#just looking at her and rubbing the soft downy hair with his thumbs

[delirious-donna]

There’s No Better Love [Higuruma Hiromi]

an: entirely inspired by this absolutely amazing art of Hiromi with a soft little tum (link to twitter here). I ADORE soft bellies, and I am here to spread the agenda to normalise this in both men, women and they/them. They are beautiful and I will nuzzle those pooches just like they deserve.

pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x female reader

warnings: none really, soft fluff, domestic vibes, body positivity throughout, suggestive at best, reader loves her husband unconditionally (as she should)

Masterlist

Higuruma enjoys a nice long soak, a fact that you’ve come to appreciate even more than when you found him all those years ago submerged whilst fully suited on that dimly lit stage. That was the day that your life changed forever, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Since then, he tends to stick to more traditional bathing practices, though he has been known to drag you kicking and screaming into the shower when you are both still fully dressed. You had to admit, there was something weirdly satisfying about the experience, almost cathartic, but you continued to bristle when he chuckled and gave you that knowing look. The one where he is certain he’s won and you’re not sure whether you want to smack him or kiss him. No prizes for guessing which option usually wins out…

In lieu of fully clothed bathing, Hiromi takes to visiting a bathhouse on his way home from work once every few weeks. Usually on a Friday, and especially during those weeks where he feels like his workload will never end.

You can always tell when he’s done exactly that, acutely aware of the zen-like hum that radiates from him as soon as he steps through the door. His smile is lax—dopey and carefree. His normally dark, calculating eyes have grown warm and shiny, still just as tired but less sore. A blush decorates his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and of course, his hair is still damp because he never takes the time to dry it fully before tripping his way home to you on a cloud of relaxation.

Many things have changed since that first fateful encounter, so many that it would take an age to list them all out, but right now, your focus falls to that of his stomach. Half undressed, Hiromi stands by the sliding wardrobes with his shirt hanging open. His trousers spill messily from the laundry hamper, leaving him in his underwear and black socks. His stomach forms a soft pooch, a beautiful curve that has you capturing your lip between sharp teeth.

Decorated with black downy hair from navel to the band of his shorts, you reminisce of the days when that subtle tum was simply flat. No real meat to his abdomen to speak of, although he was still strong and was even more so today. A fact he revels in proving by hoisting you onto the nearest surface to have his wicked way with you. Back then though, taking care of himself had always fallen low on his list of priorities, and if that meant he skipped a meal or two to catch up on his emails, then so be it and his physique bore the evidence of his focus.

The evidence of his shifting priorities warmed your heart, a sentimental smile tugging at your lips and it brought you to the edge of the bed. His eyes caught yours in the reflection of the mirror, eyebrows crinkling in question whilst you simply held out a hand for him, which he took without thought.

“Something wrong?” He asked. His other hand found your cheek, palm cupping gently whilst his thumb stroked lovingly across your soft skin.

You hummed. “Far from it. Have I told you lately how much I love this little tummy?” Leaning forward, your nose nuzzled against the small pooch, the coarse hairs tickling at your cheek, until he tensed and tried to suck it in.

“Hey! Don’t do that,” you chastised, glancing up from beneath your lashes with a snort of annoyance exhaled through your nose. Hiromi rubbed at his neck, embarrassed perhaps, but you weren’t having any of that. Not when he so openly worshipped your body. It was his turn to be on the receiving end for once.

“You’ve been over feeding me,” he grumbled with his bottom lip jutting out in a mock pout.

Hiromi let out a yelp as your teeth nipped at his stomach, head snapping down to meet your fiery eyes and he had the decency to look away sheepishly. “I think you’ll find, that I have simply been feeding you. And anyways…” You murmured, drawing a little loveheart next to the pink mark from your bite. “It’s cute. Makes me feel like you’re truly comfortable with me, with us and our life.”

“An understatement, darling.” His hand moved to the back of your head, fingers tangling into your hair. “Now, why don’t you come up here and kiss me where I can return the favour, hm?”

Moving to your knees, you wound an arm around his neck and claimed his lips just as he asked. There was no urgency, no fumbling or groping hands divesting you of clothes, only that sweet connection of two people so in love that they couldn’t bear to be parted. And yet, part you must. The need for oxygen an irksome necessity when you would much rather breathe in your husband until your lungs seized up entirely.

“Mm, I can smell the oils from the bathhouse on you,” you murmured, moving your lips to his jaw, down his neck and across his clavicle, leaving wet little kisses along the way. “Did you have a nice soak?”

Hiromi sighed in contentment, letting his body relax and return to its normal stature. He felt his small but obvious belly sag, brushing against your own and he tipped his head in wonder.

“Mhm. Feels nice to lie back and let the stresses of the week slough off. Do you… do you really like it?” He asked, hands settled at your waist and tracing his thumbs in slow circles over the cushion of belly. It was ridiculous to be self-conscious about something like this, but the feeling existed nonetheless. Hiromi knew that had the situations been reversed, with you being the one asking such a silly question, he would waste not a second in proving just how much he loved every inch of you—both with verbose enthusiasm and physical reinforcement of his words.

“Hiro.”

Your fingers skimmed his shoulders, pulling free the shirt that resided on his back. You explored the structure of him; the ridges of bones, the strength of lithe muscles, skin dappled in dark hairs and marked by a small number of scars. Every freckle deserved attention and you followed the path your fingers traversed with your mouth, listening to his breathing grow irratic and stuttered.

“I love the very bones of you. The sinew and tendons. The blood pumping through your heart and moving…” you paused, glancing down deliberately. “To every organ and limb. This stomach proves to me that you’re happy, and whether it stays like this or grows bigger, I will continue to love it, and you.”

He let out a sigh when your lips trailed lower and your tongue peeked out to lick at his happy trail. Hiromi cupped your jaw, waiting until your gaze lifted to gift you a smile that reached his eyes and twinkled with the mischief you were accustomed to. With soft fingers you kneaded his hips and around to his backside to give a squeeze.

“I think you’ve made your point, you little minx,” he hissed, though he couldn’t prevent the breathless giggle that accompanied the words.

“Y’know… I don’t think I have, but let me remedy that,” you purred, reaching for the waistband of his underwear and forcing him one step closer. “We’ve got the rest of our lives, after all…”

[lexsssu]

Bloom (Youko Kurama)

TAGS: Youko/Dragoness!reader, pet names, cunnilingus, breeding, oneshot Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

“Such a pretty little flower you have here, my dear...It’s even oozing such lascivious nectar. My, my...how lewd...”

 “Nooo! Don’t look at it!!!”

“How can I not look when it’s twitching so desperately? I think the best way to make this flower bloom its most beautiful is to fertilize it. Don’t you think so?”

“Y-Youko…!”

The fox yokai only smirks in response as one of his demonic flora holds you in place with its vines, your prone naked body lifted several feet off the ground with your arms and legs spread wide. This position allowed nothing to be hidden from his view, just how he liked it.

A long finger rubs against the weeping slit, nodding in satisfaction at the abundant honey that dripped and easily coated his digit before licking it off, unwilling to allow it to go to waste when you worked so hard to produce it just for him. He enjoys the taste as much as the sight of you trembling in embarrassment as his tongue slowly laps up the fluids from his fingers.

“We can’t allow even a drop of this precious nectar to go to waste when it’s a delicacy,” he explains, placing his large hands onto your inner thighs as his thumbs land on the fleshy lips of your cunt in order to spread them wide and reveal the tender pink hole inside. “That is why I have brought it upon myself to make use of this precious commodity.”

Your protests die in your throat when the silver-haired fox proceeds to feast on your pussy like a man starved, lapping up the dripping slick before pressing his face into your twitching lips and sticking his tongue inside. Thighs trembling, you are powerless to do anything as Youko repeatedly shoved his tongue as far as it could go, scraping at the spongy walls as he swallowed down your nectar with gusto. The knot inside your lower stomach tightens impossibly with each second that passes at the mercy of the bandit until it snaps, crying out his name as he practically sucks your soul out of your body.

“Thank you for the meal, little Snapdragon. Such fine nectar you secrete…”

As much as he wanted to eat you forever, there were more pressing matters to attend to. Namely, his loins which painfully poked at his trousers in an effort to be released from their prison, eager to sink into the velvety soft heat of your warm, delicious cunt. Due to the both of you being attuned to your animalistic natures, him being a fox and you being a dragon, it was no wonder Youko was all the more aware of the heady mix of your arousal and his own in the air. Having his nose so close to your precious flower allowed him to smell the full force of your scent, enticing his body to release the long restrained urge to mate and knot a fertile female and have her bear his kits.

“...But I believe it is time for us to begin the main course” 

Youko resisted the urge to purr as his vines began moving your body and setting it into the appropriate position with your chest pressed down against the piles of downy fur he’d skinned from his many successful hunts while you were propped up on your knees with legs spread wide. There was no way he was allowing the future mother of his kits to be taken roughly against the abrasive stone ground of your cave dwelling. From your scent alone he could easily tell that you were still pure, untouched by any other male which made him all the more adamant about making your first time one to remember fondly.

The rumble of his chest vibrated against your smaller back as he draped his larger body over your own, the action seemingly comforting you and yet urging you to submit at the same time. You could feel the hot and heavy cock that rubbed against your lower lips, going back and forth as it coated itself in your slick while his large hands gripped your plush waist.

“Sing for me, my pretty little flower”

A lusty moan escapes your lips when the fat head of his cock pierces into your untouched pussy, each gratifying inch slipping inside the unexplored territory until only the heavy sacs that hung below his proud length were left. There is a twinge of pain as your maidenhead was taken, but nothing your body can’t handle. Rather, your body responds enthusiastically to the intrusion, your cunt clamping down on the thick organ that spreads it wide open. 

Kurama hissed at the moist sheath that seemed to happily welcome his member, nose flaring as the scent of your virgin’s blood and arousal mixed into a potent and heady mix that had him hammering into your pussy once he was sure you had adjusted to him.

The fox and the dragon continue to mate within the confines of their sealed den for the next several days, unwilling to part from each other until the male was absolutely sure that he had successfully flooded your womb with his seed and ensured the future of his lineage. Once he’d confirmed your condition, Kurama happily spent the next several days in yet another hedonistic frenzy of mating as a way to celebrate the happy event in your lives.

You had to threaten Youko to give you a break or else you’d ban him from touching you for a century.

Safe to say, he did heed your warning and finally allowed you to walk out of your den, but he made sure to hover protectively behind you all the time. Unwilling to allow any other male to get ideas about his mate.

You simply thought it was adorable.

[aphroditestummyrolls]

❤️🦋📚

Hi ❤️❤️

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

Line? This is more of a section 😅 and it’s hardly the only favorite, but it’s up there. In Gentle, when little Nicolò’s mama is waking him up, so he can hang out with his baby goat friend.

Her smile lingered on her cheeks just for him as she pressed her lips to the wisps of downy brown hair.

“Piccolino mio…” she sang under her breath, hefting his weight up with a bounce of her arm. Her fingers played a soft tune over his back, and got a whiny, wriggling little boy for her efforts. “Nicolò, Pietro’s here.”

She roused his sleepy face from her shoulder, trying to coax Nicolò’s gaze over toward his unorthodox friend. The old man was down to less perilous ground now, rolling along toward them. But, Nicolò was still too mussed and rosy from sleep. She didn’t mind his momentary slothiness. Looking at him, scrubbing a pudgy hand over his eyes, she wanted to memorize every detail of him— his cheeks were flushed pink, round and soft, and she reached out with a thumb to rub the seam of her dress from his sweet face. His eyes were bleary, a pale green that reflected the sea, the sky, and the mountain.

He blinked at her with those first waking moments, like he had so, so many times since he first opened them. He had no idea how precious he was, how it felt to hold him close when he’d once been a part of her own body. Now, she could look into those big eyes, and hear his sleepy grumbles, and remember when he’d been a kick in her belly. She couldn’t imagine a day where she grew jaded to the wonder of this little life. When she looked at him, she felt every miracle of heaven in her very bones.

🦋 Which character is your favorite to write?

I love writing Nicky 🥹 I LOVE writing Nicky.

📚 Is there a fanfic or fanfic writer you recommend?

