Jolie's lips. To this day I cannot imagine why a girl who looked like that wanted to hang with me. I had never been to a gig at that little club called The Underground where the disenfranchised youth of Corpus Christi congregated. This was the very cusp of my punk rock midlife crisis and I went in scared to death because I'd heard concerts of this nature were violent.

At this point I was already considering the decision to become straightedge. I was curious but knew little about it. The sum of my knowledge was this: two of the guys in AFI were, and the guy at the mall was. The memory of this guy never leaves me. Like a stray dog with a tennis ball, catching a welcoming scent on the air, then chasing after a passing stranger who never looked down, I chased after him and each year I spent in that fruitless pursuit felt like seven. His friendship I would never win, but he would remain on the outskirts of my life, like the brass ring I reached for again and again only to fall on my face. I would see him that night too, but I didn't know this when Em invited me out. It was billed as a hardcore show. I had no idea what hardcore was back then, I just assumed it meant a rough crowd of millitant straightedge vegans that would have a sixth sense that I wasn't one of them and chase me out the doors. Rise Against was headlining and an equally unknown band called Avenged Sevenfold was opening. I'd never heard of either. Emily wanted me to go and I wanted to get out of the house for the night so it wasn't that hard for her to twist my arm in the matter. I met her at her apartment which was filth ridden, with drug paraphernalia everywhere, a wall size Misfits poster that took up the entire SIDE of her apartment, and electric guitars propped next to skateboards. As she slipped out of her clothes and into something slinky much to my viewing pleasure, she pointed me to her freezer with a purloined bottle of tropical Schnapps from the liquor store she was working for. Toasting in miniature tea cups I downed the bright blue liquid. I remember it so well, the frost covered bottle, cold in my hand, the electric blueness pouring into what looked like a child's tea party set up. This wasn't the last drink I would take, that would come two months later, yet I remember every detail of the experience. Suited up in skimpiness, we were off to the races. We hauled ass in Emily's SUV and she sat behind the wheel, dwarfed by it's hugeness and her smallness, joint in hand, careening down the expressway and swerving around orange construction barrels. As we exited into the worst part of town I had ever seen I must have looked uneasy. She turned to me and proudly exclaimed "Don't worry, I know this place! I used to score crack here!" We walked in and the first person I saw was the straightedge boy, who was taking money at the door. It was a good sign of things to come. It would also mean I would completely ignore Avenged Sevenfold's set in s stupid quest to get his attention long enough to make conversation. But Em was a champ, she stayed with me through the whole thing. In fact, I don't remember having the guts to say a word. She talked to him, I watched him talking to her and twenty feet away M. Shadows was screaming his sexy, tattooed, egotistical lungs out but I was utterly oblivious. From there we went to the merch booth where Em bought me an Avenged Sevenfold poster that I kept for years on my wall before finally giving it away right on the cusp of actually starting to listen to them. She also bought me a Rise Against patch that is still on my Dickies bag today though it is nothing more than a mess of black thread. We wandered over to the PETA booth, watched some gruesome videos, signed up for mail and picked up a cookbook I would later use to make one of the mall kids a vegan birthday cake. Then Emily spied someone she knew and I followed her over, still looking suspiciously through the crowd sure someone was just going to come up and punch me for no apparent reason. Still following, I watched as she struck up a conversation with this cute guy in glasses. I politely listened in as they talked about how they haven't seen each other since Warped Tour. For the life of me I can't remember what they talked about. I was distracted by a guy that looked like Davey Havok. Their conversation muffled to a drone until the guy looked at his watch and said "Oh crap!! I need to be on

stage! I'll talk to after the show!" and it was at that moment I realized Emily had been talking to Joe Principe of Rise Against. This was our cue as well though there was already too much of a crowd to get near the front. There were maybe one hundred people there and Tim held every one in the palm of his hand. I was amazed. I had never heard them before in my life so I can't tell you the set list but I knew from that time on I wanted to hear more. At the end Emily and I waited at the stage to talk to Tim. I had no idea what to say so I just shook his hand and now I wish I had held on a little longer. Emily got a shirt signed and talked to him for a while. Again I was too preoccupied with the AFI look-alikes in the crowd that I wasn't paying much attention. To this day I wonder if the dude I thought looked like Davey was actually Zacky Vengeance. I'll never know for sure. Soon enough Joe was with us again and he and Emily were engaged in conversation when he turned to me and said "Did that hurt?" I had NO idea what he was talking about, I was too overwhelmed by his very presence. I actually thought he was pointing past me to the PETA booth and I stupidly sputtered "What KFC is doing to chickens?" I swear to god when I'm miserable and in need of cheering up sometimes all it takes to make me smile is thinking "Hey, Joe laughed at my joke." The night drew to an end, Emily went out with the band, and being married, I went home. Next to singing a line with Dave Peters of Throwdown, that first night with Rise Against was the best night of the last ten years of my life. The next time I would see Rise Against they would be back in Corpus, opening for Bad Religion. This happened during what I call "The Emo Dave Era". I met Dave because of Rise Against. He was a little emo boy wearing a Rise Against shirt, skipping school at the mall. I stopped him and asked him about it and well that was it, he just kept coming around. I would end up knowing him for five years and eventually hiring him to work for me. By the second time they came to town Siren Song of The Counterculture was out and I remember bragging to Dave that if it was any other band I would have just downloaded it, but for them I would actually spend my hard earned money. I remember DRINKING in the songs, trying so hard to memorize all of the tracks before the gig hit. I remember the second Rise Against gig for many reasons. It was the first gig I went to alone at a time I was in the grip of panic attacks whenever I had to be in wide open spaces by myself. Two of my "mall daughters" met me at the gates and stayed with me the whole night. I remember that. I remember Dave hitting the merch table before me and buying me Rise Against stickers that I regarded like they were jewels and kept them in some special place until I hid them so well I hid them from myself. Dave and I and the girls were in the front row together, and sadly none of them I am in contact with now. Not only that, but Dave and one of the girls I was up front with would end up working for me and stealing over $1300 from my business during their tenure as my employees. Years from knowing this though we happily stood side by side and sang along for the whole set. What I remember most about that second gig was standing in front of Joe and when he sang "Single file like soldiers on a mission." I saluted him and he saluted back. Tim was wearing the exact same shirt he wore at the first gig but I was probably the only one to notice it. And when Tim asked "Who was here at our first gig when only 20 people showed up?" I proudly raised my hand. All the memorizing I did was pretty much for naught because I was so excited to be in the front row I damn near forgot every word to every song, but for some reason I knew every word to 1,000 Good Intentions. The first Rise Against show was in August, I can't tell you the date of the second one. I made my commitment to becoming straightedge sometime between December and January. I don't know the exact date because I was so scared about the whole

thing I kept it to myself "You're the new revolution The angst filled adolescent You fit the stereotype well..."

.All I know for sure was that I'd been edge several months by the second Rise Against gig at Concrete Street in Corpus. he second Rise Against gig also brings to mind another phantom of my past: a girl I was close to named Amanda (not the Amanda I went to Warped Tour w/, that Amanda I've always called Di because her screen name was Dionysus). This was Amanda's first night aout after being kidnapped and raped. Her parents were druggies and didn't want the cops involved so the guys who did it just got away with it and I'd see them at the mall all the time afterward and I couldn't do shit. It was her and her big sister who met me at the gates and stayed with me all night. I loved those girls. . . . Again, digressing. From First To Last opened and we spent the whole set talking about how much they looked like AFI. I ended up leaving the gig early, going to the house of one of them who still lived with his folks, ringing the doorbell and leaving a note in the mail box that said 'YOUR SON RAPES LITTLE GIRLS----just thought you should know'. It didn't really help anything but it made me feel better. During this mindlessly courageous time I was blinded by my commitment. I jumped into being edge with a fervor reserved for things like joining the Hari Krishnas or Jehovah's Witnesses. It was a complete make over of every idea I'd ever held. I didn't know a great deal but once I found it, I knew it was all I had been looking for. The only other person I actually knew who was edge was the straightedge boy, who now had become god-like in my mind. He was the first face of straightedge for me, the ideal, the standard, the one thing I felt I had to live up to. Sadly, by this time he was long gone, moving away from the mall where we worked and on to better things. This fact only drove me forward in a Holy Grail level quest to find him. When he was there I was terrified of speaking to him and then when he wasn't I kicked myself for not having the courage. I was sure that if I did make my way to him, he could impart some knowledge, some advice that would make my whole solitary experience make sense. The soundtrack of that quest was Blood to Bleed: "Steps I take in your footsteps Aren't getting me closer to what is left of the dreams of what I once claimed to know Within my bones this resonates...." Within weeks of each other three amazing things happened: Ceci, my best friend Amanda(Dionysus) and I went to Warped Tour to see AFI and in the process saw Rise Against as well. Then The Sufferer and the Witness came out, and at the same time Jadey and Ceci came to visit me in Corpus for quite possibly the most idyllic summer of my life. It was that summer we saw Rise Against for the third time. At that Warped Tour again we were in front of Joe, and again when Tim sang "Single file like soldiers on a mission... " we saluted Joe and he saluted us back and it was like a little piece of heaven fell to earth, the moment was so perfect. The set was

short because it was Warped Tour but we didn't care. We were together, we loved each other and we sang along with every song we knew. Sufferer and Witness came out in July right in time for Warped Tour and the girls coming down for a visit. I remember this so well because I had a cd of the straightedge boy's band and it seemed so important for me to play it for Jadey and Ceci. Do you remember that line in The Lost Boys: "Now you know what we are, now you know what you are." ? That was how it felt for me, this romanticized notion that my edge was not my own and it was all owing and belonged to someone else. I wanted to be able to trace it like a family tree to say, if I had not met him I would not have found out about AFI, I would not have made my committment, we would have never met, so therefore the life and friendship we have shared has all traced back to THIS. Well, they weren't all that impressed. I have a very clear memory of us being outside the Sonic Drive In and Jadey asking me "Please turn that noise off and put in something else." That something else was the The Sufferer And The Witnessand it stayed in the player for the rest of the trip. Ready To Fall was the song that defined the next year, much later, that I made my edge my own. In my journey I had looked to so many others for advice or reassurance or validation. I did this because I didn't believe in myself. I thought I was weak and sought in others what would make me strong. Sometimes I received it, like messages sent back and forth the guys in Throwdown and the near religious experience of seeing them live all the times I have, of singing a line with Dave, shaking his hand. Most of the time though my search was in vain. I remember very clearly seeking out help online. One guy told me I would never know who I was until I went to a hardcore show. This wasn't exactly bad advice, hardcore shows had the most amazing energy flowing through them and it did feel good to be surrounded by like minded people. The only thing I really learned about myself through going to hardcore shows was that if God had wanted me to hardcore dance, He would not have given me boobs. There was another guy who told me only the most insecure person would EVER wear a straightedge shirt out in public and if you were sincere about it, you'd keep it to yourself. I thought that guy was nuts. The whole POINT of being edge to me was proving I was not like the idiots around me. "With your eyes Glazed and half-smiled Explain to me the details of your God-given right You point your finger In my face but You can't remember what you did last night" I asked another guy what to do if I was tempted to drink again and he told me if I was tempted I was never really straightedge to begin with and I should just do the scene a favor and kill myself already. Then there were the kids that thought I was just the bees knees and were coming to ME for advice. I had no idea what to tell these kids, but I wasn't about to tell them not to wear sXe gear or kill themselves. Because of my own search for answers I refused to turn any kid away. One day they were telling me I was their hero and begging for advice, the next they were telling me I was out of my mind and to get lost. It took a good four years before I learned not to believe them in either case. "This could be my great awakening But how would I know when it's all noise to me? Are these words falling on deaf ears?" Right in the middle of this I had the good fortune to meet a guy named Chris X from Philly. He neither worshipped nor ignored me. He was simply THERE. I have the most vivid memory of this one morning. I had the same dream about the straightedge boy only this time I stepped out and stopped him and asked him if the hormones levels in milk made people more aggressive the way steroids did and asked if I should stop drinking it. Why this popped into my head I will never know. As usual the alarm rang before the blurry form opened his mouth and imparted wisdom. I woke up at 5 am and suddenly HAD to know