Ooooo. I mean, there’s so many writers that I love, I suppose it depends on the fandom/pairing. I’m gonna take a raincheck on this question, actually, and one day we can consider it answered when I finally put together my Ultimate Fic Rec List™️

Thank you so much for playing ❤️

[heraldeez]

Fidget Toys

Viktor x Reader | 1.8K | NSFW

Warnings/Tags: fondling, oral, facials, come sharing, and copious descriptions of touching this man’s balls.

You sneak in some quality time while Viktor deals with paperwork, and need something to keep your hands busy. Luckily, he comes equipped.

A/N: I’m not going to lie, balls are weird. But I was having many ball thoughts while at work a couple weeks back, and this little fic demanded to be written.

@dicax-asina also demanded it be written. Go thank her for being a peach and for talking with me about balls for two weeks straight. :]

—

Viktor is cradled in your lap, legs spread just enough to fit your hand between them.

He rapidly twirls one curl of hair around his finger, eyes locked on the papers in front of him, while you gently, gently rub at his balls, cupping them in your palm, stroking your thumb over the sensitive skin.

They’re soft against your hand, in direct contrast to the needy hardness that lay just above. You swirl your fingers against the light layer of downy hair, enjoying the texture of the delicate skin. It’s soothing, you decide, to play with him like this, merely enjoying the closeness without chasing its completion.

You knead at him gently, mind briefly flitting to the motion of contented cats and finding yourself feeling much the same - until Viktor emits a tiny moan, hips giving an even tinier jerk in your hold.

You pause, eyeing his tense profile, but he stares forward resolutely and takes a deep breath, composing himself in the lull of your movement.

Despite your best efforts, he’s still trying to focus on his work and ignore how you’ve been playing with him for the past half hour. You have to admire the stubbornness. He never was one to back away from a challenge.

You lean in, breath washing hot over the curve of his shoulder. This close, he can’t hide the shiver it elicits. Grinning, you press your teeth hard into his skin.

With a curse, Viktor drops his pen.

“Distracted?” you hum, peering at him expectantly.

For a moment, Viktor is quiet, staring at the pen on the floor.

“I want to come,” he confesses, voice barely stronger than a whisper. His hand raises an inch from the desk, perhaps to reach for the writing instrument. You smile when he reaches down for his cock, instead.

“Sure, you can come,” you breezily confirm, “but I’ll keep going after you do.”

His hand falters, squeezing nervously at the base of his dick. You shift your fingers to rub your thumb against his hand, while still teasing at his balls.

“You have to keep me entertained, remember? That was the deal. You’re the one who claimed you could ‘multitask’.”

Viktor swallows, uncertain.

You lean in for the kill. “I’ll finish you with my mouth, if you can hold out, darling.”

Gingerly, he pulls his hand from his cock to retrieve his pen.

“I… can multitask,” he breathes, voice gaining confidence with each word, determinedly putting pen to paper once more.

You smile smugly against his neck, and give him a small squeeze.

—

The lantern oil has grown low when Viktor sets his pen down again.

“I’m finished.”

“Oh?” you prompt, peering down at his erection. Viktor gasps when you flirt the pads of your fingers against the head of his cock, red and neglected. Though you brush over his skin just barely, you come away sticky. “You don’t look finished to me.”

“The- The paper, the report summary,” Viktor huffs, “It’s finished. I did what you asked.”

“Oh, that.” You feign surprise. “Show me?”

Viktor obediently hands it over, a bit rushed, hands shaky. Frankly, you’re not actually worried about the quality of his work. He’s obstinate enough to produce good quality, even while being fondled mercilessly.

Still, it does please you to see that his report looks brilliant, as expected.

“Very good,” you purr, abruptly pulling Viktor with you to stand.

He doesn’t question as you deposit him on the floor, laying on your back before patting your chest in invitation. With a flush growing atop his cheekbones, Viktor scoots closer so you can sling one of his legs over you, pulling him to rest just above your chin.

“I suppose you’re hoping for your reward, then?” His thighs tremble just barely as your lips brush against his balls with each word. Face red, he offers you an eager nod.

You barely have to purse your lips in displeasure before he’s verbally confirming, “Yes, yes, I - please, I want your mouth.”

His hips jerk when you stick out your tongue, laving along his skin without any further teasing. Slowly trailing up, you lick a line directly up the underside of his cock, sucking a kiss to the tip before you head back down.

The skin of his balls is soft against your lips, plush, and you hum, nuzzling in closer to lap at his seam.

You trace swirling patterns into the sensitive skin, trailing adoringly over the curvature, and Viktor’s hips begin to rock against you as he releases a shuddering exhale, relieved at the stronger stimulus after such prolonged teasing. Your hand comes up to rest at the small of his back for support, thumb rubbing gently at the lower edge of his brace, encouraging him even closer to roll his hips against you and chase his pleasure.

Pressing your face deeper, nose nudging at his balls, you sweep your tongue further to slide against his perineum, slicking the sensitive skin. His hips falter in their rhythm, a needy noise of surprise slipping through his lips.

Viktor’s hand reaches for his cock, wrapping around the base and dragging a tight stroke up, squeezing at the head indulgently. His hips kickstart back into motion at the stimulation, working himself between his hand and your mouth.

Listening to him pant, you draw back, kissing delicately over his balls before focusing your mouth on his inner thigh instead. You suck sweetly at the skin for a moment, then work it with your teeth, drawing up a bruise.

Viktor’s unoccupied hand shoots down, hissing at the sting, fingers threading through your hair. He doesn’t stop you as you bite another bruise, fingers curling and uncurling against your roots, and you can feel his cock twitch at your gentle sucking of the abused skin. A string of precome drools out from his tip, landing on your forehead, and Viktor hastily wipes it off with his thumb, muttering an apology.

You’re quick to grab his hand, tilting up so you can lap the stickiness from his thumb, carefully watching his reaction.

His eyes blow wide, staring open mouthed at your lips. Precome is already welling up again, so you crane to suck it off, swirling your tongue against his frenulum to catch it all before trailing your tongue back down.

Viktor’s already begun jerking himself again, movement desperate, and his knuckles bump against your nose as you press a kiss to his balls.

“Keep going,” you usher before he can apologize again. “I want to see you come, sweetheart, I want you to feel good.”

You gently suckle one of his balls into your mouth. Viktor cries out, eyes clenching shut and head thrown back, the combined stimulation and your words almost too much. You stare appreciatively at the mussed locks of hair pooling at the base of his neck, framing the long, alluring line of his throat. Watching him swallow, breath coming sharp.

“I- I am close, so close,” he pants, looking down at you with hazy eyes. His lips are reddened from where he’s been biting at them.

“Go on.” You don’t want to deny him his pleasure any further - you’d teased him more than enough today. “Show me.”

His fingers grow frantic on his length, whining as you continue to press sucking kisses against him while he squeezes at the tip and rocks into his own grip. Though hazy, his eyes are focused solely on you, watching overwhelmed as you slide your tongue out to cup his balls.

You can feel them draw up tight against your tongue, Viktor letting out a ragged groan of relief as he begins to come, fingers tightening in your hair. His release lands heavily across your face, ropes of white dripping down in tangible proof of his enjoyment as he continues to rub himself, dragging out the pleasure past the point of comfort.

He finally lets out a sensitive hiss and pulls his fingers from his length, surveying his work. His eyes catch on the line of come streaked across your cheek, framing where you gaze back at him in smug satisfaction, the cat that got the cream.

With a shaking hand, Viktor swipes at the mess with his first two fingers, gingerly pressing them to your bottom lip in offering.

His eyes are dark when you open your mouth, greeting his fingers with your tongue. He’s pressing deeper immediately, splaying them out to let you savor his taste, leaving you sighing in pleasure. The pads of his fingers rub against you, pressed so closely that you could memorize the texture of his fingerprints dragging over sensitive muscle, spreading come. You swirl your tongue around them to clean him up, flicking it between each finger, rubbing against the webbing all the way at their base.

Viktor gives a few gentle circles of his wrist, losing himself in the silky feel of your tongue. You swallow as his index finger slides deep, fighting not to choke, happy to let him plot out your mouth to his heart’s content.

His breath hitches at the feeling of your throat spasming around the tips of his fingers, spent cock drooling one final pearl of white in response, and he outright whines when you pull away from his fingers to suck the drip off.

Viktor’s hips buck, oversensitized, when you circle your tongue indulgently around the head to clean him up. His fingers tighten in your hair when you stick your tongue out to proudly display the come you’d gathered, eyes crinkling with glee as Viktor bursts into motion, clumsily scooting back on come-drunk limbs.

His hips align with yours, softening cock tucking snugly between you as he licks his way needily into your mouth. Viktor moans lowly at the taste of himself seeping through yours, tongue twining with your own. The kiss lingers until stars bloom behind your eyelids, breathless, Viktor taking care to lap every ounce of himself from your mouth.

When he pulls away, Viktor does it slowly, eyes glossed over with pleasure and tongue poking out just the tiniest bit over the swell of his lower lip. His eyes flick over where the rest of his come adorns your face, lazily tilting his head to drag his tongue over the length of your cheekbone, chasing his own residue to gather on his tongue.

He cleans you up like that, lapping at his own release just to feed it right back to you, groaning into the kiss as you work your tongue against his.

When you’re both panting, lips slick and sensitive, you pull back enough to sit up, dragging him with you, cradled to your chest. He’s stunning like this, flushed and sweat slick and spent, hair sticking up at odd angles. You press a final chaste kiss against his lips.

Viktor’s a bit wobbly when you back off to let him catch his breath, dazedly looking you over as well. “I… Some of it landed in your hair.” He has the decency to look guilty about it, grimacing a bit abashedly.

You pat gently at his trembling thighs. “It’s alright. I already know you’ll help me wash it out.”

[alexthedrummerboy]

work-in-progress wednesday!!

so in honour of wip wednesday and JATP fanworks week, i wanted to post the first lil scene from the bobby daddy au i’ve been prattling on about!! 👀 it’s something i’m really quite proud of and i’d love to talk about it more if anyone was curious!!

essentially: one night a baby carrier and a duffel bag get left at bobby, luke, reggie, and alex’s door. turns out, the baby is bobby’s daughter - a consequence of a one night stand gone wrong. now the four of them have to navigate being college students, being in a band, and raising a six-month-old that seemingly fell from the sky. (ft. willex juke and boggie 👀)

None of them expect it - that much is clear. They all just stand there… staring at it, wondering if it’ll just magically go away. 

It doesn’t.

Or rather… she doesn’t.

“Dude, what is that?” Luke asks, peering from around Bobby’s shoulder.

“It’s a baby, Luke,” Alex says incredulously, though he’s no less confused. Luke smacks the back of Alex’s head.

“I know it’s a baby, dumbass,” he says. “What’s it doing here?” 

Bobby squats down until he’s kneeling right over the carrier where a baby girl is sitting, asleep and snoring. There’s a card nestled in the folds of her dress so he plucks it out and unfolds it. He can feel all the blood leaving his face as he reads each word.

“Bobby?” Reggie asks quietly. “What’s wrong?”

Bobby blinks down at the paper before looking at the baby again - she’s so small with soft, wispy blonde hair and the tiniest hands and feet he’s ever seen. “She’s mine.”

“What do you mean ‘she’s yours’?” Alex asks. Bobby wordlessly hands him the notecard, never once tearing his eyes away from the baby. “‘Bobby, I’m sorry to tell you like this but I just can’t handle it. Her name is Carrie. Take care of her for me, Monica.’”

The four of them fall silent for a moment. 

“Monica?” Reggie says finally after what feels like hours of silence. “Who’s that?”

“I… just some girl I hooked up with last year. She told me she was on the pill,” Bobby whispers, rubbing his face roughly with his hands. “I’m so stupid.”

“Hey, no you’re not,” Luke replies, placing a firm hand on Bobby’s shoulder. “Shit like this happens, okay? Medical mishaps and stuff.”

“I think you’ve been watching too much Chicago Med,” Alex starts, “but Luke’s right. You’re not stupid.”

“What am I gonna do?” Bobby breathes, blinking rapidly to try and fight the tears that threaten to fall. “I-I can’t take care of a baby. I can barely take care of myself, I still don’t really know how to use the laundry machine!”

“Hey,” Luke says, bending down until he’s level with Bobby. He pats his cheek gently, forcing him to look him in the eye. “You won’t have to do this alone.” 

“Yeah,” Reggie says, patting Bobby on the back. “You have us.” 

Alex reaches out of the doorway to the small duffel bag sitting next to the carrier. He unzips it and peers inside, rifling around for a moment. “Hey, there’s some stuff in here,” he says. “Whoever this Monica chick was, she didn’t leave you hanging completely.” 

Then, the baby - Carrie - does something that none of them were expecting. She opens her eyes, takes one look at the four of them, and starts wailing. 

The noise is so loud, it could wake the dead. All four of them recoil, Luke clamping his hands firmly over his ears. “What’s it doing that for?!” he calls. 

Bobby looks helplessly at her, hands hovering but not touching because oh god, she’s so small, what if he breaks her? “I don’t know!” he replies. 

“Dude, take her inside and shut the door before we get another noise complaint!” Reggie says, backing away from the carrier.

Bobby carefully grips the handle of the baby carrier and lifts the screaming baby - Carrie, apparently - into the apartment, holding it almost a foot away from him as she wails. Luke quickly shuts the door and leans against it, eyes wide. 

Carrie is still crying, her face turning pink and tears streaming down her face. Oh, God. 

“What do I do?!” Bobby asks, looking around frantically at Luke, Reggie, and Alex - all of whom look incredibly out of their depth. 

“Try picking her up!” Alex says. “She’s probably just scared!” 

Bobby places the carrier on the coffee table and tries to unbuckle her safety belt but the stupid latch just will not budge. He knows he’s beginning to panic and he needs to calm down - but how else was he supposed to react five minutes after finding out he’s a father?!

A pair of hands brushes his away and quickly unlatches the buckle before picking Carrie up and bouncing her up and down. Bobby looks up to see Reggie cradling Carrie close, his left arm expertly cradled under her butt and her head leaning on his shoulder. Her cries calm down to slow whimpers as she rests her cheek against Reggie’s shoulder. 

Bobby, Alex, and Luke all turn to Reggie, triplet looks of confusion and awe on their faces. Reggie raises his eyebrows, thumb gently rubbing the light, downy hair on Carrie’s head. “What?”

“Since when were you so good with kids?” Bobby asks breathlessly. 

“Um… since always?” he says. “I practically raised my niece and nephew when my brother got deployed.”

“Oh,” Bobby replies weakly, dropping down into the armchair and rubbing his forehead. “Cool. Reggie’s a better father than I am to my own daughter.” 

“You’ve been a father for less than three minutes, dude,” Alex says. “It’ll take some time.”

[hauntedelation]

Show Me

Gif Credit: @acecroft

(Photograph found on Pinterest! I don’t own it!)

Description: Mike takes you out of your lonely, dark home on what is supposed to be the jolliest days of the year. In return, you pull him out of his own shadowy pit, simply to convey to him how much you care.

Pairing: Black Female Reader x Mikey (Hellraiser: Hellworld)

Challenge: 25 DAYS OF CAVILL by @emjayewrites​

A/N: This all started with a certain conversation with a fellow Mikey lover. The lovely @emyearns​ wrote this amazing piece in the result of that talk. Go check it out! It is wonderful ugh 🖤 This is my reply back to her because I promised her a lil’ something of Mike 🥺 I also wanted to include this as part of the challenge another fellow writer started. 

It’s still Christmas where I’m at! I hope that I am not too late! 😥 This is a steamy Christmas theme with Mikey and some essence of angst within it. Please, if there are any errors, know that I didn’t mean it!

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: smut (18+), D/s dynamics (Fem Dom/Male Sub), angst, feels, oral sex (male receiving), marking, choking kink, hair pulling kink, fluffy Christmas gift giving!

Merry Christmas! 😊 Enjoy~

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One thing that you were able to learn about Mikey, in the short month of dating him, was that he seemed to glow the brightest under your hand.

He was a far different person around you, still, than anyone else. He remained being Mike, the goofy smartass who loved to joke around. But, it was as if he took off a mask and could finally breathe when he was in your presence. Just you and him.

Mike was able to let go.

Despite that he was reluctant in opening up, you put all your effort in, working to know what made him bloom. It was after every tug to his curls, every nick and bruise that you left on his pale skin, every grip your fingers held around his neck, that you saw him begin to come out. 

Even more so was after those heated moments where you held him close, pressing your lips to his cheeks and his eyelids, fingers brushing along his eyebrows. You whispered in his ear, sonnets according to Mike, those words never leaving the space between you both.

You didn't want to rush him, and you didn't want to over escalate what you and he had. It was going to be breathtaking, you knew it, you just had to be patient with him and listen. 

So you didn't, you didn't pick at him when he would grow real quiet during a conversation, or after looking at a particular object. You would reach down and take hold of his long fingers in yours, placing kisses on the calloused pads.

Mike would come back, it would be slow but his grin would appear once more. His bones would quiver underneath his skin, and he would show you those pearly canines. 

You both took your time, and you both allowed each other to feel. Whether it was elation or whether it was a sinking feeling in the stomach, you let it flow. Whenever he begged to see you, you left the front door unlocked. Whenever you wished to see him, he would jump at the offer.

Chelsea and Vanessa would jeer, they had to. Seeing you and Mikey was such a surreal happening, seeing Mikey with a girl for longer than a day was completely unusual. They would whisper to you, about how often he looks at you, about how much time you spend with each other, about how obvious it is. 

"He's just way less of an asshole."

They would show a knowing smile to you. You couldn't tell if it was toward a certain angle or for another, but, you saw that smile on your friends' lips. You and Mike were venturing into something interesting.

You got a phone call on the 24th. It woke you up out of your nap on the living room couch and it woke you slowly. The clock read 7:00 p.m. on the screen through your squinted eyes. Now, who would be calling at that hour?

"Hey! So...You wanna come with me to the drive-in tonight?"

Mike?

You were taken aback, didn't this boy know that it was Christmas Eve? Wouldn't everything be closed by now? Mike knew, and he didn't seem to really care about any of that. He clarified that the drive-in movie theater was in fact open tonight. 

And as classic Mikey, he went with his goto begging, warning you that he was already pulled up at your apartment complex. 

"Pleaaase, they're showing Christmas movies from 7:30 to 4:00 a.m., I thought it would be fun!" 

You shook your head; an amused grin pulled at your lips. While wiping the sleep from your eyes, you could distinctly hear the pout in his voice through the phone. You gave in to him, how couldn't you? 

Looking around your lonely home, with no decorations hung up and no plans being set, nothing else seemed better than that. You wouldn't decline him even if you had been invited to the best party around.

"Okay, just give me a few minutes, and I will be right out." 

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There was no counting the amount of junk that Mike could keep in his car. Aluminum beer cans tinked and rattled with each turn, papers and articles of clothing were pushed under your feet, and you could have sworn that you saw a used condom from the last time you and Mike were in the back seat.

You shook your head to yourself as you watched Mike scramble about in his front seat, scooping up the pieces of trash and other items that littered the entirety of the space. 

You bit at your lower lip hiding your giggles from the dark-haired boy. He made trips back and forth to a bin sitting outside the parked car, puffs of smoke billowing from his lips.

Even if he was naturally a gigantic slob, who honestly had the most cluttered car you’d ever seen, what he was doing...

He was trying his best, you could see the obvious effort that the boy was putting in—he was even clearing out the items that were stuck on the dashboard and under the seat.

Mike cursed, struggling with a stubborn shirt tucked far too deep in the leather seat.

He yanked it free and fell back, head slamming into the steering wheel. The boy groaned weakly, the pained sound coming from high in his throat.

This was when you busted out laughing, hand going to cover your mouth and snorting loudly. Mike grumbled, his lanky body sitting up and his hand going to rub at the back of his head. You were quite sure that everyone in the parking lot could hear you cackling.

“Haha, very funny. Now, c’mere! The movie is about to start!”

.

.

.

You really tried focusing on the film playing on the big screen. The last thing that you were able to remember was Kevin McCallister arguing with his older brother, Buzz. Nostalgia was beginning to well up in your heart, this movie was featured frequently when you were a young child. 

Mikey even thought of bringing blankets to keep you both warm when you couldn’t run the car’s heater for long. Each one was thick and incredibly soft against your skin. He took the liberty of wrapping you both in the material, knowing how easily chilly he could get.

He also had...his own ideas for preventing you two from getting too cold. 

“Mike, mmh, I’m trying to watch the movie!”

His hands were icy as they gripped your waist, his teasing fingers riding your shirt up and exposing more of your skin. He pulled you into his lap, plump lips pressing against the shell of your ear and trailing down your neck. 

Mike situated you to rest on one of his thighs, facing your front more toward him. Your head was still glued to the large screen playing the film, you were not going to let him win. At least, not yet. 

There was a red and white bag of popcorn resting close by your legs. You leaned down to reach into it, pulling out a small handful of the kernels and stuffing your mouth full.

You yelped when his hands found their way up your sweater, cupping your breasts into his hands. His lips chased your jaw and found their way to your mouth, though—you were still chewing on the food. 

"Miiiike," You mumbled out. "My mouth is full of popcorn. Can't you wait?"

Mike was normally passionate, but never so desperate to not wait for you to finish eating. Tonight, he was unrelenting.

You gave in soon after swallowing, rolling your eyes shut and letting him push your lips together. He whined and placed his palm on one of your thighs, pulling you to straddle his waist. 

It was easy, too easy to fall into that rhythm with him. The need and the sheer want behind his touch, he was surely providing it with the way his tongue nearly moved to the inside of your teeth. 

What was always challenging, was pulling away from him.

“Mike, hey Baby, I’m happy that you’re eager tonight...but mmfh, fuck…”

His canines found their way to that spot at your jugular, long fingers kneading and massaging your ass in your winter leggings. 

“What’s gotten into you? I thought you wanted to watch the movie?”

Cupping his jawline, your thumbs rubbed lightly over his sharp cheekbones. He was panting and gazing up at you with a peculiar look in his eye, one you couldn’t put your finger on. 

Mike licked and bit at his lips, big blue eyes soon avoiding your concerned look. You felt his fingers start to play with the fabric of your sweater.

He sighed.

“Um yeah, I mean...shit...I uh, I missed you.”

Mikey peered out the windshield, passed your shoulder, and at the movie playing on the screen. His jaw was stiffening, your fingernail followed along with the muscle. You tilted your head to the side with a downy grin displaying on your face. 

He never said this to you before.

“Did you really?” 

He hummed, nodding his curly-head with his frown wavering on his face. You leaned down and pressed kisses to his nose, smoothing the tips of your fingers over his eyebrows. 

“Mhm, I did. I know that like we just saw each other, but...I really needed to see you tonight.” 

Mike’s slim arms snaked around your body and hugged you close to his chest. His eyes found their way back to your face.

“Well, ditto, I missed your silly ass too.”

"That's good because I got you something." 

With him never breaking eye contact, Mike reached into his coat pocket to pull out a red bag. You inhaled in surprise, bouncing your attention from the bag sitting between you and his bashful face.

He resembles the night that you and he first hung out with each other. His demeanor visibly shifted to a far meeker character under your attention.

"Oh! Mike you didn't have to go do that!"

He shrugged his leather-clad shoulders, not helping the red tinge layering his cheeks. Mike's hand began to nervously rub at your back, moving in small circles. 

"Go on, open it."

You immediately reached to tear open the bag taping, pulling out the white tissue paper. What you found made your bottom lip jut out in an endearing pout. 

How thoughtful of him.

You found a small black sack, the item inside being a baby blue bonnet. You let your fingers run over the material and admired the fine stitching. From the looks of it, he went looking for a good quality made one. 

Where did he know to buy this?

Your e/c orbs stayed on the cap in your hands, shaking your head slowly. "Mikey, this is very sweet of you. How did you know to get me this?" 

You lifted your head to take a look at his face, only to see that he was already staring at you. Mike had a wide smile on his lips, he rubbed his lips together and exhaled a laugh.

"Uh, well y'know...Vanessa and Chelsea sort've...helped me out with it. I remember you wore one when you sleep but I was too afraid to ask you what it was." 