the answer to the question. It happened that Chris X was up too. I contacted him and he took the time out of his morning to discuss this with me completely out of the blue. I don't know why this sticks out in my memory but it does: Him being up at five am and taking an hour out of his morning to answer some moronic question from a girl he didn't know and being so nice about it. He is still edge, we are still friends and he is still there when I need him. He is the exception to the rule. Friends fell away and I remained steadfast, yet alone. Slowly though there came the time when I realized I needed to look no further than in the mirror. It wasn't like this was a new thing. I was told this many times and yet I never believed it. Right about this time Rise Against released Ready To Fall: "But here in this moment like the eye of the storm It all came clear to me I found a shoulder to lean on An infallible reason to live all by itself I took one last look from the heights that I once loved And then I ran like hell" The heights I once loved were ego driven, the compulsion to wear a straightedge shirt every day and X's for every gig and dare anyone to tell me otherwise. It was that romanticized notion of my edge,--that it hadn't been mine and all I was, was owed to someone else. It was as if I believed someone had physically stood between me and a fridge full of alcohol that first year and kept me from it. Or that someone had been there to comfort me when my husband was drunk or in a bad mood and was calling me names or throwing me around because I dared come home with a book of Marxist writing or simply did not shut up and go along or renounce my beliefs. I healed myself, I comforted myself and I did almost all of it completely alone. It was slow in dawning but it finally came to me that I was the only one I had to inspire or impress, and my own approval was all I needed. This revelation was scored by every track on Sufferer and Witness. The fourth time I saw Rise Against, I met Ceci in Austin to see them at Stubb's. Stubb's BBQ is a grand place to see any band because if you get there early enough, you can have lunch on the balcony while watching the band's sound check. We found this out the first time we went there, seeing The Rollins Band open up for X. Going to the Rise Against show I told myself "It's not big deal, I've seen them three times before, I'm just going to kick back and eat and enjoy the sound check" but as soon as Tim and Joe took the stage I could barely consume a thing I was so overwhelmed. As we waited in line after lunch for the doors to reopen, I met Ceci's brother Jordan who is, wildly enough, still my friend. Jordan. He hovers on the edges of my life, always there with a kind word whether I actually deserved it or not. He is the only good thing to come out of my friendship with Ceci. Evergreen Terrace opened that show and we were right in front of the guy in the Straightedge Soldier tshirt and that and a brilliant cover of "Mad World" was all I remembered of their set. Circa Survive came on next and Ceci and I took turns booing them and flipping them off. Not that they were necessarily bad, but we were in no mood to entertain the mopey emo set at that point. Soon we were all piled together up front, again in front of Joe. I didn't get to salute him at that gig. Ceci's arms were too tightly around me. Ceci, her girlfriend Grace, Jordan and my husband were tangled in a sea of arms, so tightly that I wasn't sure of whose hand I was holding most of the night. Though by that time I was perfectly comfortable in my commitment, Blood to Bleed still only reminded me of one person and Ceci knew this. I felt she understood me then, I felt she was one of the very few who knew me best. Beside me was my husband, but in my heart was a dream of someone else, of someone who shared my commitment and my ideals, a dream of an idea more than a person, the perfect guy/relationship/life I would never have. Two months later I would find out my husband was seeing a girl from work

that had got him hooked on heroin. Two months later he would come to where I worked and attack me in front of multiple witnesses and when called, the police would do nothing. Two months later I would sit sobbing in the back of a police car because I was too afraid to go into my own apartment and get my things. When responding to my call the enormous officer would glare down at me and say "Why are you afraid to walk in your own home? Are you on drugs or are you just retarded?" Instead of accompanying me inside to get my things they would search me for drugs. Two months later I would realize why Henry Rollins hated cops so much. Two months later. after ten years together, I would leave my husband. I did not know any of this then. All I knew was that in that instant my heart was bleeding inside of me for want of some friendship I would never have, the one thing I believed would make my life complete. It was that friendship, that idea of a person, of perfection, of everything I wanted myself and my life to be, that seemed like the holy grail of the second part of my life. Looking back, maybe it held value only because it was unobtainable. I had not yet learned to find it in myself so I sought it so furiously in a stranger. So, with the ridiculously angelic vision of the first straightedge boy I ever met in my head, and my unfaithful husband beside me, in that crowd at Stubb's, Rise Against tore into Blood To Bleed. It was our first time to hear it live together as they had not played it at Warped Tour. Ceci looked down at me, wrapped her arms around me and held me tight because she knew exactly who I was thinking of and why. As she held on to me with one hand and ran a hand through my hair, we both screamed out those lyrics that had haunted me and driven me on for years. "This place rings with echos of lives once lived, but now are lost Times spent wondering about tomorrow I don't care if we lose it all tonight Up in flames, burning bright.... Within my bones this resonates Boiling blood will circulate Could you tell me again what you did this for?" And just like I was blind to what was about to erupt with my husband I was just as blind to time bomb ticking inside of Ceci that would turn her into a complete stranger the next time we met, at the very same place it would turn out. Had I known that this was the last time she would hold my hand and sing with me and look down on me with love and empathy in her eyes, I would not have wasted my sorrow in grieving for a friendship that never was and instead would have known to grieve for the real friendship I was losing. I should have grieved for hers, but in retrospect, it was no more real than the idea of the one I chased after so fruitlessly. "I don't love you anymore is all I remember you telling me never have I felt so cold But I've no more blood to bleed Cuz my heart has been draining into the sea...." And the strange footnote to that day, that time, that moment of hope and loss and all that was to come is this: Even though his friendship I never actually earned, in his status of a wise, polite stranger, that straightedge boy I never really knew was far more civil than Ceci. His responses, however short they were, however long it took to get them, were genuine. It is such a small thing, his honesty, yet it is more than I can say for ninety percent of the people I've known in the last several years. Another song we sang together that night was Prayer of the Refugee. I had no idea then but that song was about to describe my life. "We are the angry and desperate The hungry and the cold We are the ones who kept quiet and always did what we were told But we've been sweating while you slept so calm in the safety of your homes We've been pulling at the nails that hold up everything you own."

The split with my husband was brutal. First I had to deal with police that didn't care, who told me at one point "Well, if he tries to kill you, call us back, otherwise there's nothing we can do. He's your husband and he has the same right to live here as you do." Thanks to the police not doing anything, I was thrown out of the apartment I had paid for for ten years. The battered women's shelter was full and I would have found myself homeless had it not been for my friend Lilo. Suddenly I was having to start from scratch and then, upon finding a place, having to pack up ten years worth of my life and move it all by myself. "I hit the ground and I'm still running but I need a place to stay tonight I swear I'll be gone in the morning I just need some place warm to close my eyes." Every day I worked until the afternoon, went home and packed until 2 am, fell asleep until 5 am and then got up and did it all again. Then once I was packed I had to move it all. I can't remember why I didn't ask for help but I moved it all alone except for the bed, entertainment center and tv. "The drones all slave away They're working overtime They serve a faceless queen They never question why Disciples of a god That neither lives nor breathes But we've got bills to pay Yeah we've got mouths to feed I won't go back..." This was such a strange time. There was no way to hide what was going on: my husband came to where I worked and jumped me in front of everyone there, I had to tell my boss "My husband kicked me out and I'm homeless at the moment, could I possibly get my check a day or two early to put a deposit down on an apartment?" and I had to own up to the fact that I was straightedge and my husband was a heroin addict. "We're broken but still breathing We are wounded but we are healing We pick up right where we left off Breathe on the ashes that remain So that these coals may become fire To guide our way.." This made my life suddenly seem a really bad B movie. There was nothing to do but go on. I would have asked myself "What would that straightedge guy do in this situation?" if I'd had any idea. Instead I asked "What would Dave Peters of Throwdown do?" and of course the obvious answer was "punch something". As much as I wanted to, I couldn't do that. However, I knew for sure what he wouldn't do and that was curl up in a ball and cry. So I didn't do that either. It was a such horrible time and yet when I look back all I remember is my own strength and the exhilaration I felt when I finally left. "So give me the drug Keep me alive Give me what's left of my life Don't let me go... Pull this plug, let me breathe On my own, I'm finally free..."

Lilo and Di swore I looked great, like I had suddenly gotten 10 years younger. They said I was glowing, but unless I had come in contact with radium I certainly didn't see how. I remember thinking "Well hell, maybe the Socialists were right. Maybe 16 hour days are the way to salvation." "Wake me up inside Tell me there's a reason To take another step To get up off my knees and, Follow this path of most resistance. And where ever it takes us, Whatever it faces and wherever it leads" As I came into my own power, the straightedge boy who had loomed so god-like over the first years of my commitment shrank back down to human size. Deep down I still hoped that if he was to know of all I had gone through he would be a little proud of me for surviving with my integrity intact. But if he didn't, well that was okay too. Survive I did, survive I continue to. "Somewhere between happy, and total fucking wreck Feet sometimes on solid ground, sometimes at the edge To spend your waking moments, simply killing time Is to give up on your hopes and dreams, to give up on your... Life for you, has been less than kind So take a number, stand in line We've all been sorry, we've all been hurt But how we survive, is what makes us who we are" When I had my own place and my own life again, to celebrate I bought myself a Christmas present: a tattoo of a sparrow carrying brass knuckles in her beak. It reminded me of this lyric that had been echoing in my head the whole time: "And if strength was born from heartbreak Then mountains I could move If walls could speak I pray that they would tell me what to do." I enjoyed more than six months of solitude in my cozy little apartment on Airline. I filled my weekends with walks on the beach, solitary shopping excursions for meatless dinners, and nights were spent at the House of Rock and the Underground watching bands, enjoying the freedom of staying out without getting yelled at or called names. I spent Christmas alone on Lilo's floor stuffing myself with processed cheeseballs and watching movies. It was my first UnChristmas. The Jehovah's Witnesses would have been proud! "Warm yourself by the fire, son, And the morning will come soon. I’ll tell you stories of a better time, In a place that we once knew. Before we packed our bags And left all this behind us in the dust, We had a place that we could call home, And a life no one could touch."

But I am flawed and cowed and crippled by the Christian concept of forgiveness. And by the time I would be seeing Rise Against again, my husband would be back by my side. In West Texas his mom had ran him through the MHMR system, let them start him on 7 different drugs, ---including three different tranquilizers and pills for hallucinations and seizures, which he never once had,--- used him to get on welfare, disability, and Medicare. Once he's served the purpose, she called a friend in the sheriff's department and had him pulled from her house, drugged out of his mind on meds at the time, and stuck on a bus to Corpus Christi. The Glasscock County Sherriff's Department called me at work to TELL me "Your husband is on a bus to Corpus, he'll be there at two am. He's your responsibility now." On the bus, because of his state of stupor, he was robbed of everything but his clothes and as much as I wanted to just shove him into the closest homeless shelter, I couldn't. Had it been me, as unlikely as that would be, I would want someone to have compassion. "We are the children you reject and disregard These aching cries come from the bottom of our hearts You can't disown us now, we are your own flesh and blood And we don't disappear just because your eyes are shut" I took him in. At first it was easy. Thanks to the drugs he was sleeping 18 hours a day. Finally I started to investigate what they had him on, what he could do without and how to get him back to normal. I'm not sure how I did it, but I weened him off of every drug he was on. At first it was out of necessity since I was making too much money for him to stay on state sponsored help and he'd have run out eventually. Looking back though, had he sustained that amount of drug intake for long he would have probably died. So he was back for good and conversely Ceci and Jadey and nearly every other friend I had at the time would have turned their backs on me and flocked to other, cooler individuals. All those kids that convinced me they would have killed themselves, starved themselves, cut themselves to shreds, OD'ed, etc had they not met me, who all imposed their problems and lives on mine for five years or more and took up every spare moment of my time and every inch of my heart all turned 18 at once. In turning 18 they realized they knew it all and I was no longer worth their time. "And if you think your words will ever make a difference Think again and carry on..." My husband and I are still together, but all those friends are long gone. I wish I could say he gave up all his demons, but he didn't. He simply traded the big ones for a myriad of lesser evils. He will never be straightedge. And though he claims to be proud of me, to this day he is convinced, utterly falsely, I am hiding some secret affair with the straightedge boy from years ago. I sat him down one day and asked "Do you get that we are straightedge? Do you get that in being straightedge we could not possibly cheat on our significant others and remain straightedge? Do you get that no matter how much he influenced me I barely knew him and he barely gave me the time of day? Do you get that what you are accusing me of is utterly impossible?”

Despite his insistence on this, the idea doesn't bother him enough for him to give up his own addictions and become edge himself. He no longer asks me to change and he is no longer violent, thank god. I no longer ask him to change, though I pray every day he will. We have been together for twenty years now and I have never been with anyone else. This doesn't keep me from dreaming of some nice sXe man who shares my ideals. But I think of it much like I imagine racing on the autobahn, knowing it will never actually happen and knowing I’d never do it even if I could. "We live on front porches and swing life away We get by just fine here on minimum wage If love is a labor I'll slave til the end..." Things in my life settled down for a bit as we prepared to see the boys again at Stubb's BBQ. Through myspace I found my friend Linda that I had not spoken to in fifteen years. As we sat on the balcony at Stubb's I kept one eye on the stage and the other on the door waiting to see her again. When she walked through the doors it was like the last fifteen years never even happened and instantly we picked up right where we left off and again were tearing through Austin with her at the wheel like we had so many times in the past. Because of this joyful reunion I was not first in line when the doors opened, I was buying rainbow necklaces in the gay shops in town and snickering over whether the guy behind the counter was flirting with my husband or not. - That was a strange memory for me, being in the very back of the audience for once, singing alone as Aaron sat on a rock and read a Robert Jordan novel. I was happy to be there, the music was incredible, but the feeling was all wrong. I was isolated and alone, in the back row with my fist raised and Aaron tugging at my arm every other song asking "What song is this? Do I know this one?". I wondered if Ceci was there in the front row, holding on to someone else and convincing them she would have killed herself if they hadn't come into her life. I imagined others in the front row, in our place, saluting Joe, singing our songs while I was the interloper that did not belong anymore. We walked out of the sold out show before the encore, a long drive home facing us. Aaron never lets me stay for the encores. He always wants to hit the road. As we walked to the car, with Worth Dying For wafting through the air above us, I blew a kiss to the wind and told Ceci goodbye. "Feel me rise in the strength I've found inside the warm embracing air Like a glacier melting watch me dissipate I searched for love in an empty world but all I found was hate" It was the lyrics of Rise Against that echoed in my head when I sat down to read the words of Marx and Lenin for the first time as a whole other world opened up for me. It was Rise Against that drove me on as I worked sixty hour weeks. "We're losing daylight but I can't work any faster Under the veil of dust we go on..." Their lyrics saw me through every major event of the last several years of my life. Appeal to Reason was released in the Fall of 2008 and though the year found me miserably poor and unemployed, I still bought it the day it came out. It was on my mp3 player and as I sat in the welfare office applying for food stamps I would hear the lyrics "Despite these petty fortunes we still can't afford a life...." for the first time and I would pause a moment just for the whole zeitgeist effect of it. For Christmas of 2008 I received an email from Ceci after a year and a half of ignoring my every attempt at contacting her. I had tried everything, even terribly childish measures to get some kind of reaction but every letter---first polite, then angry, then groveling-- every call, email, and package was met with silence. A year and a half passed and then I got the email saying "I got the new Rise Against and it made me realize how much I loved and missed you and loved AFI and I want to be friends again. I know you can't forgive me but can we be friends again? There's this song on that new Rise Against that

reminds me of you." True to the bond we had once held there was certainly a song on the new Rise Against that reminded me of us too: "Identities assume us as nine and five add up Synchronizing watches To the seconds that we lost I looked up and saw you I know that you saw me We froze but for a moment In empathy I brought down the sky for you but all you did was shrug" This was exactly what happened the last time we saw each other when she turned up her nose and pretended not to know who I was, just a week after sending me a letter saying how much she loved me. This led to the year plus of her not speaking to and ignoring all attempts at contact I made, even the immature ones. "And if you see me please just walk on by Walk on by Forget my name and I'll forget it too Failed attempts at living simple lives Simple lives Always keep me coming back to you." But too much time had passed and although that Christian weakness crippled me so with my husband, for once I stood strong and had no trouble in keeping the door to my heart shut. I told her not to contact me again. "I count the times that I've been sorry Now my compassion slowly drowns If there's a time these walls could guard you Then let that time be right now."

That doesn't mean that my mind does not still light to her like a bee to a flower, the years we were friends, that feeling of love and camaraderie and the bond I imagined we had. The last three Rise Against albums play the soundtrack of our friendship whenever I turn them on. When I play Appeal to Reason I wonder if this song reminds her of me:

"It kills me not to know this but I've all but just forgotten what the color of her eyes were and her scars or how she got them" If I close my eyes I am there again in that Port Aransas condo, the night we met face to face after talking online for so long. We are huddled together in the bedroom sharing the earphones of a cd player listening to Placebo's Sleeping With Ghosts. I am pulling down the zipper of my boot and showing her three freshly razored X's cut into my ankle, the blood still stuck to a wad of tissue pressed between my sock and skin. She is crying and wrapping her arms around me and telling me she understands everything and that someday she will show me her scars too. "I'll show you mine If you'll show me yours first Let's compare scars I'll tell you whose is worse Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words..." She never did show me her scars. I wonder now if she even had any. There are lots of songs that transport me back then when she was my world. But now I know nothing about her nor anyone else I knew then was real and I wonder if that song ever reminds her of me and the way she led me to believe I was her lifeline, right up until the moment she cut me off and forgot me like a favorite toy after adolescence destroys the need for such playthings. "As the telling signs of age rain down a single tear is dropping through the valleys of an aging face that this world has forgotten ..." This is the music that accompanied my feet hitting the pavement of park sidewalks and treadmills, it is the melodies that buoyed me through endless work weeks and settled into the recesses of my heart in times of quiet contemplation. As I read words written years ago by writers we were never allowed to study in school, it is the soundtrack that played in my mind when those concepts began to make sense. When I read Ten Days that Shook the World by John Reed, what I was hearing in my head was

"but these ghosts come alive like water and wine walk through these streets singing songs and carrying signs, to them these streets belong.." As I struggled to understand the Communist Manifesto I was thinking to myself: "Unknowing, we lie and wait for the rain To wash away what they have made Face down in the dirt with your foot on my back In the distance I hear thunder crack C'mon Stand up! This system of power and privilege is about to come to an end Here come the clouds The first drop is falling down" I look back at many things and laugh. I remember when I was first looking for straightedge shirts I came upon one that said SUPPORT LEFTIST HARDCORE. I had no earthly idea what it meant and was way too scared to ask anyone. Now I can quote Trotsky. When I first turned edge I stopped eating meat for several months until my husband found out and started calling me a Communist. At the time it seemed like the worst thing in the world to be called. He still calls me a Communist but now with laughable results. I'll cock my head, say something to him in Russian, he'll mumble under his breath 'Yeah you only say that because you've had sex with the entire Communist party!", I'll roll my eyes and we go back to our common denominators of movie quotes, comic books, and making fun of people. I always loved the way the Russian alphabet looked and shortly after we were married I got a tramp stamp with his initials in Russian. He now claims it actually means "Welcome aboard, Comrade." I just laugh and we kid each other and life goes on. In the great Holy Grail of a search for wisdom that I thought could only come from the first straightedge boy I knew, I had one great fear: what if I found him again and he was no longer edge? I was terrified of this, sure that if he fell I would too, that if that touchstone was gone, all would be lost. This no longer worries me. I would be sad if it happened, but it would not affect my journey nor cause me to stumble because I have found my own way. It was hard way full of work, trial and error and pure blind luck. Maybe it would have been easier if things had gone differently and yet it is all mine and no one else's.

I have now seen Rise Against eight times each with its own small dramas, like when I was working for Job Corps, worked an 18 hour day, literally passed out in my car from low blood sugar and exhaustion—luckily before I had started the engine. I somehow made it home, downed two peanut butter sandwiches and went to the show where I had no energy to dance, but just stood there and sang.

The last show was the best in years for me. I was in the second row behind a little boy and his mom. His mom was my age and it was her son’s first concert. He was there to see NOFX. They put on an incredible show and I did my best to keep the crowd off the kid. As a reward, the mother gave me their spot and they went to the back when Rise Against came on. I had not been in the front row since that show with Ceci. I felt like I was twenty again. Rise Against is the music that scores ALL of this in my memory. It is the sound of hope and loss, of new directions and ideas, of the brass ring becoming just another small cog in the great, silent machinations of my soul. It is the music of discovering that the strength of the world lies inside my own heart. It is the sound of me walking away from what I loved, it is the joyous noise of friends you're certain is lost forever coming back to you. This is my so-called Rise Against life

[antoxsmith]

Over (Part 2)

Part 1

Warnings - Angst, Hurt, Tragedy, F/M, Fluff

Pairings - Negan x Reader

Summary -  You and Negan have been in a secret relationship for years. Then, you happen to see him get his throat slit.

NEGAN MASTERLIST

When Negan woke up and Michonne and Rick explained to him what was going to happen, he didn't really care. Sure, he was taking a big hit to his pride but he was more worried about one thing: her. Was she alright? Where was she?

Only because of all those doubts did he shut the fuck up and listened in silence as Rick told him he was going to rot in a cell. But the thing was, his mind was somewhere else, not able to get his thoughts off of her.

Maybe this was for the better... maybe she'd be better off without him. Maybe now she could fall in love with someone who deserved her, someone who wouldn't have six other wives to make her jealous. Maybe now she could have someone else who would put her above anything else and wouldn't have to keep her love life a secret from everyone else like she was doing something wrong.

Who was he trying to fool?

Just the thought of her being with someone else made him feel sick. She was his, completely and utterly his.

He spent a few hours there, just thinking. Rick and Michonne left, but after some time, Rick was back to check on him, maybe paranoid that he’d get a way out. And now he felt a bit stronger so he could talk, and ask about his girl.

But it wasn't even necessary.

"She came here, asked to see you." Rick explained after some minutes in silence, like he knew exactly what Negan was thinking. He looked up to him from his location right next to the door, leaning on the wall. He was confused, his brows furrowed. "She was sweet. How could you trap someone like her?" He asked, scoffing. Negan clenched his jaw at his commentary, knowing he was right. "Poor girl."

He couldn't speak too loud but he still sounded dominant through his raspy tone. "Where is she?"

Rick raised his eyebrows, looking out the window. "I sent her away. She must be back at The Sanctuary already." Rick explained and stayed in silence a few seconds. "Did you... Did you really love her? Because," he looked at the ceiling. "Because she really does love you."

Negan didn't answer. Of course he loved her. But he didn't owe any answers to Rick.

"She okay?" Negan asked.

Rick looked at him for a few seconds. Negan's expression changed from angry and dominant to a begging one. He needed to know. "…Please." He whispered, to which Rick arched an eyebrow. Negan saying please as he begged for answers. Not something you'd see every day.

Rick didn't really want to give him answers, didn’t want to feed his whole expectation of any future. But he had mercy. Again.

"She asked for me to give you this." Rick said as he held a letter in front of Negan, folded in four, the paper wrinkly. He desperately wanted to grab it, but was reminded that he was handcuffed to the bed when he was yanked back while trying to get a hold of it. "Want me to read it to you?" Rick asked.

"No." Negan quickly answered. He didn't want Rick touching anything that belonged to her. "Give it to me."

Rick looked at him with disgust for a few seconds, but finally did place it on Negan's left hand, the other one being wrapped in bandage. Negan waited, looking back at Rick with a deadpan. He wouldn't read it in front of the prick.

Rick took the hint and as he was about to walk out, he said; "…She seemed heartbroken. But I am still not letting her see you. She'll be better off without you." And with that, he walked out and left Negan, who was clenching his jaw with hatred, completely alone again.

Negan tried not to pay any attention to Rick's words, even when deep inside he knew he was right. He shrugged it off and managed to open the letter with only one hand with maybe too much trouble, then proceeded to try to read it in his position, eyes squinting.

Love I really hope Rick gives this to you. Or at least read it to you if you are too weak. "Weak", that's something I know you are not. So please, please make it out of this. I still don't know what they are planning on doing with you but they wouldn't let me see you, and I understand. Negan, I am okay. You don't have to worry about me, I'll be fine. We, the saviors... we'll be fine. I have Lucille. I picked her up and won't let anyone else touch her, you can be certain of that. I know how much she means to you. You will always be my greatest love, the man I admire and appreciate the most, don't let anyone make you think otherwise. I will wait for you, and I will help you shave your beard again, and I will make you lemonade, and I will let you tickle me (I know I said I hated it... but I didn't), and I will sleep on the left side of the bed. Nothing will be the same without you but it will be once you are back. I love you, Negan. So much. Be patient

It had her name and a little heart at the end. Negan's eyes were watering. He quickly stopped himself from it. She was so perfect, and he was fucking her up. He couldn't continue on doing this to her. The damn woman was always an angel to him and he never, not only once, did he give back to her a little bit of everything she gave him.

Still, his selfishness was bigger, and he would not let her go. He would accept on her waiting for him. Even when Rick said that he would never get out of the cell.

She calmed him so much with just some words. He was realizing now... that he was really caught up on her. Her head didn’t even stop to think about anyone else but her, even the news about Lucille caught him off-guard since he hadn’t even thought about the bat.

But he couldn't do anything but wait till Rick had a very good day and somehow let him see her.