One of his hands scratched the back of his neck, cocking his head to the side. There was a gush of delight building in your stomach. 

You never really mentioned to him about needing a new bonnet before, perhaps in passing as you went through your hair supplies but never explicitly. If he really went and spoke with your girlfriends…

Ugh, this boy.

"It's a good thing that I got you something too."

It was now Mike's turn to look perplexed.

"Wha—me?"

You hushed him and located your purse from the driver’s seat. Nesting deep inside the bag, you set a rolled-up article of clothing with a gold-colored bow surrounding it. 

You pulled the present out, anticipation illuminating your face. You took his hand in yours and placed the present in his palm. He lifted his brow down at the item and gingerly untied the bow.

Mike unraveled the dark fabric to reveal a freakishly gory print of his favorite horror movie. He shot out a quick laugh, and began to rapidly scan the shirt in his hands.

"Holy shit, no way, Y/n."

The cotton was as soft as can be, and the screen print had been of the highest quality. Each color was saturated tastefully and blended with one another, leaving behind a pretty visually appealing t-shirt. Well, save for the grotesque image of someone getting slaughtered by a killer.

Mike ran his fingers over the image, tracing the lines and the wording layering it.

"How'd you know that I would like this?" 

You beamed down at him, mulling your answer over in your head. A faint memory developed in the back of your mind, of him turning on an old horror film while sitting in your living room. 

When you think of it further, Mike always seemed to gravitate toward darker media such as that.

"I remembered you mentioned it one day a little while back."

He lifted his head to grin up at you, his eyes shimmering brightly in the low light of the big screen. The crimson in his cheeks was much more pigmented than minutes before, the tint bleeding to the tips of his ears.

It was a sight you would never get enough of.

Mike leaned up and pressed gentle kisses to your lips, mumbling praises and a thank you onto your mouth. 

You placed the items on the dashboard and watched the moonlight reflect on the surface of them. The other smaller pieces of trash were gathered and put into that red bag Mike used for your gift. 

“I am really happy that you like it...your gift you know? I wasn’t sure if you would be busy tonight, but I wanted to see you open it.” Mike spoke gently into your ear.

You turned and placed your arms around his shoulders, you narrowed your eyes down at him and a smirk played on your face.

“It’s alright, I really had no plans...This isn’t my favorite holiday anyway.”

Mike lifted his brows at hearing this. “Yeah? Same with me. It never really was my cup of tea. Everyone always kinda has..has family to spend it with. And I…”

The boy trailed off, his hand movements along your back slowed to a stop. 

Mikey’s eyes dropped to look down at the space between you both, focusing on the stitching of your sweater. You could sense a veil being drawn over him, and blocking him from you presently. 

A pinch was placed on your heart and resonated up toward your throat. The closer it got to the holiday, the most often these moments would occur. This was something that you noticed. 

Desperately, you wanted to find what was taking him away mentally. 

Maybe if you could pick at the pieces, just a tiny bit at a time you could find out. You had clues, certain tells in his speech, and some mannerisms were brought to the light. Yet, you didn’t hold the answer to what. 

What was plaguing Mike’s soul?

Your reasoning scolded yourself, You shouldn’t

It couldn’t be pulled out like that, not as if it was some sort of secret to know or a problem to solve. 

So you didn’t. You didn’t say anything to further the conversation or that previous topic. At this point, Mike was inaudible for close to a minute. You saw his dark brows pinch close together, that handsome face was despondent. 

This wasn’t a bother. It wasn’t going to be one, not with your fingers sneaking to his hand, curling around the digits. You placed lips to his skin, tickling the pads. It was a bit delayed but—

Ah, there he was.

You saw him come back, right out of that shadow of his. With Mike finally cracking a radiant smile, warm enough to melt the snow outside, you felt a bit of relief. For now, he seemed okay.

“You alright, Puppy?” 

Your voice was tender when you spoke, still working to guide him back. You nuzzled your nose against his, and he chuckled real low between you.

His thumb and index fingers grasped your chin and he guided you to peck his lips.

“Puppy? That’s actually cute...And, M’yeah sorry…uh. I kinda trailed off there. But, what I normally do is get shitfaced on a night like this, and watch a bunch of Christmas movies.”

He cleared his throat and nodded his head to the movie playing behind you.

“I watched this movie so much as a kid. I loved it. This was one that I would be watching tonight anyway…"

Mike paused, waiting for another moment before continuing his sentence. 

“I wanna ask, are you sure that I’m not...bothering by asking you to hang tonight?”

You felt Mike stiffen under your body. His hands wrapped around your waist and tucked themselves under the blanket. He subconsciously returned to that puppy dog look, the same look that he had on his face just a few short seconds ago. 

Mike had a way to pout those lips just right, those lips that he loved to bite at. With his eyes, you swear he had a way to make them appear the most pitiful when he was wanting something. The king of begging. 

And he wonders why you call him that.

You rolled your eyes playfully.

“Mike, of course, I am sure. I’m having a lot of fun with you right now, and, there’s no place I’d rather be! Why? You don’t think that I like you?”

The boy was a bit dumbfounded, mouth opening and closing. He was unable to find the right words to reply. The only sounds that were released had been cut off stammers and a sigh.

You knew that you looked smug at this moment. It wasn’t hard for you to put him in that state and you felt rather prideful to place him into a puddle of astonishment. Whatever Mike was subject to, he certainly was not used to the treatment that you gave him.

It grew enjoyable for you, actually. After each liaison, giving Mike whatever you could whether sinful or innocent, you were hungry to do more. He would always reward you with the most colorful reaction. 

Currently, it was looking like the former was tipping the scale.

You rearranged your legs on the seat below you, positioned your hips, and ground them languidly against his groin. Mike’s breath was hitched and he flexed his thighs under his jeans. 

He slid his hands down to that favorite spot on your waist, eyes flickering to a low flame at the instant of anticipation. Your palms rubbed at his chest and up to the collar of his shirt. You muddled his brain further when you slanted your lips against his, taking his moans into your lungs.

The switch had been flipped.

“Since you don’t seem to really understand, do you want me to show you how much I like you?” You whispered against his mouth.

He nodded vigorously but failed to explicitly confirm with his words. You had to fight yourself from giggling. At this point, Mikey knew better.

You stilled your gyrating and nipped at the soft flesh of his earlobe, taking your fingers on one hand and wrapping them around his throat. You applied a ghost of pressure at the sides and pulled out a gasp from his lips.

“Hmm, say it Puppy, or I guess you will never know.”

“Yes please, please show me. I-I want you to show me.”

You hummed and pressed kisses along his jaw, fingers sliding down to his belt. It was tugged loose, clinking metal on metal, and pushed aside. You worked your way under the denim and pressed your palm to the stiffening skin there. 

Still keeping your mouth on his skin, you sang those praises to your boy.

"I know you need to be shown. You like it better when I do…"

You tilted his head back, gripping his neck firmly before slowly licking at his pulse point, forcing out more bumbling words from him. 

"Don't you? My words only do so much Mikey. But I know it helps you."

Your fingers rubbed and rubbed along his rigid cock, squeezing out more precum from the tip. You felt the wet spot accumulate and soak his boxer briefs. 

He was radiating pure heat and warming your cold fingers.

Upon licking your lips and leaning your forehead against his cheek, you forced a wail out of his pretty mouth.

You wrapped your fingers around his feverish length and held it in your hand, thumbing and stroking him. Before you continued further, you drew your hand away, leaned back, and dribbled spit on the head, coating a large majority of his cock. 

Mikey watched it all with fluttering eyes, stifling his whines at the warm ooze of your saliva. You cooed at him with your lips playing at his, eyes watching the space between you two.

"Let it out Mikey, let me hear you. Yes—yes buck those hips Baby I know that feels good."

You released his throat and slid your legs from around him. Leaning against his side, you tightened your hold on him and continued jerking his leaking cock. 

Mike was now eagerly fucking your hand and fisting at the blankets on his side. You licked your lips at the sheer swell of him, it's glisten in the low light was savory—tantalizing to you, its weight pushing and massaging against your palm.

"Mmf-fuck, it feels so good, please let me come. Can I come?"

You tutted down at him, grinning wolfishly at his flushed face. You shook your head and let go of his length. A round of cries followed from Mike and you couldn't help your mirth in your chest.

"No Baby, I'm gonna give you something else...You want my mouth? Hmm?"

You licked your way into his waiting mouth, a spit-soaked thumb coming up and pulling his bottom lip down, pressing into the plump flesh. 

Mike grit his teeth and growled pitifully, his warm breath being breathed in by you.

"How about I show you with my mouth, I'll let you use my mouth, Puppy." 

Mike's lust-blown blues peered up at you, searching your face and looking at your lips.

"Yes, please, I want it so bad. Please Y/n." He spoke out raggedly.

You let go of your hold on his face, sliding down his body and settling into the passenger foot-well space. You sat into a crouching position and moved his jeans and boxers further down his hairy thighs.

You peered up at the panting boy, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes stared down at your devilish face, widening his legs to allow you more room. This would be the first time that you go down on him, and you planned, oh you planned…

You were going to suck the soul out of this boy.

His teeth gnawed at his bottom lip when you took hold of his dick. You felt him flex his erection in your hands, pressing the length into your grasp and jut his hips out to get closer.

You broke eye contact to gaze down at the throbbing head. He was cut, the skin of him blushing at the top, and still pumping out more of that clear liquid. You ran a finger along a prominent vein popping out, tracing the blood flow up.

As you began to stroke him, running your fingers along the skin of his balls, you leaned down and applied tiny licks to his skin. You started from the crease where his cock and his balls met and lapped up to the slit on his head. 

Mike threw his head back against the headrest, letting out a throaty groan. His fingers crept down to your shoulders, grunting at your lips and your tongue playing with his cock. 

He rasped, attempting to choke out a sentence. "B-babe...mmfh—fuck, can I put my fingers in your hair? Please?"

You took your spit slicked hand and began twisting, pulling your mouth from his cock, and stroking up to the tip.

"Go ahead Baby, but, I want you to do something for me...You gotta listen okay?"

Mike moaned, eyes falling to yours one last time before fluttering shut. Your mouth went down to lick at his balls, gingerly sucking the skin into your mouth.

A lewd slick sound erupted from your mouth and hand and for a moment there you were lost in that music. As much as you would love to give it all to him, you couldn’t spoil him just yet. 

You pulled away, squeezing your hand in a pulse on his dick, your other pinched the skin of his sack, causing Mike to shoot his eyes wide open.

"Ah!—Wha-what is it?"

"Look me in my eyes...I need you to keep your attention on the movie while I suck you off, okay?. Don't take your eyes off that screen." 

Mike shuddered as he met your heavy eye contact, the shaky movement going down his thighs and pricking the hairs there. 

You carried on with your movement, taking one hand to lay on his lower stomach and pressing down.

"If I see you not looking at the screen, I'm going to edge you until you're on the very verge of cumming. I'll bring you there, Puppy, until you're sweating and begging me. I'll keep going and going and I will stop." 

Mike furrowed his dark brows down at you, fingers trembling in your curls. He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. 

He looked so pretty, face in a flush and his curls hanging low over his eyes. His kiss-bitten lips were tinged the darkest shade of red, close to the color of the tip of his cock.

"Do you understand?"

He huffed out a laugh, his voice cracking and bouncing off of the fogging windows.

"Yes Babe, yes."

He pushed back your hair from your face, and you settled into a more comfortable position between his thighs. Your tongue wet your lips, taking one last glance at his cock.

Your eyes bored into Mikey’s dazed pools, making sure to keep his word. He whimpered and lifted his head up to the bright screen of the theater, fingers curling into your locks.

You pumped him a few times, mentally capturing the image in front of you before sliding him well past your lips and sucking—no slurping at his weeping cock. You quickly got to work using your hand and your tongue bobbing and pulling needy moans straight from his throat.

After that night, Mike never forgot just how much you like him. Following that night at the drive-in, Christmas was that much closer to being his favorite holiday.

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Taglist: @mansaaay @emyearns @inlovewithhisblueeyes

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[orangegreet]

Photo by Landis Brown on Unsplash

As she watched the black liquid pool around the wound, her mind whirred with racing thoughts.