For her, the situation was... harder. Since everyone saw her kiss Negan and take Lucille with her, she had been almost shot at with questions, her friends divided between scared, confused and interested. She came back to The Sanctuary with the other saviors and everyone wanted to know how that happened and for how long it had been happening. But she was too sad to say anything yet.

She felt okay as she wrote to Negan, or at least, she was able to pretend that she wasn’t in the verge of tears every five minutes. Looking around, Negan's wives had gone back to their real husbands, none of them missing Negan. She wished she could be like them. She knew Negan’s actions weren’t the best, that he was practically stealing from all those communities, and maybe, just maybe did he deserve it. She wished she could hate him, just like everyone else seemed to do now.

She ended up driving to The Hilltop with Tara and Rosita a few days after. She said she had to talk to Rick, and didn’t stop asking and shooting them with the request until they let her come.

She was introduced to Rick in a very, very awkward conversation. She tried hard to hate him or despise him, but she couldn’t. Empathy was all that she could feel. It still didn’t change what she felt for Negan.

She really tried to convince Rick on seeing Negan, but he just wouldn't let her.

At The Hilltop, everything was different. They didn't look at her with curiosity like at The Sanctuary, but with pity and sadness. Like as she had been kidnapped by the big bad wolf. She hadn't. She had fallen in love willingly, knowing what came with Negan, like the wives, battles, wars... and this attention from strangers who knew her as 'the woman who loved Negan'.

Rick let her write a letter, and promised to give it to Negan. Her only choice was a piece of wrinkled paper that some worker let her have after too many requests. She could only hope Rick was a man of hi word and that he would do as he said, and had no remedy but to go back to The Sanctuary and try to put her life back together.

But the memories were hunting her. And they were hunting Negan too.

They had a strong connection, a connection they weren’t aware of. He would think about her, and she would think about him. Hugging his pillow and trying to keep his scent there, as he looked at the ceiling and remembered her laugh, every night right before they fell asleep.

Love is patient, he reminded himself. He would wait, he would get out of that place, and he would go back to her. He had to.

[biwatson]

I would love to know more about “eros dissolving” and “a study of five” if you’d be so kind 🥰

oooh. okay, the shorter one first-- "a study of five” is a cute 5+1 fic I want to write, based early in Holmes and Watson’s friendship.

My draft summary: Watson, despairing that his fellow boarder is seemingly capable and efficient at all tasks, determines to compile a private list of rare things that Sherlock Holmes cannot, in fact, do without difficulty.

As for “eros dissolving” -- oh baby. <3 this is a soft, tender fic i’ve actually had in mind for a while and have a good amount of work done for (the entire outline and first chapter!) and tbh the subheader on my draft just reads “holmes and watson help some Victorian Lesbians”. essentially, i really want 1883 Holmes and Watson taking on a case for some lesbians, because I want gay solidarity, parallels, and as many tropes and headcanons as possible.

The very first chapter begins with Watson and Holmes waking up in bed for the first time, because Holmes decided to stay. An excerpt:

“I opened my eyes to the unfamiliar shifting of a body against mine. With mild but unmotivated surprise, I blinked awake to low morning sunlight. As my vision came into reluctant focus, I breathed in the familiar scent of tobacco and rosehip. Immediately, my body went lax, and I closed my eyes to listen as the soft, rhythmic exhales by my ear filled the well in my chest like no other calming spirit.

Peace curling below my skin, I took stock of the points where his body touched mine. His bare arm but brushed the side of my face, soft dark hairs tickling my cheekbone, and his left leg had entangled itself with my right, a jointed tree branch hooking around my knee below my bedsheets. The duvet stirred as his breathing lifted it in light, shifting centimeters, and in the silence of my room, he was all that I could sense. Without turning my head, I peered from the corner of my eye and felt a smile of purest affection slip across my face. Holmes was lying on his stomach, face buried in a pillow and his long nose pressed against the crook of his elbow. His dark hair was mussed across his brow, forming a fringed curtain over closed eyes. The half-profile of his face, slack with sleep and pink from the warmth of the bed, took hold of my attention with its unprecedented ease and openness.

A flush of color, like a tattoo of flower petals in the flesh, drew my eye to his bare shoulder. Heat simmered in my stomach at the memory of sucking and biting at the ivory skin there the previous evening. The sight of physical evidence of our intimacy, compounded by his soft breathing and the linking of his limbs with mine, filled me with a quiet joy the likes of which I had rarely experienced.

Now that he had slept in my bed and I knew what I was to wake beside him, I was not certain I could go without.

Suddenly, a knock at the doorframe had me jolting in shock, and across my body, I felt Holmes stiffen in sudden consciousness.

“Doctor Watson,” I heard, and my stomach clenched at the sound of Mrs. Hudson's voice from behind my bedroom door. I jerked my chin downwards to stare into urgent, piercing grey eyes, set in a face no longer softened by the cottony release of sleep. His hand had darted to his mouth, one long finger pressed against his lips, and feeling the warm haze of the morning flee my body in alarm, I cleared my throat.

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson?”

“Forgive me if I woke you, Doctor,” Mrs. Hudson said, her voice apologetic. I stared holes at the silver doorknob, hyperaware for any sign of its turning. “But Mr. Holmes is not answering my knocks this morning, and there is a young lady downstairs who is quite insistent upon speaking with at least one of you as soon as possible.”

“At this hour?”

“It is almost ten o’clock, Doctor,” Mrs. Hudson supplied, voice between bemusement and fondness, and disbelieving I twisted to my sidetable clock and gawked at the time. I looked back to Holmes where he lay by my arm, and saw he wore an almost identical expression of surprise.

“Ah,” I said, clearing my throat louder. “Then—perhaps—”

Holmes’s lips met my ear to whisper in a hiss. “Unless you believe it proper to speak with a client in a shirt that’s buttons have been torn from their seams, the client must remain downstairs.”

Blushing at the reminder of my exuberance from last night, I raised my voice. “If you could please offer her some tea, Mrs. Hudson, and occupy her long enough for myself to dress, I would be much obliged.”

“Very well, Doctor.”

“—And please,” I added, eyes drifting to my side. “Leave Holmes to me, Mrs. Hudson.”

He smirked, lip twitching in a curl of mischief.

“Happy to, Doctor.”

At the sound of her departing footsteps down the stairs, Holmes sat up promptly in bed. 

“That, Watson, was nearly a—”

Holmes did not finish his declaration, for I found I could not refrain from dissolving into sudden, uncontrollable giggling. Watching him blink at me, overcome by the foolish aftermath of surprise and uncannily adolescent shame, I planted my face against Holmes’s bare side and snickered like a school boy.

“Oh—Holmes—my God, I haven’t had a morning bell like that since university.” Distantly, I felt Holmes’s rigid muscles beneath me loosen and tremble as his low, devilish chuckle sifted through the silence. Unceremoniously, Holmes dropped backwards onto the mattress, eyes glimmering with amusement.

“I should hope not,” he said, turning to face me as his hand moved beneath the sheets across my waist. “We’ve not been in university for some time, old man.” He shook his head wonderingly as I snorted. “I cannot believe I did not wake before now, in the least as she came up the stairs. I slept so heavily I did not even stir. You should come with your own warning label, my dear doctor.”

“Would you adhere to it, if I did?” I returned, pressing my lips to his collarbone with a certain smugness.

“Mm, perhaps not,” he hummed, and I bit back a yelp as he shifted and a pair of frozen toes pressed to the inside of my shin. 

“Good Lord, your feet are ice,” I complained, huffing into the hollow of his neck.

“Poor circulation, I’m told,” said Holmes, deeply amused. He chuckled as I harrumphed at the feeling of cold toes insinuating themselves between my skin and the mattress for warmth. “You are remarkably warm, Watson, even for February.”

I sought his long hands, which were nearly as cold as his toes, and took them in mine, rubbing them gently and kissing their knuckles. “And you’re far too cold, for such a warm bed.”

“I see your morning laziness does not extend to morning intimacies,” he observed, and the fond note in his voice was unmistakable. 

“This is its own form of laziness,” I explained languidly, pressing my lips to the pulse in his wrist, and with a huff of effort I twisted in bed and draped myself across his naked form like a blanket. Holmes grunted theatrically beneath my weight, coughing out a laugh, and I smiled like a fool as he sought to wriggle free.

“My dear Watson, I don’t know if you were paying attention, but we have a client.”

“I could hardly care less.” Holmes snorted almost despite himself, opening his mouth to retort, and I interrupted him, “And you care just as little for manners.” I turned my head, sighing contentedly against his pale abdomen. “I am happy where we are.”

“As charming as you are this morning, Watson, I fear that Mrs. Hudson will return soon to rouse you, and more thoroughly this time.”

I groaned in defeat, conceding the point. “Then you owe me a different morning in, at a later date,” I said petulantly.

Below me, Holmes stiffened, and I leaned up to see him lifting an eyebrow at me. “Our near exposure this morning poses no worry to you, I see.”

“We shall have to be more careful,” I admitted, slightly more solemn, and when his face flickered with self-recrimination, I continued, “But I’m afraid now that I know how it feels to wake beside you, I shall be much more willing to throw caution to the wind for the opportunity.”

Immediately, Holmes’s measuring expression dissolved with a softness that stirred hazy joy in my gut. “Your tenacity continues to astound,” he said. “More and more, I pity any devil who dares stand between you and your quarry.”

“I have been told I’m rather good at wearing a fellow down.”

“And out, I should say.” 

He clucked as I scoffed and shoved at him, barking a laugh at the rare lewdness, and he eeled fully from beneath me to stand, completely naked and utterly captivating in the light of day. He stretched, muscles a fluid tableau of alabaster, and his bare feet whispered against the floorboards. I stared unabashedly as he shrugged into his trousers and retrieved his rumpled shirt from beside the bed, drinking in the arresting sight of his bare, lithe figure at a distance. He turned to see my leering and smirked, confident enough to my heart thump warmly in my chest.

“Do stop gawking and make yourself useful. Get dressed and maintain the coast is clear for me for the madcap shuffle to my own rooms.”

I laughed at the imagery and cast aside the sheets to rise. “Very well, Holmes, I shall preserve your reputation.”

“It is the very least you could do. It is partnered with yours, after all.”

[serendipitioussurvival]

Queen and Gentry - Steter

His life was empty without her, his chest always felt hollow without her. She enraged him like no other and made him feel so fucking vulnerable that he worried she was his weakness. In the same breath when she smiled at him so genuinely it made him feel like he could rock the fucking world. When she had been hurt, however, it made him feel like he was lost at sea in the middle of a typhoon or hurricane. And when he had been too lost in his thoughts it was her gentle calling of ‘Big bad?’ or ‘hey assface!’ that had him returning.

Oh. Fuck.

It started with small things; brief touches against his arm that could be mistaken for her trying to shoulder check him, or offering him meals and little desserts that she had made. Then she started to show up at his address - how she had gotten it made him proud and annoyed, it was his home dammit - and made sure he came to pack meets. Because she gravitated towards his side during pack meets so did Erica and Vernon until they, too, were scenting him as pack. It was insulting and beautiful at first until he began to feel the pack bonds with them form. Stiles had saved them, they followed her as if she were their alpha, and because she was including him - for whatever reason - he was a part of their small pack. 

Because Peter rarely took anything without giving something - though that something was often in the form of scathing replies, sarcastic wit, and dramatic eye rolls - in return, he made sure to start ‘leaving’ books around on magic for the little Spark to read up on. It went from small things to a very real, very important thing the moment she, Erica, and Vernon stood up for him when Scott and Derek found out that he was teaching them how to fight and defend themselves, how to work as a unit. Scott, as expected, was pissed off that they - his pack - were doing something that would promote violence behind his back.

Derek was pissed off that his sired beta’s had not asked him to teach them, especially when he had tried before. 

“You tried, sourwolf? I’m fairly certain that what you did was literally throw around three betas without giving them an idea of what they were supposed to do and or focus on, and then - when they were hurt, you broke their bones to get the healing factor to kick in faster!” Stiles raged, standing in front of the three betas with a glare that was equal to that of an Alpha. “Peter told them how to use their senses, how to get their healing to kick in faster without extra pain. He’s been at it longer, he’s been a Beta longer, he knows how to teach other Betas to control their shift and find their anchors.” then, with a fury that made her breathtaking, she rounded on Scott. 

“And you! You expect everyone to just lay down and not cause a fight because you’re a fucking ‘True Alpha’?! You’re still a teenager, Scott, people will see that before they see you as the ‘True Alpha’ you’re trying to keep as a claim. What if another Gerard shows up, Scott, huh? What if he takes Erica and Vernon again, what if they decide that they want to shoot up some of our pack after they agree to a peace treaty? Huh? What then?!” 

“We still have to give them that option for peace, Stiles!” he urged, confused as to hell why she was so adamant on siding with Peter when she normally was on his side with certain arguments. “Gerard was a mistake, but -”

“Allison was the one who shot them full of arrows!” Stiles was a spastic, energetic, and loud girl. Such was why her calm, curt, still fury was so worrying for those in the room. “Allison, Scott, and I love her like a sister, but it was Ali who shot them full of arrows, repeatedly, because Gerard manipulated her.” 

“Gerard was evil-” Scott tried, angry for her bringing up Allison but also sad because she had. 

“There are more people like Gerard than you know, Scott.” and maybe it was because his friend, his sister, was looking at him like he was a moron or a child, but it had Scott raging. 

“People like Peter?! He killed people too!” and maybe that wasn’t exactly the right thing to say, because now Derek was edging towards Stiles, choking on her anger and wanting her to calm down because Erica and Vernon were tensing for a fight behind her. 

“Peter killed guilty people who deserved to fucking die.” Peter had never had anyone he wasn’t openly manipulating angry for him. For Stiles to be so on his side, to agree with what he had done… “Peter didn’t take a human fucking girl from the middle of a Lacrosse win to beat her senseless so she could be made into a message to the Alpha and her werewolf best friend.” and to that the entire room stiffened.”You knew,” she spat,  “You just didn’t want to believe it.” 

“You-you're lying-” before he could finish the half-hearted attempt to regain control of the situation - his mind, honestly - Erica and Vernon both growled and shifted with intent to hurt him. 

“No.” All it took was for Stiles to look at both of them for them to remain where they were and calm down, burning cinnamon cooling down and releasing its grip on the ‘were’s in the room. “Scott, are you ordering us as Alpha to stop these training sessions?” she was furious, but there was a calm acceptance to her that actually scared the ‘were’s. This felt like a charged moment, like whatever Scott said would change everything. 

“I -” Scott wanted to say yes, he really did, but he understood the need for everyone to learn how to protect themselves. Ever since that lacrosse game, Stiles had quit and gone to some self-defense classes that a few of her dad’s colleagues were putting her through. Now she was learning how to fight werewolves from Peter and Scott - Scott only saw Peter as using this for an opportunity to turn his friends against him. 

“He’s turning you against me, can’t you see that’s what he’s doing?” He tried again, needing his friend, his sister, to see reason. 

“You didn’t answer my question. Is that an order, Alpha McCall?” it was in instances like this that Peter saw how truly remarkable of a wolf she would make. Her fury was calculated and directed with a level of intelligence that would make other Alpha’s blush. She knew just what to say to utterly demolish her opponent and she could say it with a ferocity that rivaled a raging Omega. 

“No.” Scott bit out, shoving his hands into his hair to try and relieve the pressure that was building there. 

“Good, then we’re not going to discuss what I do in my free time with pack members you neglect.” In a movement that could be taken as a challenge to any other Alpha Stiles spun around, openly rubbed her cheek against Erica’s, then Boyd’s, and finally, with a narrowed glare that dared Peter to try and deny her, rubbed the other side of her cheek against his previously scarred one. She smelled of rain when he actually moved his face into the motion, scenting her back despite how stunned he still was. “You are the Alpha, Scotty, but I am the Emissary and this is my pack.” 

After that she and Scott got into arguments frequently, most of which devolved into screaming matches that had the other pack members flinching away from the table. Lydia and Allison were, surprisingly enough, on Stiles’s side, despite saying that Scott still had some good points to his arguments. Peter never needed to be dragged to another Pack meet again as he went willingly. 

It was a month later that she called a pack meeting, asking for everyone to show up. When everyone - including Chris Argent - was present in the room - including one confused Alan Deaton - Stiles entered the loft smelling of Peppermint and ash. 

“I’m adding one more to our pack.” and, as expected, confusion and alarm broke out. 

“Who?” Chris asked her, drowning out the questions of ‘What have you done’ and ‘what do you mean?’

“Deucalion.” she stayed standing in the doorway, arms crossed, defiant and completely set in her decision despite the two shouts that were immediately aimed at her. Scott being the loudest. “You granted him mercy, but you also made him an Omega. Omega’s go fucking crazy, you really want to deal with a crazy Deucalion?”

“I agreed with her,” Derek told him when he stood by her side, surprising Scott further. “He learned how to fight while he was blind, Scott, he learned how to utilize his senses in a way I’ve never even heard of. Stiles, Erica, Boyd and I already met with him a couple times.” 

“You already met him? You already decided on this without asking me, without-” 

“It’s what I’m doing now, Scott. Pack meet, pack discuss, pack decide. I started checking on him to make sure he wasn’t losing his sanity, that was three months ago.” and Chris, god bless him, was the voice of reason right alongside his daughter and Lydia. 

“Erica, Vernon, you’re okay with him joining the pack?” because he had been the one who had taken them captive and held them captive for months until Stiles had found them. 

“He stopped Kali from torturing us,” Erica announced with a shrug from her spot on the spiral staircase beside Peter. “Honestly I think he’s the only reason I’m alive, Kali was especially pissed off that day. He’s… he’s not the same.” 

“I think it’s because he got his eyesight back,” Boyd agreed, arm wrapped tight around Erica while she sat between his legs on the staircase, just a few steps below Peter. “If he tries anything, well, we’re a large pack, we can take him.” 

“He’s another Alpha!” Scott distressed, “he could just kill me and take over the pack!” Stiles rolled her eyes and looked to Derek, as if asking for him to take over. Peter was too awed at the way Stiles had changed, at the way she seemed to no longer be trying to actively hide her true self from everyone and instead embraced it with conviction that had him hungry for her. When Derek put his hands up in a ‘It’s all on you’ motion she sighed heavily and turned her champagne gold eyes on Scott.

“Scott, no offense bud, but I could kill you, and take the Alpha spot. You don’t come to training, you don’t try to run with the others on the full moon, and you’re actively denying your wolf’s instincts.” of course he had, he never wanted to be a werewolf! “See, that’s exactly my point!” ah, this was the point where it would divulge into a screaming match. “You don’t want it, never wanted it, so you’re denying it while trying to keep the authority of it! You can’t be an absent leader, Scott!” 

“You don’t know what it’s like!” it was funny how he became the flailing ones whereas Mieczyslawa was the calm, collected hurricane she was always meant to be. 

“Scott, you don’t have Asthma anymore, you’re basically always fucking ripped, you can literally feel familial bonds, you’ve gained more attention from the female Populus in these past two years than you ever had, and you made first line as well as Captain of the Lacrosse team!” her hand slapped harshly into her chest and drew a flinch from those that cared about her. “You could still be asthmatic getting chunky with me on fast food and snacks spending every Friday night binging video games and sitting on the bench during lacrosse games while we lament about how we wish things were different. You found your anchor, your mom literally told you to fucking stick it to someone who could kill her because she believed in you. You’re only problems are because you’re denying that wolf side of you that you keep seeing as a monster!” 

“Well why don’t you ask me to bite you then so you can be a wolf!” and there it was, the question Peter had been asking himself ever since she had denied him in the parking garage what felt like an eternity ago. 

“Because it would hurt too fucking much to realize you don’t need me as much as I need you.” and that… well, Peter understood that. It brought the whole situation into perspective for him and brought a whole new understanding to her reaction when he had asked her. She didn’t want to be like him, that had been a truth and a lie, because if she turned into a werewolf she would’ve been like him. Bondless, alone and on the road to insanity that most likely would’ve resulted in her death. “Pack vote on Deucalion.” amidst the awkward atmosphere the majority vote was for Deucalion joining, Scott was too stunned to put his own vote in, let alone deny said vote. 

Erica and Vernon flanked her when she took her leave, putting all attention on Scott as he stood, flabbergasted, in the same spot he had been in. Few people glanced to Allison, as if to gauge her reaction to hearing that - was it a confession? - declaration from her best friend toward her ex-boyfriend. 

“Well, it was about time for that.” Lydia expressed with a dramatic sigh as she pushed away from the table. “It’s not a romantic confession, Scott, so don’t go thinking too highly of yourself. Honestly,” she smacked her lips and eyed the room with a hint of distaste. “I hoped she’s snap sooner or later, called me out at the Homecoming but didn’t care that she was hiding her real personality from everyone.” She sniffed derisively and flicked her hair over her shoulder, glaring at Peter with a tone of acceptance that hadn’t previously been there. “Hm.” and with that high pitched huff of approval and acceptance, she sashayed her way out of the room. 

Peter wasn’t sure how he was supposed to actually react to the current scheme of things. Not only had Stiles openly declared that Peter was a part of her pack, but she would also openly fight Scott for his current placement in her scheme of things. Her pack, which consisted of Deucalion, peter, Erica, Vernon, and apparently Lydia. From the look that was shared between Chris and Allison, the two were in favor of what Stiles was saying. It was then that Peter made sense of the little touches she made sure to do to him, the way she made meals or gave him little baked goods. How she was always, always trading sneers with him and openly challenging him. The entire time she had been scenting him, considering him pack, showing him he had a place with her. 

He was strangely touched and insulted that a teenage girl thought that she could force a pack bond on him just because she didn’t want to deal with him going omega crazy again. In the same breath he knew that wasn’t why she had done it, she would’ve told him outright if that had been her reasoning, instead she showed up at his house so often that her scent could always be found in some corner of his apartment, left a few of her jackets - there was even a cover she used when she showed up very suddenly declaring that she was going to use his couch to sleep and if he touched her she would wolfsbane mace him. He had been too stunned at her brashness to even react before she was curled up on his couch with a fluffy cover curled around shoulders. 

When he had recovered he had wanted to bang his pots together, toss her off the couch, play the T.V at its loudest volume. Instead he found himself walking softly, barely using the oven, let alone the microwave in case the sound was too loud to wake her up, and checked on her frequently to make sure that she was fine. 

Little tart took that as permission to do it frequently too. Still, through all this he only knew of Stiles being ‘Stiles’ - he didn’t want to make her presence seem permanent in his life by hiring a P.I to find out her real name (since none of her fucking friends knew it, thank you Scott) - and was utterly floored when it was Deucalion who called her true name out in the middle of a sparring practice. 

“You’re doing good, Mieczyslawa, this time focus on the way the air feels against your skin. You’re not a werewolf, but you can feel the change, every human can. You just have to attune yourself to it.” she nodded and vanilla sprouted from her in her pleasure at having her true name called so perfectly. “I’ll go slow and progress the more successful you are.” another nod but neither were ignorant of the stares centered on them. Stiles was not a werewolf but she was doing better than Erica and Vernon when it came to the training Deucalion implemented. She was doing so well, in fact, that it often meant she was doing lessons with him on the side, or during breaks in between their training sessions. 

She didn’t dodge the first time Deucalion shoved her though she did follow his movements when he stalked around her. After the first three shoves she managed to dodge or swipe his hand away, then after that she stumbled only twice, managing to keep up pace with him until he started using his werewolf speed. 

“Okay,” she sighed heavily and settled into a stance, captivating them all with her pure ozone that leaked from her. “Deuce, try again.” to his credit he did without hesitation. Where she once fumbled she was now sure in her movements, where she was choppy she was now graceful, and the pace with which she moved had increased until both their limbs were nothing but blurs. “I’m fucking NEO!” she shouted in glee after the session, cackling madly with Erica at her side, questioning just how the fuck she had done that. 

Peter, however, was trying to remember how Deucalion had pronounced her name, tried to form it without being too obvious. He would never admit, even under the threat of torture, that he was jealous that Deucalion knew what her real name was and, from the way they were talking in another language that sounded harsh and beautiful, could also speak whatever language it was she was fluent in. 

“It’s Polish,” Deucalion answered his unasked question when Erica and Vernon left with Stiles hours later. Peter tried not to seem too interested when he looked at Deucalion but felt his eyebrow twitching when the man was wiping his hands on a rag, grinning slightly every time he glanced at Peter as if he were amused. “Her name and the language.” he wondered how he knew but refused to ask it, he didn’t want him to think that Peter owed him for answering simple questions. If he elected to talk without being asked anything then that was his business, Peter was just enjoying his confusing day. “We looked into the human who taught a sireless Beta how to control himself, though we thought she was a Druid at first.” with a shrug Deucalion tossed the rag on his shoulder and crossed his arms over his chest. “You can imagine our surprise and suspicion when we found she wasn’t a Druid and was purely human.”

Purely human? Yes, that’s what he had thought at first too.

“Then she trespasses onto our territory, charms Ennis, and takes our hostages before they can even be utilized.” yes, he had been shocked all to hell and back when she showed up at the old Hale House with two twitchy Betas and a ghost. The ghost being his niece whom he thought was dead, another one who had been abandoned like he had. She had recently gone back to South America - Beacon Hills was ‘too cold’ for her - but she and Peter kept in touch through Skype and phone calls. 