George screamed in her arms and Lillian yelled behind them both, “Father!”

Alina turned and Lord Kirigan was there with windswept hair and wild eyes, falling to his knees next to them both. At the sight of the punctures marks, he paled.

“What bit him?” He said with a hoarse, hollow tone.

Alina shook her head and he shouted the question again, “What bit him!?”

“A-a snake? I think.”

Alina’s mind was flipping through thoughts in the way she would frantically search through a book for answers.

“I do not know for sure, it was so fast and I didn’t get a good look—”

“Where did it go?” Lillian asked, looking around and drawing closer to Alina for protection. George was whimpering in her arms and she felt his skin turning cold to the touch.

“It must have slithered away…” Alina was lost in her thoughts as her own verses pushed to the front of her mind.

Verses for healing, verses for growth, verses for the illumination of darkened things—all from the journals of her babulya and all swirling in her mind like a hurricane.

They offered themselves up like volunteers and she shook them away, trying to think.

The Lord was running his hands through his hair looking younger and more anguished than he might ever have looked before as he murmured under his breath, “Not again-not again-not again—”

“Help me carry him.” Alina said, trying to get to her feet.

He did not move. Rocking in place and staring at his own hands. Lillian watched George writhe on the ground in abject horror.

“Kirigan, help me!” She cried.

Blackness was seeping dark and viscous from the bite.

Alina stared at it.

Undeniably terrified.

Inexplicably fascinated.

George was screaming again as if a new wave of pain were rolling through him.

His skin was turning cold and with a sudden clarity—as if she had known what to do all along—Alina leaned forward and closed her mouth over the bite.

She sucked the black liquid from the wound, pausing when her mouth was full to spit it out on the ground.

It was acrid and bitter.

It chilled her mouth and made her teeth chatter.

She tried not to think of it, nausea sweeping through her belly when she did, and focused on extracting all of it. Her mouth closed over the wound again and she pulled out more and spit it on the ground.

She continued, pulling it in and spitting it back out over and over again, not stopping until, finally, blessedly, the wound was filling with blood. Bright red and almost friendly in contrast to the black.

George’s skin was still cold to the touch with a damp sweat collecting across him but Alina believed it was a lesser sort of cold. The kind that develops from shock as opposed to the unnatural cold that had emanated from the black poison.

“My Lord.” She said, wrapping George’s trembling arm in her white apron, “We must get him to the house now.” She tucked the arm into his little coat and squeezed him to her.

Lord Kirigan did not move, his eyes fixed on his son’s arm, blank and unseeing.

“What did you…” he murmured.

“Kirigan—” Alina said, firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He reared back, his startled eyes snapping to hers and looking completely fearful again.

Alina could have snarled at him. They did not have time for this.

“I cannot carry him on my own.” She urged, lifting George’s torso toward his father.

As if his brain had just translated her words, Lord Kirigan swept forward in a flurry of motion and swung his son into his arms. He walked with quick steps through the trails back to toward the house.

The last surprising thing to happen in the woods that day was the gentle slide of Lillian’s hand, pressing into Alina’s.

*************

As they drew nearer the house, Alina directed him toward the kitchen entrance, running ahead with Lillian to begin clearing the prep table.

Only Tamar was in the kitchen, scrubbing pots ahead of dinner. She looked up in alarm when they descended upon her.

“George has been hurt,” Alina told her, gathering the cleaned pots from the table and hanging them as quickly as she could.

Lord Kirigan entered then and lay the boy on the table.

“George!” Tamar exclaimed, moving toward him. Alina held up a hand, “We need hot water. Can you put some on to boil?” Tamar filled the kettle to the brim and set it on the heat, moving to fill a larger pot in case more would be required.

Genya entered the kitchen in a rush, “I saw you coming through the parlor window. What happened to him?” She grasped a hand around the boy’s ankle.

“He was bitten by something, we need to staunch the bleeding and to clean the wound,” Alina was getting frustrated at the interruptions and the fact that no one was moving fast enough, “Please Genya, we need vinegar, clean towels and possibly a sewing kit.”

Genya nodded and went to the pantry.

“Lillian. Go upstairs at once. We will take care of this,” Lord Kirigan said in his harsh tone.

Lillian looked hurt only for a fraction of a second before her temper arrived, reddening her cheeks.

Alina glared at the imperious Lord, wanting to cut down everyone who was only making things more difficult in this moment.

“No.” Alina said, cutting off Lillian’s retort at the root, “Lillian, I need your help, just a moment.”

Alina leaned over George, looking into his pale face.

She stroked his cheek and waited until he looked in her eyes, “You will be fine, Georgie. Mark my words, this time next week you will be using your new skipping rope in the yard.”

His lip quivered but he bit it to keep from crying. George nodded.

“Lillian, come with me,” Alina grabbed the girl by the hand and dragged her toward the door.

“Put pressure on the wound if you can and do not unwrap it from the apron until the water is boiling.” Alina ordered the others.

Lord Kirigan stared dumbfounded as she exited, his dark-haired daughter in tow.

*************

In the garden, Alina spoke quickly, her desire to instruct at odds with the urgency of the situation.

“This is Lamb’s Ear.” She said, rubbing her thumb over the downy white hairs on the leaf, “Feel how soft it is? We will use some of it to cover the wound and we will need more to crush up for a paste. I need you to pick several. Pick them from the base so the leaf remains in tact. Understand?” Lillian responded with a serious nod and knelt down at once to begin.

With Lillian at work, Alina moved through the garden, picking quickly and running through her mental list.

She could see the words in her mind’s eye as if she could read it from the journals sitting up in her room at that moment.

Yarrow, garlic, sage and rosemary. Thrown into the bowl and mashed to bits. Lamb’s Ear for thickening to a poultice. Boiling water to bind.

They returned to the kitchen to the sound of the kettle squealing and several additional people gathered around the perimeter of the room.

Alina glanced at them and went forward with her preparations. She threw the herbs into the largest mortar, mashing them with force.

Alina looked around the room for Lillian who came to her side at once with the Lamb’s Ear leaves, “Tear it into small bits. Yes, that’s perfect,” Alina pressed them with the pestle.

She set it down and added the hot water slowly, still speaking to Lillian. “You want it to be thick enough that it will not slide off the wound but you also need for it to be quite hot.” She told the girl, adding a little more boiling water.

When she was done she ran her hands under water to remove the dirt and looked to Genya.

“It is time.” Alina turned back to George and set the poultice by his legs. “Genya, you have the vinegar?”

Genya held up the jug. “Hand it hear for a moment,” Alina reached for it. The bitter coldness still coated her mouth and she swished with the vinegar and spit in the sink. It alleviated the taste a little.

She handed the jug back to Genya, “Pour a little onto a towel and reserve the rest. I’m going to unwrap his arm and you need to begin cleaning it at once.”

Lord Kirigan stood across the table from her and their eyes met.

They were so dark, full of fear and confusion and even anger.

She did not have time to dissect his emotions.

“My Lord, you need to comfort your son.”

Lord Kirigan stared down at the boy, his hands seemingly stuck to the table. He looked back at her, panic exposed on his face.

“Stroke his head, man.” She hissed, glaring as she reached across to grasp his hand.

It was cold but she felt that same jolt of energy passing over their skin as she had every time they touched. Swallowing, she set his hand in George’s hair where the Lord’s instincts finally took over and he began to stroke the thick locks back in long soothing sweeps.

“Tamar hold his arm steady. Lillian roll out the lambs ear.” Alina said, pointing to the rolling pin she had taken out.

Lillian laid out a few leaves and picked up the pin, setting herself to work. She looked completely composed and incredibly mature in that instance.

With the apron pulled back, George flinched as Genya began cleansing it, splashing the vinegar over the exposed punctures while Alina threaded a needle in case. George yelled.

Alina bent over the wound, noting one smallish hole and a larger one which tore into the skin. She glanced at Genya and then Tamar, communicating wordlessly and they both tightened their hold on George.

“It won’t take much George, you will be all right in no time.”

Alina dug the needle into his skin and pulled the black thread through.

George cried profusely, unused to so much pain.

Nimble fingers threaded quickly and after no more than three cross-stitches, he was done.

“A little more vinegar, Genya.” Genya cleaned the area again.

Alina wasted no time, slathering the hot-greenish poultice over the wound without warning and he cried out again. Tamar winced but held his arm still.

“Lillian give me a wrap.” The girl handed her a rolled leaf.

It was moist and slightly sticky. The little leaf’s cells burst like capillaries from the rolling pin so the whole of it was wet with green juice.

Alina wrapped the first one over the wound. Then the second. She let Lillian help placing the third and then took a clean dry sack cloth and wrapped it all tightly in place.

George was calming down and Alina smoothed a hand over the bandage and stepped back.

Lord Kirigan was silent and wide-eyed. Staring at the bandage on his son’s arm and continuing his absent strokes through the boy’s hair.

George sat up tentatively and looked at his father, reaching out his good arm toward him.

The father grabbed his son’s head and pulled him into his chest, relief and disbelief and horror all fighting for dominance over his features.

Lillian slipped her hand into Alina’s again.

“Let’s take him upstairs. He needs rest,” she said.

They filed past the other servants without a word, following Lord Kirigan who held George tight to his chest.

*************

In the nursery, Lord Kirigan put his son in his bed and stepped away, almost unsure how to behave.

Alina tucked him in, bringing him a couple of his favorite books and Genya brought in tea to calm him down.

Alina sat beside George, first helping him to finish his tea and then to sing to him.

Her little songs of healing, the simple tune of prayer.

Alina thought of the little songs as invitations and whether superstition or magic or some other unknown power, she did what she had done for every patient whom had come under her care over the years.

She thought of her babulya and she would brush a gentle finger to the forehead, the heart, the gut and the palms of her hands and in that way she would invite the Light of Alatyr, the source of all healing in the world. She respected it’s power and invited it in to make a broken thing well again.

George drifted off to sleep as Alina read to him, Genya beside her, holding Lillian in her lap.

Lord Kirigan had long since slipped away.

*************

It was quite dark outside when Alina woke up to Genya lightly shaking her shoulder. Alina had fallen asleep in the armchair in the nursery, her eyes shifted toward the two sleeping children at once.

“They are all right,” Genya said, frowning. “Lord Kirigan has requested your presence. He is in his study.”

The troubled look on Genya’s face only exacerbated the the anxiety welling in her stomach.

*************

Alina walked alone through the corridor, candle in hand, and straightened her posture before she knocked.

“Enter.”

He stood by the window, looking out over the grounds.

Alina did not know whether to take a seat or stay standing and prepare for a battle.

Her eyes landed on a bottle of laudanum sitting upright and uncapped on his desk.

She remained standing.

“You asked to see me, my lord?” Alina prompted.

He would not look at her. She craned her head to see out the window but all she could see was the blackness of the night and his face reflected in the glass.

“How did you know?” He asked, quietly.

“You knew what to do…” He trailed away.

With a hesitant step closer, Alina leaned her head to the side, trying to catch his eye. “How did I know what to do?”

He did not respond.

Her unease was rising and she began to speak and hope that she was answering what he needed to know and that she could then leave as quickly as possible lest the rising tension in the air came to head.

“I told you sir, I have experience. In London, I worked as a maid in a doctor’s household. He was a friend of my late grandmother and took me in as a girl.”

The mounting pressure in the room seemed oppressive as she spoke, as if the whole place were growing darker with it. She kept talking, feigning a natural ease.

“He allowed me to assist him when he treated patients. He was a doctor mainly but he always took an interest in herbal medicines so when I explained to him some of my—“

“I’m not referring to your little plants, Miss Starkova.”

The bite of his tone was palpable.

Alina clenched her teeth against it.

“I am speaking about your actions in the woods. About how you knew to suck the-the whatever it was out of the wound as you did?”

The Lord was furious. The energy of it radiated off of him in waves and Alina took a step back toward the door.

“I-I don’t know, sir.” She was mouse-like now.

Nervous to attempt an answer to something she, herself could not explain.

“You do not know? You had all the airs of confidence when you latched your little mouth around it. That wound which you should have found utterly grotesque—” he spat. “And yet you drank it over and over again. And then everything was well again.”