“Erica says you stopped Kali from torturing them,” to his credit the Alpha sighed heavily and sank into the pillar of the porch. “Why?”

“Because Derek was supposed to kill them, if they perished before they got the chance then that was one less beta who’s abilities he could absorb.” He was honest, at least, so points for him. “Now… now I think it would’ve been a great loss to involve her any more than she had been.” it most definitely would have been, Stiles had the severity of loyalty that made her put her own life in front of those she cared for. 

Peter didn’t expect him to be one of those people, especially since he could fucking heal. 

“You stupid, idiot girl!” he panicked and clutched her tighter to his chest while Chris drove them to the hospital. “What gave you the right!? I can heal but you can’t you -” her pinched expression turned wry, even though the pain he was trying to drain from her but couldn’t because the little tart was somehow stopping him from doing it. “Let me take your pain!” 

“You’re-” she groaned and shut her eyes tight, “So dramatic, it’s just a - just a bullet.” Just a bullet, yeah for him maybe! It had been intended for his heart but she had fucking jumped right in front of it and took it instead. He would kill her, he would save her first and then kill her and then bring her back just to kill her again for causing this pain in his chest. He hadn’t even wanted her fucking pack bond and now he could feel the pain she was denying him from taking through it and he couldn’t- “Peter, breathe.” and with her calm placations he raged. Her, who was currently bleeding profusely into Chris’s back seat, was going to tell him to calm down when she could be dying!? 

“Fuck you.” he snapped, then - “Let me take your pain damn you!” her brows furrowed even deeper at that, as if she didn’t know why he couldn’t. 

“I’m not - not stopping you from doing it.” and it was hard to tell if she were lying or telling the truth because her hummingbird heartbeat was fucking normal and that did absolutely nothing for his control. “An-anyway, hunting season, I just, rounded a mend when - someone took a shot.” she grimaced and sank into Peter’s hold. “Didn’t - didn’t-”

“My daughter and Isaac stuck around to try and find the Hunter while Peter and I rushed you to the hospital.” Chris finished when she started coughing, jaw tight every time he looked at her through the rearview mirror. “We were tracking the deer when we came around the cliff face overlooking the city when the shot rang out.” she sagged completely against him and nodded briefly, eyelids lowering slowly as the exhaustion set in. “The hunter used a 30.06 and that’s a common hunting rifle caliber. It’ll all be plausible.” Chris was impressed with her ability to come up with an alibi even through her pain, that didn’t mean he was calm. He didn’t have a werewolf’s sensory amplification but he could smell her blood as if it were covering him. The normally fair-skinned girl was now sickly pale with sweat making her hair stick to her forehead and her eyes - which were regularly black - now looked sunken. 

“Peter, don’, don’ wolf out, kay?” she breathed, “‘m fine. ‘n don’ wolf out ‘n Scott, either. Chris, don’ le’ em.” she cleared her throat and hissed when Peter jumped out of the car the moment Chris pulled it up in front of the Emergency entrance. “Hi, ‘lissa!” she chirped when several nurses motioned for Peter to put her on a gurney, beaming even though her eyelids were drooping shut again. “Fancy meet’n you here.” 

“I just thought I'd stop by.” Melissa offered through the tears that had started to shed at the sight of Stiles covered in blood. Chris was rushing in the exact moment they wheeled her away, leaving two panicking adults while another nurse tried to get answers from them. He took over easily enough, especially when Peter completely froze at the sight of her blood on his hands. Chris could only assume what was going through his head - he was certain that it had to do something with the darkest part of his memories -  and didn’t want to push him too far less he snap and wolf out. 

It was strangely easy to get Peter to one of the showers in an empty room they’d been led to so that he could wash his arms and hands. Nothing could be done for the shirt, but then again Peter would still be able to smell her blood. Erica and Vernon came later, breathing hard and immediately gravitating near Peter. Jeorek came minutes later and was immediately dragged away by Melissa and a doctor. 

Peter was furious, he was sad, he was enraged and he was so fucking confused. He couldn’t take her pain but she wasn’t stopping him from doing it. She had taken a bullet meant for him and he was covered in her fucking life blood and he didn’t like it. She had placated him even though she were in pain and he didn’t fucking know what all of this meant. 

He knew his bond that he had with her hurt, that it was aching and dulling the longer time went on - he wasn’t sure if that was because she was dying or because she was sedated, he hoped beyond hope that it was the latter. If it was the former he- well, he wasn’t sure what he would do, or how he would react. He knew, faintly, that his thoughts were calm and hectic, that he had underlying thought processes ranging from several ‘what ifs’ to dozens of ‘but this could happen’, none of it really went focused on for more than a second overtop the large, terrifying thought, of ‘She could die.’

She could die. 

She could die.

She was probably dying.

She was - and it was because of him - maybe not directly but indirectly. She, she forced the bond on him without asking! He had asked her if she wanted the bite and now she was taking him down with her and-

“Peter,” he curled his hands into fists and dug them into his abdomen, not wanting to look at them any longer, not when he could still smell the blood that had once coated them. “She’s going to be okay,” he looked up them, glaring at Chris and his calm freaking demeanor that had him wanting to rip his fucking throat out. “The bullet nicked an artery but she’s okay.” 

“It wouldn’t have nicked an artery if she hadn’t jumped in front of me.” he growled, fists pressing tighter into his abdomen so he wouldn’t run them through his hair or into someone elses throat. 

“You’re pack, of course she was going to jump in front of you.” Erica growled, pacing in front of Vernon - who was standing by the wall with his arms crossed across his chest. 

“I never asked to be pack!” 

“You never told her no!” Erica snarled at him, flashing her eyes and challenging him in a way that had his ass slamming right back into his seat before he could flash even a hint of fang. “She claimed you as pack over and over and you ever once told her no!” Peter rose with the calm fury he’d perfected all his life, truly on the edge now that this Beta, this beautifully protective and ignorant beta had tried to challenge him. HIM. 

“I don’t want to be part of her pack.” he didn’t, he really fucking didn’t, not when she could get hurt and die at any fucking point, Spark or no. She could heal, she’d heal faster than a regular human, but she couldn't heal a bullet to the heart or head or throat. She was human and he couldn’t deal - he wouldn’t be able to take it if she died. Not when it made him feel every single one of his pack bonds burning all over again as his family died. As they suffered. 

“Then tell her.” Jeorek challenged, arms crossed tightly to prevent himself from reaching for his gun to shoot the bastard that would dare leave his daughter now. “You don’t want to be a part of her pack then you tell that to her face and break that bond instead of letting it be drawn out.” how dare them, how dare all of them do this to him, try to keep him in a place he didn’t want to be! 

He had stormed out with full intent to come back and tell her that he didn’t want to be a part of her pack. 

He never did. Never went back or went to visit her despite every nerve in his body and every urge of his wolf telling him he needed to go see her, to make sure she was okay, to confirm that she was healing. Instead, he focused on researching what he could about the hunters that would dare hunt in Argent territory and avoiding the general populous. 

Mieczyslawa, of course, had to take that plan and just fucking wreck it. 

“You are the most idiotic mother fucker this side of Beacon hills.” Stiles Stilinski groused, standing in his doorway, looking as emotionally wrecked as she was physically. Damn him he couldn’t actually look at the brace on her arm that kept it slung against her chest. He couldn’t look at the bandages and wound dressing that peaked out from beneath her loose top. “You want to be emotionally stunted for the rest of your life? Fine. You tell me right now you want out of the pack and I’ll leave you alone, forever.” 

“Just like that?” he snarked, claws coming out to impale the wall of his door, not that she could see it anyway. “After dragging me to pack meets for months and dragging me into your little group of misfits you’ll let me go, just like that?”

“Yes.” damn him he loved that she could tell the truth and lie all with a single word. He loved and hated that her eyes were like gold, burnt and broken but so defiant that it made him hate her all the more. “I won’t force you to be somewhere you don’t want to be, but only if you really don’t want to be there. I’m not going to take half-assed excuses or reasons, Peter. You’re a grown-ass man, if you give me some bullshit excuse then I’m going to tell you to fuck off until you give me a better one.” who the hell did she think she was. He didn’t need to give her a reason or an excuse. If he said he didn’t want to be in her fucking pack then that was all he had to say!

“I don’t,” he growled out, knuckle deep in his drywall. “Want to be,” cinnamon began melting with brown sugar, gold eyes turning to a dark russet brown in her acceptance and grief. “In your pack.” he expected her to fight, was ready for it, but that cinnamon and brown sugar turned too sweet, too rich for him to take too many deep breaths. She stared at him for a moment, then two until he was finally ready to snap at her. 

“Fine.” his heart dropped to his stomach when she turned around and marched away, quickened steps doing nothing to take away her scent from his doorway. He hadn’t been able to bask in her scent for a week, hadn’t been able to see her or appreciate the small things about her habits that actually made him yearn for her. Now, with her scent so potent in his doorway, he found he wanted to just stand there, breathe her in even though it was physically painful to do so. Cinnamon and brown sugar, the too-sweet warmth that made his throat close up and his eyes burn. The scent that had built and built until it was overpowering her natural scent and leaving him with it saturating the area of his apartment. 

The smell of her heartbreak. 

He didn’t run after her despite every molecule in his body telling him to - if he were being honest it was because his body and wolf were telling him to go after her that he fought it so hard. He got three noise complaints that night and, by the morning, had a new living room table ordered to be shipped to him. 

He thought she’d message him at least once within the next week. 

She didn’t. 

He didn’t hear anything until he dragged his ass with the conviction that he didn’t care, he was just trying to figure out what his Nephew and true Alpha McCall were planning, to the pack meeting. 

There was no pack meeting, only Derek and - surprisingly enough - Cora were chilling out in Derek’s loft. They seemed just as surprised to see him as he was to see them. Then, then there was anger. Anger from Cora. 

“Now you show up.” she stalked towards him with a fury that was both impressive and confusing. Why it was directed at him he had no idea. “After a whole month, Uncle Peter, you are just now showing up?!” and then she was punching him right in his solar plexus, catching him off guard with how fast she went from confrontational to physical. 

“Cora, he doesn’t know.” Derek groused, sighing heavily over the dozens of open books laid out on his table. “Stiles isn’t in Beacon Hills.” that, that had taken his breath away far quicker than Cora’s punch had. She wasn’t in beacon hills? Why the fuck wasn’t she in Beacon hills? Where was her father, what was being done, why wasn’t he - why couldn’t he -

Well, he wouldn’t really have to be informed if they weren’t pack, would he? He wouldn’t have been able to feel if she were near, not with the aching chasm that was once the bond between the two of them. Still, he had pack bonds with Erica and Vernon and nothing felt off, they knew where he lived and he hadn’t been told by them that Stiles was gone. He hadn’t seen anything in the news about missing persons and there was no way in hell that Scott wouldn’t be currently lording this over him if something had happened to her. Not when all his theories about Peter being the biggest asshole since fisting became a thing were proven true. 

“Where is she?” he didn’t care, he didn’t care he didn’t care. 

“France.” Cora bit out, “Chris, Allison, Erica, Vernon, and Isaac all went. You would’ve been with her, would’ve known, if you hadn’t screwed up somehow!” the rest was far too many expletives about his character, personality, and his lack of dedication to things he was attracted to in Portuguese for him to give much thought to. 

“Deucalion went too, Peter.” that stung even though it shouldn’t have. He had told her he didn’t want to be a part of her pack, hadn’t visited her while she was in the hospital, hadn’t reached out to her first. Even so, even despite all that, Deucalion had gone and Peter hadn’t, not even to make sure she was safe, not to look over the betas who had become pack to him without even having meant for them to. 

“When are they due back?” Cora shut her brother up with a glare when he went to answer Peter. 

“Why don’t you ask her yourself, Uncle Peter? Or are you scared?” the growl he centered on her was worthy of Alpha status. Peter, of course, did not do that. Not until it was nearing the two-month mark and the silence of his apartment was overwhelming. No amount of nights out could fill the silence, running never exhausted him as much as he needed so he could just pass out when he went home. Home that was now empty, home that was no longer home. Home with jackets that weren’t his and a cover that no longer smelled like Stiles, a place that no longer had traces of her or pack, a place that suddenly seemed much too big and much too quiet. 

‘You’ve reached the voicemail of ‘Name here’-” he hated that her voice alone made his every limb settle, hated that it filled the ache that had been in his chest. Especially when she was snickering and giggling while trying to remain serious, he could practically see her in front of him making faces while recording the damn voicemail. “If you’ve important business, leave a message, if it’s important call again, hang up, and call again.” so, of course, he did just that, only it wasn’t Stiles that answered. 