His maddened eyes latched to her, searching her for lies.

Alina was shaking her head, tears springing into her eyes and she was frustrated at the outward evidence of her anxiety.

“I was not—I do not know why I…”

Babulya would say the great stone Alatyr compelled her. Instinct imparted from the Navel of the World. Blessing her, filling her with Light. Guiding her to heal.

Could that be true?

Alina looked at her hands. Quite forgetting where she was and the foreboding presence of Lord Kirigan before her.

“Look at me!” He shouted, his eyes dark and blazing with fury.

Alina gaped.

“Did you do this?” He accused.

“I-I beg your pardon, my Lord?”

“Did you cause it? Was it you who caused the injury to my son? You said it was a snake but I saw no such creature.”

Alina had not really either. Not what she would call a snake anyway.

But to suggest she might have had something to do with it—

Lord Kirigan was stalking toward her now.

Perhaps it was the influence of laudanum or the stress of the events of the day but he was bordering on unhinged and Alina stopped retreating lest it look like an admission of guilt.

Lest he think he needed to stamp his paw on her little tail and watch her squirm.

Her eyes flashed in warning at him, “Of course I did not cause the injury. That is a ridiculous suggestion.”

He was standing quite close to her now and Alina met his gaze, unflinching.

“You arrive on the heels of a storm, new to my home from somewhere only God Himself can know of, and you are planting herbs and concocting potions and when some form of darkness is compelled to strike my son—you are at the scene, ready to play hero?”

Alina shook her head.

“It reeks of witchcraft, does it not, Miss Starkova?” He shouted.

His wild eyes were roaming her face vigorously and Alina could not help the hand she lifted to touch his cheek.

The urge to calm his storm.

Could not help but notice the rage in his eyes falter instantly, giving way to something much more sorrowful, something tortured. Her insides sang with words and she watched him grow hushed with each passing second.

It was absurd that she should look at him and feel such familiarity.

Absurd that she should look at his anger and know to quell it.

That she should feel such ownership over his being.

And yet—

The way his hands slid over her waist at that moment told her he felt it too.

Her thumb stroked the ridge of his cheek bone and he pressed closer to her, a lingering woe clinging stubbornly to his dark irises.

“How did you know?” He asked, his voice breaking over his words. “You knew exactly what to do and…perhaps if only I had known then…”

Alina was shaking her head slowly and her other hand covered his heart and she was not surprised to find it was racing.

She knew hers must match his pace as surely as she knew that the moon followed the sun into the sky at night.

The room had grown so dark around them but Alina looked only on the red tinge of his lips, the wet shine of his eyes, transfixed on her mouth.

“Please…” He said.

She did not know what he was asking and her eyes shifted back to his to see a question in them.

It was, however, curious that he should even need to ask.

Curious that they had not already melded together into one being as she felt they might, if given the chance.

Alina shifted forward, nudging his face closer to hers.

The room swelled with his breath and a surging darkness cocooned around them and then—

a heavy banging on the door.

Alina startled and her lord stumbled away from her, falling briefly to the edge of his desk.

Her mind resurfaced from it’s bleary haze.

She blinked through the darkness.

“Has the lantern gone out?” She asked.

Her question was lost to the urgent nighttime caller banging on the door, “Kirigan! Open up, I have the product of today’s test!”

Alina had turned to the noise but now searched for her lord, hoping to meet his eyes one more time.

Hoping to solidify the very abstract moments they had just shared into something substantial. Something to savor.

Lord Kirigan was sweeping past his desk to turn the lantern flame higher and calling out, “Come in, Kostyk.”

The gruffness of his voice made her ache with a rampant want and she pressed her palm to her forehead to quell the inner tumult.

Mr. Kostyk entered, barely taking in her presence as he held a little piece of paper aloft. “There. Take a look for yourself. This will be but one of many, Kirigan. We are making headway—some tweaking will be needed of course but this!—”

He held the picture out for inspection but Kirigan was busy with the lamp still and David frowned, turning to Alina and handing it to her.

Alina was a little dumbfounded at the gesture although, given Mr. Kostyk did not so much as allude to the events of this afternoon regarding George, she had an inkling that some things slipped past his notice quite easily sometimes.

“Er—thank you, Mr. Kostyk,” Alina looked down at the little image, holding it in the lantern light.

She squinted for a full moment before she realized it was the picture of the garden party from earlier that day.

Gasping in unexpected delight, Alina shared her excitement with Mr. Kostyk. “Incredible!”

He beamed, looking for all the world as if he were a stranger in a foreign land and someone had just spoken to him in his native tongue.

He surged toward her, pointing at various markers for inspection, “Here you can see this is where I let the edge of the paper out too long and it became over exposed, but it is just a little in the corner.

“And look here, how sharp Genya appears! I would like to see a painter capture her essence in triple the amount of time it took to get the photo. They could not.” He whispered to himself, his finger brushing over her little person.

Alina looked next to Genya where she knew she had stood that day, “Is that another over exposure, Mr. Kostyk?”

He leaned closer and saw the bright spot in the image which obscured her image from view, “Ah, yes. A sun spot, perhaps?” He queried.

Alina inspected the rest of the subjects, pausing at the other end of the line of people where Lord Kirigan had stood. “And here, what is this mark?”

It looked as though his person was smudged in the photo and Mr. Kostyk sighed, glancing up at Lord Kirigan who had come around the desk at last and peered over their shoulders.

“You were moving too much, Kirigan. That is the only solution I can guess for the dark spots because the overcast conditions should have been perfect otherwise for capturing all the details.”

Lord Kirigan had snatched the photo from their hands and stepped away again, consternation and alarm overwhelming his features as he inspected it.

“Next time I shall do single portraits, Kirigan,” Mr. Kostyk posited to his business partner who was not listening. “Then we will know whether it is the device, the development process or the subject causing any defects—”

“You are dismissed, Miss Starkova.”

Lord Kirigan was turned to the bookshelves beside his desk, thumbing through a volume. The little portrait was barely visible, safely tucked into his chest pocket.

Mr. Kostyk was now looking at the book Lord Kirigan had pulled for review and neither man paid her another glance as she stared.

Her chest was tight and stiff. She fumbled the match trying to relight her candle. The wave of sadness which overcame her permeated the air. She found she was dimmer, weak.

“Goodnight, then.” She said.

Lord Kirigan showed no sign of having heard her save a small clench of his grip on the book, white knuckles on display.

As she completed the lonely walk back to the nursery, she was thankful to have her candle, at least.

For on this night she heard the ghostly echos of a distant shrieking.

Perhaps no more than a strange shift of wind through the trees, carrying the sounds of a wild creature to her ears.

It did, however, set her teeth on edge and caused her to quicken her steps.

When she was inside the nursery, she threw the lock and nestled herself back in the armchair.

Sitting there with her blanket pulled tight over her shoulders, Alina did not allow herself to dwell on Kirigan, or his dark eyes or his infuriating pendulum of care and distain for her.

She thought, briefly, of the strange circumstance that had not occurred to her earlier. The strange truth that somehow, Lord Kirigan had come to be in the woods after the attack.

How had he known? Had he been there already?

Her head was pounding with lack of sleep and too many emotions. She resolved again to put him from her thoughts.

Instead her mind held the shrieking sound in it’s grasp, cycling the horrible noise over again like it was playing from a phonograph and she did not sleep for the way she whispered and sang to herself, unable to stop until the sun crested the trees over the woods outside.

[sleepdeprivedheretic]

Heart of the Wild (Final)

Notes: Final Chapter! I??? Just wanted to post smut, originally, and so here it is. It’s been a doozy of writing this, but I hope you all enjoy :3

Warnings: Ruts, consensual smut, but like, kinky consensual smut, and possessive behavior

 He couldn’t help himself, really. It was inevitable. Life was basically throwing a cute little rabbit at him, but he could wait until she reciprocated his feelings. For now, he was content in the never ending loop of waking up next to a pillow wall, seeing the smaller hybrid’s arms wrapped around one of them, her face muffled into the downy fluff of white. He was content with washing dishes in the cool stream, talking nonsense as he flicked some droplets at her. Happy of small things, such as she laid peacefully next to him, unafraid and just relaxed as wishful thinking and stories passed her lips.

Yeah, it was really inevitable, for he swore that his heart quickened at her witty remarks, the soft, worried gazes that she gave him, and of course, the sheer feeling of stability and trust was beginning to eat at his heart.

He wasn’t dumb, he could tell the way her heartbeat quickened, tail wiggling excitedly, and the bloom of warmth spread across her face as she stared at him, giving quick little peeks when she thought that he wasn’t looking. He couldn’t help but inquire her some days, stretching lazily as his back muscles were taunt, pants slipping more loosely around his hips as his tail swished with mirth and at the pleasantness of eyes searing into him. Once a while, he’d give a subtle wink, lips curling in a smug grin as she stammered and flushed brilliantly.

 He was hopeless.

…………..

 He had to leave for a couple of days, carrying some blankets, wool, and other goods that Izuku had lent him. It was three months in, and already, you’ve gotten acquainted with Eijirou, Izuku, the shy Tamaki, and Mirio, the ever smiling husky mix who was adamant in following Tamaki around, claiming that they’ve known each other since they were small.

 The boys and you had decided to build a chicken coop, while Taishiro decided to trek the long journey to the village, opting to trade some supplies for some hens and roosters. He promised Izuku and Eijirou that he’d pay off the supplies they’d given him, with chicks and eggs, in the future, as he left the coop building plan to Mirio, the husky being had been around villagers and carpentry, more.

 The coop wasn’t long to build, especially when tools from the village were used. You liked the boy’s company, despite the short amount of time was between the five of you. Izuku and Eijirou were sweetly chattering among themselves, giggling cutely as one surprised the other with a peck on the lips, and of course, Mirio’s tail excitedly wagging as Tamaki listened in on his ramblings, his ears flickering with interest as a small, genuine smile graced his lips.

You ignored your own thoughts, as you hammered a pole into the soft, earthy soil, opting to chatter along when the opportunity rose. It took a day for the pen and coop to be built, and you knew that he would arrive home sometime tomorrow. Home. Right now, it was dusk, you were laying in the shared bed, feeling a sense of loneliness without the usual comforting aurora or scent of Tai. It was scarily amazing on how fast that you’ve missed him, already, and him being gone, made you feel a tug of needing him to be there.  

 As you were about to drift off to sleep, a soft clucking jolted you awake from the other side of the door. Realizing that it was Tai coming home early with the fowls, relief pooled within your stomach as you imagined his scent, yet, oddly enough, the one wafting towards you, was slightly different. It was his scent, yes, but-

The door flew open, cutting you off from your thoughts as a brown package was thrown your way. Opening your mouth to speak, you stilled. His ears were pinned back, pupils widened, fluffed tail swishing wildly, as the obvious smell of pure ‘rut’ filtered through the room. Staring at you with hunger, he let out a frustrated growl, as he slammed the door, running off to who knows where.

His pheromones preened yours, and you knew that you couldn’t let him suffer like this, nor ignore your feelings, anymore. Ruts could be more feral than a heat, since they happen once a year, heats being two. It didn’t help matters that he was probably pent up from smelling yours, and detaining himself several strong instinctive urges.

You ran after him, blinded into the night, following the more sharp scent of the earthy tone that was overlaying the pure desperation of the sweeter one. He was hurting, you knew, and his body might be biting back at him with full vengeance from the neglect of finding a bond mate. The moonlight, had shone brighter than the sun, letting more light filter through the snowy, yet grassy woodland as you followed his scent, carefully avoiding fallen branches and twigs as you made your way towards him.  

“Please s-stay back, Sugar.” You stopped meters away from him, him leaning against a tree, roughly palming the large bulge within his pants as he left soft short growling huffs. Your inner omega couldn’t help but whine, begging you to submit, and for once, you wanted to be on the same page. He was more coherent, for his rut had freshly hit him, yet, he was on a thin line, waiting for one of you two to breach it or run.

“Do you love me?” You couldn’t help but ask, and he stilled, eyes darting to focus on yours. Despite the wild crawl within, amber pools had softened, as he let out something akin to a mewl, gripping the tree harshly.