“I am unsure who this is, as you’re listed as ‘Big Bad’,” Deucalion rumbled, sounding as if he had just been woken up. “What is it?” Peter hung up. 

Deucalion had answered Stiles’s phone, Deucalion who sounded as if he had been asleep had answered Stiles’s phone. Deucalion who had to be around Stiles for him to be near her phone, asleep, in Paris, together. 

His cell phone vibrated in his hand, he actually hesitated to answer it when ‘Little Spark’ flashed across the screen. “Is everything okay in Beacon Hills?” a very groggy Stiles urged, causing his stomach to hollow immediately. She had been around Deucalion, they had to be in the same room, and they were most definitely sleeping together. But were they sleeping together, or sleeping together? Why did his wolf lament and his heart ache at the possibility?

“Why are you in France?” he countered, refusing to play to her tune and instead demanding she play to his. He heard the shuffling of covers and the creak of a mattress that was obviously of poor quality, and then her heavy sigh that had his anger rising. 

“Why do you care?” she sounded so tired and defeated that he almost asked if she were okay. Damn the habits he had developed when she had been present in his life, like a leech or a tumor. 

“The Pack meant to be protecting Beacon hills just ups and vanishes without finding suitable replacements? Fairly certain I should be aware of that much, at least.” not the wisest thing to say, considering the fact that she was frustrated with him. 

“We have suitable replacements. Derek, Cora, Scott, my Dad, and the Police are all protecting Beacon hills.” He really should just leave it at that, lest she think he cares more than he actually did. Or showed that he cared as much as he did? He clearly cared for her, even if he didn’t actually want to. “I’m not - is there anything else?” didn’t have any time for him, did she? Not when she was busy with Deucalion and her pack in France. 

“When are you coming back?” it was snapped and curt and definitely dangerous in ways that let on more than he had been comfortable with. 

“I don’t know.” she sighed again, “Hopefully before school starts again.” he heard her heartbeat clearer and a muffled ‘Yeah, yeah I know, we’ll be fine. We’ve got time.’ and then another person joined her on the bed, or rejoined her. “Peter, was there something else?” she was dismissing him? As if he didn’t matter?

“Of course,” he purred, “wouldn’t want to interrupt your time with Deucalion.” he heard her intake of breath and felt minute satisfaction with the fact that she seemed so affected by his barb. Then he felt guilt, and not because he was wrong or because he had so obviously hurt Stiles, but because he could feel the protective anger through the bonds he had with Erica and Vernon. 

“Too late,” calm, calculated, and with the force of a fucking freight train. “Goodbye, Peter.” 

He crushed his phone when he heard the dial tone.

He contemplated flying to France just so he could throttle her and promptly decided against it incase she saw it as him going out of some kind of affection for her. Still, staying in Beacon Hills was out of the question. He needed to go somewhere, needed to get away from every memory that haunted him and the ghost-like laughter that tickled the back of his head. He had a plane ticket to Ohio booked and his bags all packed and ready in under eight hours with only one stop in mind. He just wasn’t expecting Derek and Cora to be skyping Stiles in their dining area. 

“-ay, that’s what the Druid’s here are saying. They’re going to give me a sapling from their Nemeton to take to ours, it should purify whatever dark energies are polluting it and give it enough power to start being able to draw on the currents once again.” she sighed and ran a hand over her face, the black sling contrasting ominously against her skin and tank top she wore. “There’s also another Spark here, they’re apparently common, but not whatever I am. If we find out whatever it is that I am I’ll end up coming back once school is over and spend a couple months learning how to do… whatever it is that I do?”

“Stiles,” Derek began, concern clear in his tone and on his features. “You look like shit. Are you sleeping any?” 

“Uh, I think we all got like four hours last night?” Erica pushed her way into the screen, glaring darkly at the side of Stiles’s face for even trying to lie. 

“Stiles slept an hour and has been taking her Adderall left and right like they’re fucking hard candy.” Peter stepped further into the Loft without much thinking about it, his pesky wolf clearly wanted to see Stiles. “Hello asshole.” Erica greeted with a sniff then, with a level of sass Lydia would approve of, flicked her hair over her shoulder and stalked out of the screen’s frame. 

“Yes, well, my shit sleeping habits aside.” Stiles groused, frowning angrily at her arm as she readjusted her sling. “That’s everything that’s happened so far. We’ve got another week or so and then we should be on our way back. I’ll have to plant the new sprout into the current Nemeton and purge whatever is blocking the energy flow before school starts,” she fidgeted a bit with her sling, then glared once Deucalion snapped at her to stop messing with it. In Polish. 

Peter did not learn Polish for Stiles, he had learned it so he would know if they were talking about him to his face. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he could now perfectly pronounce her name. Hearing the two of them bicker at one another in Polish had him wanting to put his two cents in just so he could see her reaction.

“Stiles, find you a Euro boyfriend and get fucked.” Derek and Stiles, simultaneously, inhaled their drinks and fucking spat them everywhere. 

“Cora!” they spluttered inbetween hacks, glancing at her in abject horror while Erica cackled like a witch in the background. “Not only is that a fucking awful idea, but I actually have to stay a virgin for the ritual I’ve got to do for the Nemeton Sapling.” not sleeping with Deucalion then, interesting - not that he cared either way. “And I’m not going to end up getting anyone in Beacon Hills after either. People aren’t interested in me.” she shuffled a bit in her seat, “None that I’m interested in, anyway.” He almost whined at how sad she sounded and caught himself from correcting her that plenty of people found her attractive. Every time he, Erica, Vernon, and Stiles went out she’d get multiple stares of lust from multiple men. 

“Okay, what about Derek?” 

“I don’t see him like that and he definitely doesn’t see me like that, even if my age wasn’t a factor in his decision making.” yes, she and Derek had come to a mutual fondness for one another after she rescued his Betas and, as such, were at a mutual understanding of the other. Cora huffed and crossed her arms. 

“Well, then I’ll find someone from South America. You should date someone, Stiles, get you someone to temper you out or urge you on. You’re fucking amazing.” Peter wondered briefly if Mieczyslawa Stilinski was like a drug to Hale’s. Derek hadn’t liked her at first and neither had Cora, now both were friends and advocates for her. He loved it and hated it, they were his family and yet they were friendly with the one who had manipulated him into being in a packbond with her when he was fine with his solidarity. 

“Am I not an option?” Peter drawled as he rose from his train of thought, having meant it as a teasing remark that came out much too curious for his liking. That had Derek and Cora both turning to look at him despite his attention resting solely in Stiles’s dulled iris’s. 

“You’ve already made your choice clear and I’d rather not hear it again.” his choice? About her? Was he missing something? “Der, Cora, I’m heading off. Take care of one another and please watch out for my dad.” she hedged a moment before murmuring a quick goodbye and ended the call, leaving his niece and nephew to stare at him with a level of interest that had him defensive. 

“Do you want to be an option for Stiles?” Cora, damn her, inquired with a gleam in her eyes that reminded him far too much of Stiles when she was teasing him. Of course he wanted to be an option, he always wanted to be an option when it counted for things that would give him a leg up in situations. Stiles, however, was like a laser straight through the fog of his bullshit that could cut straight to the heart of things with him. He hated that she had that effect over him, as well as the fact that she seemed to never react the way he wanted her to when he was messing with her. 

Still, did he want to be a genuine option for Stiles? His life was empty without her, his chest always felt hollow without her. She enraged him like no other and made him feel so fucking vulnerable that he worried she was his weakness. In the same breath when she smiled at him so genuinely it made him feel like he could rock the fucking world. When she had been hurt, however, it made him feel like he was lost at sea in the middle of a typhoon or hurricane. And when he had been too lost in his thoughts it was her gentle calling of ‘Big bad?’ or ‘hey assface!’ that had him returning.

Oh. Fuck. 

She anchored him, she anchored him and took the foundation of everything he knew and just wrecked it because she was his anchor. 

“Uncle Peter?” She had become his anchor, she had somehow wormed her way into a bond with him and taken his interest in her motives to make him complacent with her plans! The devious little minx! She was his anchor, how the fuck - why was she his anchor? She was like a fucking hurricane, hardly anything about her was stable like an anchor should be! Why - what- “Uncle Peter!” he snapped his jaw and growled, brought back to reality by Cora standing right in front of him. At some point he had dropped his bags and was now breathing hard, heartbeat thundered through his ears and raising his rage. 

“I’m leaving!” he snarled, grabbed his bags, and fucking ran. She was his anchor, Mieczyslawa Stilinski was his anchor and he - 

Loved it. Hated it. Did she know? Had she intentionally -?! 

It had taken him five minutes to get his temper in check and not put his claws through his steering wheel. No, he couldn’t deal with this, he couldn’t - he needed to get away. Time away would help, it’d give him the chance to put his thoughts in order. He needed time away from everything that reminded him of Stiles, he needed time away to try and get her out of his head and to get the festering wound that replaced where her bond once had been healed. Yeah, yeah, he would go to Ohio, he’d take that flight, now he just needed to get there. 

He spent all of a month in Ohio before he could no longer take it. Every brunette he saw made him think it was Stiles, every time he heard the audio of any Marvel movies he immediately expected to hear ten facts about the movie from Stiles. Whenever he heard tinkering laughter, or smelled vanilla, he immediately thought of her and he couldn’t take it. His month away forgetting her had been spent in agony remembering every little detail about her. No one had her skin tone, no one looked as good with moles and freckles like she did, no one smelled as honest and sincere as she did. 

No one reminded him completely of Stiles but everyone reminded him of the little things about her. He hated it, he saw her in everyone, almost like a ghost he couldn’t escape. It was why he was surprised all to hell that she greeted him at the airport, pale and with blackened eyes but sporting a smile that was absolutely mischievous. He should’ve been angry at seeing her waiting for him or even joy, anything but the sinking feeling that something was wrong, that this wasn’t Stiles. Not his Stiles. 

“Peter,” she purred, eyeing him with a hunger that was not what he was used to associating with Stiles. “welcome back home.” he approached her slowly, suspiciously, and then out of a need to control the situation when her sandalwood and vanilla smelled burnt. “I missed you.” that sounded wrong, almost like whatever was in front of her was twisting her around in an attempt to twist him. 

“Missed you too.” he drawled, willing to play the game so he could try and catch whatever this was off guard. “When did you get back?” 

“Week and a half ago,” her pout was adorably wrong, whatever this thing is was trying too hard to be her. “I missed you.” she went to hug him when her whole body froze, fury and abject horror clashing like tidal waves. “Not him,” she growled, clearer now than earlier, “Not him you fucking -”

“Stiles?” her eyes shot up to look at him, one black and broken while the other was her champagne gold. It was like she was frozen in that moment, half her features contorted in fury while the others were contorted in pain and sorrow. Something was possessing her, clearly, and she was fighting it so valiantly but -

“Yes,” she drawled, black flashing to bleach white as a single tear fell from her eyes, “but none of my loved ones.” his phone rang the same moment the lights to the entire airport shut off, encasing Stiles and the way black bled into her gold as the last image of her he’d see for a while. 

“What the hell,” Peter ground out as he answered his phone, lights back on and Stiles nowhere to be seen. “Is going on?”

“I assume you’ve met the Nogitsune, then.” Chris sighed through the phone, “Are you injured?”

“No,” what an insulting thought, “but I do believe that she agreed to a full possession just now.” a very sharp, angry ‘What?’ came from the backseat of whatever vehicle Chris was currently driving. “Nogitsune, then we’ll just need darling Alpha Scott McCall to bite her so we can recapture the Fox.” if only it had been that easy. Stiles, possessed or no, was still Stiles in that she took everything they knew and just flipped it right side down. 

“Oh,” the Void Stiles cooed, eyeing Peter with hunger and distaste. “You’re so lucky, little wolf, you have so much anguish and pain that I’d grow fat if I fed off of you.” she sighed, wicked gleam in her eyes glittering roughly against the low light in Derek’s loft. “Not my loved ones,” she mocked, irritation mixing like ash with her scent.

“Which is why you were able to break Noshiko’s tails, but now why you can’t hurt me, Jackson, or the twins.” gold eyes flicked to him at that, surveying his features for some hint of a lie before she broke out in a wide, malicious smile. 

“You don’t know. You didn’t leave the pack and Beacon Hills and her, because you didn’t know!” he hated that whatever he had said was the wrong thing, hated that it brought it such glee. “She was so sure! Beautiful, turgid little pieces to my game. Erica, tell him, tell him what little Stiles told you.” it was cooed in a faux sexy sneer with hands that were not supposed to be grabbing at her hips the way they were. 

“Stiles doesn’t love with just a little of her heart, she loves with everything she is. When she heard the story of how the twins were abused it reminded her too much of when her mother got sick and she vowed to give them a better chance at life, to show them kindness.” Erica began immediately, smile like poison when Void Stiles seemed to deflate with how easy she began spilling the secret. “She sees what she could’ve ended up as in Jackson, alone and trying hard to be noticed, to do everything perfectly. She hates that she sees that in him and hates that he hates her, but she still wants to show him that he’s enough.” Void actually looked a little angry at how easily these dark secrets were being exposed, even if the reactions of those around them would have normally satisfied it. “You, she would’ve helped you originally with your plan, Peter. She’s said so multiple times to anyone whose cared to listen to her. Then she fell in love with you, and you told her to fuck off.”

Void seemed energized at his reaction to that particular bit of information. When had she told him of her feelings? When had he told her to fuck off with said feelings? Why did his chest feel like it had dropped into his gut and his heart had stopped dead?

“She chose you.” Void cheesed, “She chose you but you didn’t choose her! Oh! She would’ve went insane before I’d even gotten a hold of her if she didn’t have her pack.” disgust was in its tone even as its eyes slipped to the doorway and it began grinning awfully when Noshiko and her daughter appeared. “Now it’s a party! Tell them, Noshiko, how you summoned me and then betrayed me, tell them how this was the necessary outcome!” it threw her arms wide in indication of the scene, it was then that Derek and Scott struck, resulting in Derek being thrown into a pillar and Scott latching onto his friends arm with his teeth. 

The oni appeared the moment Stiles’s skin dried up and cracked, advancing immediately on the downed girl before the Nogitsune could leave her. 

“No!” Peter roared, launching himself at one of them to buy her time. He didn’t think to do so he just naturally threw himself in front of her, threw himself at the danger so he could give her time. He couldn’t think about her confession, nor his denial of it, nor why he felt so fucking hollow. Chris and Deucalion immediately took up arms to assist while the twins - startled as they were - tried to launch themselves into the foray, slivers of pack bonds shimmering in their chests that felt so sweet they ached. 

Try as they might two Oni broke through just in time to place its hand into a fist by her face, catching the escaping Nogitsune Firefly. One Oni stayed behind as the rest converged into one to check Stiles, even as her skin began falling away like a clay outer layer to show a pink-skinned Stiles with frazzled hair and wide, tired gold eyes. 

Unlike the rest, however, it drew its knife down the length of Stiles’s bitten arm and promptly disappeared, leaving Stiles to fall to the ground and break the rest of the clay that had been around her body - including the mark that used to be on her arm. Scott’s bite, too, was gone, with no blood as evidence that it had ever been there in the first place. 

“Stiles!” Jeorek cried, clutching his daughter to his lap so he could search for a pulse and relaxing only when he found one. “C’mon baby girl, wake up.” he pleaded, tapping his fingers against her cheek a few times to bring the light back to her wide-open eyes. It didn’t sit right with Peter, seeing her looking up with dead eyes as if was a foreshadow into her future. He didn’t care that he was projecting his turbulent feelings to those around him, didn’t care that he knew this feeling as the panic and desperation he felt when his family had burned, knowing he felt no familial ties to the spark. 

“H-hey pop,” she greeted, voice raw and barely above a whisper.

[synvamp]

HAPPY PLACE 8

“Love and other irritating crap that I don’t understand” - Qrow finally comes to the horrific realisation that he might be *in love* with Clover. Slow burn, flirting, banter... lovebirds at their angsty, sexy best. 

(Part One HERE)

Title: Healing

Fair Game – Part 8 / 10?

Rating: M

---xxx---

  The pillow hit Qrow in the side of the head. “Mffffff,” he said.

 “Come on, you have to get up or you’ll be late,” Clover’s voice. Clover’s scent. Ah, that’s right. Clover’s bed.

 “Urgh,” Qrow groaned from deep within his black soul, “I ha..”

 “Hate mornings, I know. Here,” Clover laughed lightly.

 Qrow blinked blearily and tried to focus. Finally he made out an incredibly muscled arm holding a mug of coffee. He sat up, pushed his hair back and took the offering.

 After a few sips, his brain fog started to lift. It was good coffee. “Wait you’re dressed? You got coffee? How long have you been up?”

 “I don’t know; hour and a half?” Clover shrugged, looking perfectly groomed and ready to take on the world.

 “Why didn’t you wake me?”

 “You were snoring.” “That is not a reason. Also, I do not snore,” Qrow pitched the pillow back at Clover’s head.

 He dodged effortlessly (stupid agile morning people) and stood up waving his scroll, “Well you won’t mind that I made you my ringtone then, will you?”

 Qrow scowled, “If I wasn’t naked…”

 “Ah, but you are! And I am not going to be late again, so drink up and I’ll see you later,” Clover leaned over and Qrow kind of froze. He didn’t even know why, they’d had sex quite a few times and Clover’s hands were often on his shoulder, around his waist… but this little gesture just caught him utterly unawares. Clover leaned down and just kissed his lips. Not a passionate kiss, just a little ‘I’m going to work, see you later love’, kind of kiss.

 Then he straightened up, flashed that seven thousand watt smile and flexed his ass out of the room.

 Qrow stared at the door for a long time, mind blank and heart doing something he couldn’t even recognise.

  ---xxx---

  “Hey, Uncle Qrow! We thought you weren’t going to make it!” Ruby enthused, running up to greet him as he slunk into the briefing room.

 “I overslept,” he reached out and tousled her hair.

 “You sleep?” Ren asked.

 “Har har, so what are we up to today?” Qrow asked, noting Clover was nowhere to be seen.

 “Team work!” Nora shouted.

 “O… kay?”

 “Clover’s given us all a day in the training room,” said Yang, “said we could polish up our hand to hand,” she grinned dangerously.

 “That so?” Qrow mused. It was true that they could learn to be more adaptable in combat. A brutal weapon was wonderful when you had it but he knew better than anyone that life didn’t always work out that way.

 Qrow teamed up with Yang (he didn’t want her to beat the crap out of anyone) and then put the others on rotation. Fifteen minutes with one sparring partner then change it up. Flexibility was an important part of being a combat specialist and as he watched Blake and Jaune out of the corner of his eye, Qrow decided Clover had a good head for teaching. It was just the right time to do this kind of thing, they were confident enough to be challenged, mature enough to learn from their mistakes.

 A metal hand ploughed into Qrow’s face, sending him cartwheeling across the floor. “Yes!” Yang pumped a fist into the air, “Take that!”

 Qrow sat rubbing his jaw, that prosthetic really packed a punch. Yang wandered over and offered him a hand which he swatted away, “I’m not dead yet,” he grumbled, standing.

 Yang leaned a little closer so that no one else could hear, “You need to stop daydreaming about a certain Ace Operative and pay attention.”

 Qrow didn’t even deny it, “I guess so. That was a good hit though, the way you moved inside my range… very smart kiddo,” he raised a hand to tousle her hair then thought better of it. He’d done that once when she was eight. Once.

 “So… how are things going?” Yang whispered conspiratorially, “Are you dating?”

 “I… things are good,” he smiled. “How about you?”

 “What about me!?” Yang said loudly.

 Qrow kept his voice level, “You ever going to tell the others about you and Blake?”

 Yang took a step back, “How did you…?”

 “I guess it takes one to know one,” Qrow laughed.

 “I… we’re waiting for the right time,” Yang looked away.

 Qrow nodded, it wasn’t like he was in a position to lecture on this one. “You do what works for you. It’s just nice to see you happy.”

 Yang smiled sheepishly, “You too.”

 “I am not happy! I’ve got a reputation to maintain here.”

 Yang laughed, “Well it’s good to see you enjoying the misery for once.”

 “Yeah, feels good too,” Qrow admitted, thinking of the way Clover’s arm wrapped around him when they slept.

 “Is that fifteen minutes?” Marrow called out, “My arm is going to drop off.”

 Qrow turned at the sound of Weiss’s lilting laughter. Seems like someone is finding Ice Queen Jnr. a bit of a challenge.

 “Alright, time’s up!” he called, “Hit the showers then lunch. I’ll meet you back here at two. Got it?”

 “Got it,” the students chorused.

 Qrow took his time wandering up to the mess hall. He let his fingers trail on the wall and thought about Clover’s touch, light but sure. So much of his time seemed to be dedicated to thinking about how Clover smelled these days. How his hands felt when they tripped down his body, lingering where he’d learned Qrow wanted them most.

 “Here you are,” Clover rounded the corner, “I’ve got a meeting at two so I thought maybe we could have lunch?”

 “I…” Qrow started. He was thinking about Yang and her ‘right time’. Was it the right time to be seen in a relationship? He didn’t want the kids to think that he wasn’t there for them. That he would ever leave them to go it alone after all they’d been through together… maybe he was over thinking. Yang just seemed happy to see him happy. Maybe it would be a relief for them to not have to worry about him being a moping sad sack any more. He felt bad for relying on them emotionally like he had. It wasn’t right to make kids carry adult sized burdens and despite everything they’d done… all they had achieved, they were still kids.

 Clover’s beautiful green eyes narrowed, “Or we could not.”

 “Uh…” What do I say? I want to be with him so much but… so much has happened and I just don’t know if I’m ready for this.

 “It’s fine,” Clover smiled easily, waving his concerns away, “I should sit with the Ops for once anyway, what did Weiss do to Marrow? He can barely hold a fork.”

 “He just needs to focus on his leg work.”

 “Ok, noted. Well… Just let me know when you’re ready.” And with that, Clover turned on his heel and sauntered that muscled ass away.

  ---xxx---

  When I’m ready.

 Qrow lay face down on the couch and groaned.

 When I’m ready.

 He means when I’m quite finished dicking him around and I know what I want. I’m sure that’s what he means…

 Qrow looked at the clock. Five past eight. He groaned a little louder.

 This is the longest night in the history of human kind. There’s some sort of time dilation happening. I refuse to believe that I’ve only been here twenty five minutes.

 He lifted up a couch cushion with one hand and pulled it firmly over his head.

 I could be there right now. I could be lying on his perfectly made bed completely naked with his hot tongue trailing up my thigh.

 Yay, he thought pressing his now very hard cock into the cushions, now I’ve made it worse.

 HOW FOR THE LOVE OF ASS CAN I STILL BE SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED?!

 Qrow let himself roll off the couch and onto the floor.

 He’s probably waiting for me right now…

But what is he really waiting for… he said…

 Qrow swallowed. He had to confront this eventually. Seemed like today was the day.

 He said that he was in love with me.

 He might have meant it, he might not, but he said it. And it’s time I figured out how I feel about this because if he loves me and I just hurt him… the thought of Clover upset did a funny thing to his chest. Tight. Tingly?

 Like something was crushing his heart.

 Come on. Admit it to yourself. You could be in love with him. How would you even know? It’s not like you have a string of positive relationship role models and a sparkling personal life to draw on. To him love had always been retrospective. The revelation of what you had lost in the very second that it was snatched from you.

 Do you want it to happen that way again? Do you want to wake up knowing that you’ve squandered yet another chance at happiness?

 He’d always pushed people away to protect them but… Clover didn’t need protecting. He was the first person in… near forever who made Qrow feel safe. Safe with others. Safe with himself. Like he wasn’t a curse or a burden or a jinx…

 But how do you even say these things? Oh Gods I know just how it would play out.

Qrow: *knocks on door*

 Clover: *opens the door, is shirtless for some stupid sexual frustration reason*

 Qrow: *stands gaping for an inordinate amount of time*

 Clover: Are you having a stroke?

 Qrow: *squeaks*

 Clover: So I’m just going to leave the door open, in case at some point you feel you can move your legs.

 Qrow: ILOVEYOU!IHAVETOGO! *runs*

 Clover: Ok. What an excellent choice I have made picking Qrow out of all the gorgeous fuck boys who clamour after my sleeveless GodBod. Really turning out great for me.

 Qrow turned over on the floor and pushed his face into the cushion again. This is so fucking stupid.

 Clover would know what to do. He was great at all this touchy feely stuff…

 But I’ve pushed him away.

NO. Qrow sat up suddenly and hit the back of his head on the coffee table.

 “AH, FUCK,” he exclaimed rubbing the significant bump that was growing beneath his fingers.

 That’s it. I’m not going to waste my life lying on the floor with a boner.

I am going to go and see Clover and I’m going to tell him how I feel.

If I can figure out how I feel on the way.

 He put on his shoes and glanced at the clock as he walked out the door. Thirteen minutes past eight.

 REALLY!?

  ---xxx---

Part Nine