“F-fuck, yeah. I do love you, seems forever, now, and I don’t wanna- hurt ya.” He broke out the sentence in pauses. You let your own soothing pheromones wash over his, calming the wild look in his eyes from a distance as you bit your bottom lip. His breathing slowed, staring at you with a curious manner, as if silently asking you why you weren’t walking slowly away.

“I love you, too. After first meeting you, it seems as if I always had.” You admitted, feeling the weight fall off of your chest, as heat enveloped your cheeks and chest. As if a switch, the sweet scent of his seemed to overlap the earthy tone as he shyly covered his face with the back of his hand.

“Ya…ya have a penchant for timing, don’tcha?” He murmured. “Couldn’t jus’ told me earlier, when I’m more calm.” He huffed as he stared, watching you intently through blonde lashes.

“You’re in pain.” Was all you simply said, and he groaned, knowing that you were right.  

“Ya want this?” There was no sense in beating around the bush, you knew. He breathed in your scent with greed, panting as his pupils were now slanted within the moonlight, giving him a more feral, hungry glow.

“Yes.” You didn’t hesitate.

“Run.” He then whispered, and you didn’t have to say anything, knowing the ancient customs of a chase. It didn’t take long for you to bolt, him heavy at your heels. This is a chase that the two of you had wanted, the one that you’ve always dreamed of when dealing with all of your previous heats alone. You knew that he was stalling time on purpose, taking time to mark the trees with the scent glands within his wrists, warning everything and everybody that he was in a serious rut, and not to be trifled with during this time.

 You knew where you wanted to go. Leaping over bushes, running your own glands against anything and everything, and dodging and weaving between trees, you’ve made your way past the slow-moving moonlit stream, across the beaten path, and straight towards the door of his hut, shoving it open as you all but fell onto the bed. Not a second too late, the door had slammed shut, and he was on top of you, pinning your chest flush against the downy pillows and soft furs.

His chest was laying heavy and warm against your still clothed back, him breathing hotly into your twitching ear as you felt his length through his pants, lay fat up against your bare thighs that the tunic wasn’t long enough to cover.  

“Ya’re really wantin’ this?” His voice drew into a rumbled growl, and you nodded. His rut was singing for to you to submit, as you felt yourself secrete more slick onto your tunic, feeling the ache of emptiness clench desperately at nothing. You’ve never felt this way outside of your own heats, before, and you were almost ashamed to acknowledge that you were desperate. Accepting your consent, he all but ripped off your tunic, you squeaking in surprise as the cool air hit your sensitive breasts, the furs rubbing against your most sensitive areas.  

“Nice view there, Darlin’.” He rumbled, admiring your flushed back, ears downward, and chest flat against the bed that the two of you had shared. Wasting no time, he buried his face into the back of the crook of your neck, inhaling the area where your scent was the strongest. You let out a surprise squeak as he wrapped his arms around you, thumbing your areolas and buds, as he lightly nibbled at your scent gland, rumbling out a mantra of pleased purrs and growls.

“Been wantin’ this fer a while. Look at ya, bet ya’re soaked down there.” He let out a teasing breath at your ear, nibbling the appendage, giving it a light suck, and chuckled at your mewled squeak. Your breath had caught in your throat, feeling chilled as he broke away for a small second, his trousers being thrown into the pile of dirty blankets, and he resumed his position. Inches above your form, he didn’t crush you whilst he gave you bouts of affection, smoothing down your ears, chuckling as he cupped your wiggling tail, drinking in your pleased sounds as he left butterfly kisses along your back, opting to bite and suck certain parts of your skin.

“T-Tai-! Please!” You couldn’t help but hiccup at the sudden burst of attention and affection, feeling your limbs and heart seem to melt. He chuckled, rubbing your sensitive tail and brushing a stray hair away from your face. Leaning in to your face, he kissed your cheek gingerly, the guttural rumbling of his purring enveloped your entire being as he sighed with content.

“What is it that ya want, Sugar?” He kissed your cheek.

“Sweet-pea?” A peck on the side of your forehead.

“Darlin’?” A soft hum against the column of the back of your throat. You knew that you weren’t in heat, but the newly found attention, made your heart flutter wildly and skin feeling hot, as he clasped your fingers between his.

“I want to see you.” You admitted, and he purred, excitedly.

“Alright, Honey. Be warned, my…uh, thing, might be a lil’ different than other breeds.” He sat up, letting you sit up with him. Shyly biting your bottom lip, you realized that his fingers were still intertwined with yours.

“I wouldn’t know. I-” You blurted out honestly, blushing furiously at your forwardness, but he only hummed, bringing a hand to lift your chin up to meet his endearing gaze.

“Ya’re the dumbass who wanted to be chased by an almost feral adult in his rut.” He chuckled at your pout, but then leaned in.

“I love ya, anyways.” He broke the distance, surprising you with a wet, slow kiss as he guided you to lay down on your back. You hummed, squeezing your eyes shut as he spread your thighs apart, trusting him as he deepened the physical contact. You let out another squeak of surprise as he wrangled with your tongue, sucking slightly on it, eating up your noises as he let out victorious purrs that rumbled into your throat. Smoothing a rough hand down your leg, he palmed your stomach, thumbing your belly button, as if teasing you on what was yet to come, as your own curious fingers explored him. Rough muscles, soft fat, downy hair, and twitching, fuzzy ears met your exploring hands as you mentally savored each touch.

Breaking away from the kiss, the two of you were flushed, sweaty, and panting for air as you opened your eyes, staring at one another while drinking the other in.

“I love you, too.” You said honestly, not breaking eye contact. He purred, kissing you again, then he winced.

“Ugh, rut’s gettin’ a lil’ too hard to handle, right now, Chickadee. Ya sure? My…baser instinct might not treat ya as sweetly as I want too.”

   “It’s alright, I trust you.” You admitted truthfully. He sighed, brushing your hair out of your face, cupping your jaw gently.

“I’m gonna fuck ya roughly, breed ya, and say things that I might not even be wary of. To be honest, ya might even become pregnant after the whole spiel. There’s no way in hell that I’m gonna pressure ya if ya don’t want this. Tell me no, and I’ll leave, but’ll be back when the rut’s over.” He admitted, cheeks flushed and eyes hungry at the whole prospect, yet, he awaited your decision. If you were being honest, the prospect didn’t sound bad at all.

Cupping his hand, you kissed lightly on the inside of his wrist, causing a surprise purr.

“Are you going to claim me?”

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate, and you nodded.

“Then it’s alright.”

“Positive?”

“Absolutely.” You confirmed, and then he pounced.

You let out a surprised mewl mixed in with a squeak as he sucked harshly at the scent gland in your neck, a definite promise for what was about to happen, before he nipped at your bottom lip, licking a stripe against it, before kissing you deeply, again. Hot, it was a little more hot than the earlier one. Yes, your mouth had burned slightly from the rush heat, but right now, melting would be an understatement.

He broke away, pulling you up to take a good look at him. It was lengthy, thick, and heavily dripping clear fluid in which you were curious about, as well as covered in odd hooks. You gave him a heated, yet questioning look, and he gripped your hand.

“They’re soft, they won’t hurt. Feel’em.” He gestured towards the fleshy barbs, and you did as he asked.

  He let out a groan, head thrown back as your inquisitive fingers rubbed at the small barbs of soft flesh, to the angry, red crown of his dick. Your eyes widened with surprise at the vulnerability of his state, him licking his bottom lip, hissing as he bucked within your touch. One of his hands gripped your hand which was holding him.

“Up and down, Sugar. Don’t forget to rub the hea-oooh, that’s right, feel free to grab a lil’ roughly.” He groaned in a rough, yet desperate tone of voice as he guided you. It felt hot and heavy within your hand, yet soft to the touch, the little barbs not hurting as he had promised, the clear liquid of his opening, smeared onto your hand as you absentmindedly licked your lip. He let out a needy little growl, placing both hands on the sheets, clenching them rather roughly.

“Ya don’t hafta do anythin’ that ya don’t wanna do, but I’m tellin’ ya, my patience with this rut is wearin’ thin, Darlin’. I wouldn’t do it, if I were ya.” He tried to say calmly, yet his voice shook slightly at the prospect. His amber irises stared at you, pupils blown wide and almost nearing feral, and you understood that he wasn’t in the best situation of control, right now.  

 Hesitantly, you let go of your grip, and he sighed, yet his focus was pinned onto your curious look as you looked your wet fingers. He let out a groan mixed into a whimper when you popped one into your mouth, tasting what was oozing out of him, and he snapped.

 You gave out a startled yelp, as he swiftly apprehended you, positioning you in the classic presentation of an omega; your face was buried into the pillows, as you sat on your knees, back curved for easy access in mounting. You whimpered, the chill air hitting your bare thighs and center as he chuckled, widened your legs and propping your mid-drift up.

“Ya’re wet.” He let out a darker purr, thumbing your folds apart as you bit the pillow. You awaited anxiously, curious on what was about to happen next. It didn’t take him long to deliver, you squeaking in utter surprise as a hot, wet tongue began licking at your center and clit.

“T-Taishiro!” You let out a squeak, gripping the pillows more harshly as he hummed, eagerly licking up your sopping fluids in a hurried frenzy. You had to bite the back of your hand in surprise, as his tongue prodded at the tight muscle of your clenching opening, his palm sliding up your thigh, as his other hand gripped your wiggling tail. You couldn’t help but let out a mantra of whimpers and squeaks, him chuckling now and then, breaking away to kiss the back of your thigh.

“’M gonna open ya up, Sweetheart. Get ya ready.” He purred into your center, and you nodded. He had an extreme amount of patience, you couldn’t help but think through fogged thoughts. Three fingers had breached into your opening, and you couldn’t help but feel relief of something finally entering you.

“Takin’ em so eagerly, huh? So slutty.” He chuckled darkly at your clench of surprise of his sudden change of behavior.

“I’m not a-Mm!” You couldn’t finish the sentence as he crooked them, pumping them slowly within you as he stretched you.

“I know, but remember what I said, earlier?” He taunted, and you nodded. Pleased with your nod, he slipped his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth to suck on them. You watched as you looked behind you, him moaning with the flavor of you as his irises looked dark and intimidating.

“Now, you’re mine.” His eyes flashed, as he pressed a palm against your back, your face was back into the pillows as he wasted no time. Your tail wiggled eagerly as the head prodded your loose and wet entrance, catching the rim of your muscle and you whined. Taking your own initiative, you thumbed your clit, rubbing the juices against it, made you feel more relaxed as he struggled to sheath himself inside.

“S-so fuckin’ tight! Guess I gotta stuff ya, by the looks of it.” He growled dangerously, and you let out a desperate whine, feeling him stretch you. Although the stretch was a little painful, it was more of a delicious friction, especially with the soft barbs stirring your walls, and the curved fat crown of his head spearing you.

Finally, he stilled, huffing as you keened.

“Are ya alright, Darlin’?” He asked softly, palming your back smoothly as he maneuvered himself to cover your back with his chest, once again, keeping himself from crushing you as he leaned down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“I’m alright, Tai. Feels good.” You added, and he hummed, bucking his hips a little, enjoying your whimpered moan.

“Good, ‘m glad. Ya know what these barbs are for?” He then asked, purring against your cheek, ears flickering as you shook your head.

“To keep seed within the womb. Would ya like that?” He let out a darker purr, his hips moving on their own accord, and you cried, biting the back of your hand as the curved head prodded at something deeper within you.

“Y-yes!” You answered as he bit the column of the back of the side of your neck, and your brain had stopped working, as apparently his did, too, for his hips snapped desperately, finally chasing his rut.

Your mind went blank as you couldn’t help but pant out whimpers, groans, and whines to his demanding growls, feeling him work himself into you as he bit your neck, gripping your side and breast harshly as the sound of his hips slapping against yours, and the squelching sounds, echoed with the crackling of the fire, making you clench desperately as you laid there and took it.

He loosened his jaw, breaking away his grip as he panted harshly into your ear. Bringing his hand underneath you, he cupped your stomach as he continued his near brutal pace.

“’M gonna fuck you full of cubs and kits, keep ya fat, carryin’ my offspring year round, if I could.” He let out a dangerous growl, and you clenched considerably at the idea.  

 Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes at the prospect, the harsh yet delicious ache in the climb to your edge, had you begging his name in a mantra, and he purred yours in return.

“’M boughta cum, Sweetheart.” Affection oozed into his hoarse voice as he grunted out, giving sharper thrusts, silently demanding for you to cum first.

It didn’t take long for you to comply, mind going blank, as the tight bowstring within you snapped into sharp pieces of relief. Your channel clenched viciously around him as you throbbed around him, causing him to curse and stutter as he fought against the tightened walls of your grip. Within your haze, you felt the sharp needles of his teeth clamp into your neck, feeling him clutch your sides harshly as he stilled, shooting his seed deep within you as he let out a victorious growl into your claiming bite.

Time seemed to still, as the exhaustion and euphoria washed over you, and him still slowly pumping his hips, releasing the excess cum into you as he smoothed over your bite with licks and kisses.

“Ya took me so well, Sweetheart. Darlin’. Love of my life.” He drew himself out gingerly, leaving you oddly empty, but you didn’t contemplate on it for long, for he turned you to face him, opting to douse you in affection with kisses and soft purrs.

“You treated me so well.” You hummed, kissing him in turn, letting your own affections breach him as you smoothed away sweaty locks, cupping his cheek. He leaned in your touch with contentment.

“Next round, we’ll take it slower. I wanna bite of my own, too.”

….………….. (just bonus stuff)

  It didn’t take you long to find out. When the news hit, he was ecstatic, eagerly chirping the news to the boys, immediately wasting no time in dragging the excited Eijirou, Izuku, Mirio, and a shy Tamaki to help build an extra room for a nursery.

Whenever he could, he found time to nestle his face into your growing stomach, dousing you with his affections, and prowl the forest; his natural instinct of fatherhood had came to play, as he warded off any potential intruders with heavy, threatening smells within his scent glands.

Izuku, being over the moon with excitement, visited you regularly with homemade gifts and excited talk about him being an uncle. Being a rabbit, it took only five moons for your unborn children to mature and be ready for birth. During that time, you’ve bonded more with Tai, nesting and decorating the nursery with him.

When that time had come, Izuku helped you deliver in the dark safety of your shared bed, your proud mate pacing eagerly outside, awaiting to hear the small squeaks and yips of the both of your brood.

It didn’t take you long to hold one cub and one kit gingerly in your arms as your proud, teary-eyed mate held the other kit as he laid next to your weary form. Kissing your forehead, he praised you for your hard work, and how much he loved you.

…………….

Alright, I’m done. The rest is up to your imaginations, haha. I’ve been working on the fic for three days in a row, just about, and I’m quite happy with it :3

[aphroditestummyrolls]

Hello. This is getting posted tomorrow. 😘

The noise of the market started to rise with chatter and chickens, and the tip of a nose poked at her neck as Nicolò stirred against the crook of her shoulder.

Her smile lingered on her cheeks, just for him as she pressed her cheek to the wisps of downy brown hair that tickled her.

“Piccolino mio…” she sang under her breath, hefting his weight up with a bounce of her arm. Her fingers played a soft tune over his back, and got a whiny, wriggling little boy for her efforts. “Nicolò, Pietro’s here.”

She roused his sleepy face from her shoulder, trying to coax Nicolò’s gaze over toward his unexpected friend. The old man was down to less perilous ground now, rolling along toward them. But, Nicolò was still too mussed and rosy from sleep. There was nothing she’d rather do than watch him wake up— slow and easy. She wanted to memorize every detail of him— his cheeks were flushed pink, round and soft, and she reached out with a thumb to rub the seam of her dress from his sweet face. His eyes were bleary, pale green that reflected the sea, and the sky, and the mountain. He blinked at her with his first waking moments, like he had so, so many times since he first opened them.

He had no idea how precious he was, how it felt to hold him close as his own whole body when he’d once been a part of hers. Now, she could look into those big eyes, and hear his sleepy grumbles. She couldn’t imagine a day where she grew jaded to the awe of that creation. When she looked at him, she felt every miracle of heaven in her very bones.

Babies were proof of God. Alàgia knew it, because she knew that beauty and purity better than any great cathedral could show her. She carried it. It was blasphemy, it wasn’t right— she wasn’t about to utter the thought, but she felt it, in the strong and steady pulse under her hand.

Her heart squeezed in her chest as her hand smoothed his soft hair. It was sticking up in a cowlicky tuft. She loved her baby, she loved him.

He was so big now, weighing on her arm and chest. He gripped at her with his little dumpling fists, and she prayed he’d never let her go. She never wanted to stop holding him.

“Alàgia!” Pietro called, setting up his cart farther off from the smell of the sea and the call of the birds. “Buongiorno, Alàgia!”

Nicolò rubbed at his beaky, rosy-tipped nose, but all signs of sleepiness lifted like a veil when he locked eyes on his friend across the way.

“Do you want to see the goats, Piccolino?”

[the-last-cuddlebender]

The Feeling of Fatherhood

Hakoda didn’t warn Aang about this part. He had never held a baby before. 

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A/N: Just some bestdad!Aang and bestmom!Katara content—the fluffy tender moments that parents share bonding with each other and their newborn.

Rating: G

Words: 2,386

ArchiveOfOurOwn 

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Aang stayed in the room until the healers asked him to leave. They needed the extra room to work. 

Aang didn’t give a damn. 

Katara needed to hold his hand until it turned purple. He wouldn’t leave her. 

He almost hated that Katara convinced him to go. She would be fine, she said. The look in her eyes and the wince of her jaw told him otherwise. 

She held his hand a bit tighter before she let go, and Aang almost argued. 

Once outside their room, he threw open the nearest window with a gust of airbending and called inside the blizzard that was throwing itself against his temple. He crafted a frozen chair, sloppy and lopsided in his haste, and sat in it before the healers crowding into the room could tell him to go even further away from his wife. 

The head healer rolled her eyes and almost asked him to move on principle, despite his seat being, quite literally, frozen to the ground. 

Aang sat so close to the door that he risked a concussion every time it opened. His leg wouldn’t stop bouncing, and the wind paced back and forth, pressing against the door like it might see what was happening inside. It swirled and hid in the ruffling of his robes when he heard Katara’s first cry. 

Aang’s chest caved in like it was made of glass, but something kept him anchored in place. It felt like hands on his shoulders, and it brushed his mind like Kyoshi. 

Her screams eventually died out, though the brand they seared into his mind was raw and bleeding. Aang dug his nails out of his legs and was in the room before the healers were out. 

Katara was sweaty and pale and struggling to keep her eyes open, but she was smiling a smile that Aang had never seen before. Moonlight wept through the window and colored her like an oil painting. The now slowly falling snow dappled shadows over her like beads of rain sliding down a window. 

He was at her side in the next second. She looked like she had danced through hell. 

She was the most beautiful mess Aang had ever seen.

Katara's eyes were glazed and struggled to focus before finding him, and Aang’s world had never been brighter. “Hey...Hey, there, handsome,” she said, her voice dry and cracked like old paint peeling from the side of a ship. 

Aang’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Good evening, gorgeous.” He wiped the pasty sweat from her brow and tucked the frayed bits of loose hair behind her ears. He kissed her forehead. He took a second to breathe her in and drown out the lingering scent of drying blood. He pressed his brow to hers, and he relished the small smile he drew from his wife. She leaned into his hand cupping her face, and when he stroked her cheek with his thumb, she exhaled like she hadn’t breathed since last she saw him. 

Aang’s voice got impossibly quieter. “How are you feeling?”

Katara’s words slurred the barest bit. “Better n’that you're here.”

Aang kissed her again. “I love you. I love you so, so much, Katara.”

He pressed his lips to Katara’s cheek and held there, trying to say what words couldn’t.

Katara giggled. “I love you, too. Now get over here and meet your son.”

“...Son?”

Katara turned just a bit to show the bundle in her arms. “Say hello to your father, Bumi. This is your dad.”

Aang froze.

Dad.

Aang was a dad, now.

He was a dad.

He had a son.

“H...Hey…” Aang’s smile grew ever larger the longer he looked at their little Bumi—Spirits, he was so small—, and it stretched ever wider even after it felt like it might tear his face in two. “H-Hey there, little guy…”

Aang crawled in bed beside Katara, careful of her like she was made of glass. He should have known better—Katara was made of steel at minimum—, but some part of him had him moving cautiously like he might scare away the moment and the peace it brought.

“Well, go on, then.” Katara’s smile shone in her eyes even though she was too exhausted to curl her lip in a grin. “Hold him.”

Hakoda didn’t warn him about this part.

Aang had never held a baby before. 

“I...What if I...I-I don’t know—”

Katara sighed and gave him a tired but happy smile. “Aang, hold your son.”

Aang’s arms trembled as he took the swaddled bundle. Katara talked softly and instructed him, adjusting his hand, telling him to support Bumi’s head.

Aang didn’t know how to describe how he felt. 

His insides were filled with clouds.

He steeled himself and tried not to shake so much as Katara guided his hand away, just a bit, so his arm was still supporting his son’s tiny weight but letting his fingers have room to crawl up the bundle of downy blanket.

Bumi’s skin was so soft, like the moonpeach blossoms in their garden. His son squirmed to Aang’s touch like he was still water that Aang had just disturbed. 

“Katara, he’s—Katara, what do I—?”

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” She laughed. “He’s just waking up a bit. He’s like you in the mornings.” She kissed Aang’s cheek and compelled him to lean his shoulder to hers. 

“You can touch him, you know. He won’t bite. He doesn’t have any teeth.”

“What if I hurt him? O-Or scare him? What if—?”

“Aang.” Katara cupped Aang’s face. “He is your son. You are his father.” She kissed between his eyes and settled her cheek on his shoulder. She ran her hand over Bumi’s head before pulling away, for the moment. “You won’t hurt him.”

Aang swallowed. His son squirmed when Katara pulled away. Bumi was looking for her. His closed eyes scrunched up, and his lip wrinkled. 

The tender life in Aang’s arms swallowed the beginnings of a whine, and Aang’s heart broke and ran over with every feeling. 

“Hey, hey, hey—shhh...” Aang didn’t know whether he was moving on instinct or impulse, but he was too focused on the groping fingers, so very small, fitfully finding their way out of the blanket. Everything about himself became second nature—even his lungs threatened to abandon their attention to keep breathing in order to focus on his son. “Shhh...It’s okay, Boom...It’s okay…”

Katara kissed Aang’s shoulder and scratched his back. Pride oozed out of her smile. 

Aang touched his finger to one of Bumi’s groping hands.

Aang’s entire world stood still.

Bumi paused mid-squirm and immediately latched on. He wasn’t letting go.

His little hand pulled back into the warmth of his blanket, and Aang was so attuned to his every movement that he let his finger be dragged closer, too.

Then Bumi stopped pulling, content with the splayed hand blanketing him. 

Aang was laughing and crying before he realized it. 

His son felt safe. With him.

Aang had to keep so many people safe—so, so many—, but they always harbored a slight doubt in their eyes. He was only human. Even he made mistakes.

Bumi trusted him like it was the most natural thing in the world. He felt safe with him. Truly and genuinely safe. 

And he didn’t even know him, yet.

Katara rubbed Aang’s back some more and moved only to kiss his cheek before settling back down, and if he wasn’t holding their newborn son, Aang would have kissed her like they wouldn’t see the morning. He settled with kissing her hair and the part of her cheek that he could reach without disturbing the spot she had nestled herself into, and his heart swelled when she grinned beneath his lips.

She leaned on him, but it felt so much more like she was keeping him up.

“Katara?”

“Hm?”

“Katara, we have a baby.”

“Mhm.”

“Katara, we have a baby.”

Katara laughed, and some of the life returned to her face. “Really? I didn’t notice. I wonder where it came from.”

“Have I told you lately how gorgeous and amazing and wonderful and phenomenal you are? Because you are. A hundred million times over.”

“Your hyperbole is eloquent as always. I hope Bumi inherits it.”

Aang shook his head and laughed. “Oh, nonono. He won’t be anything like me. I can assure you that much. That would be horrible.”

Katara looked at him, concerned and somehow able to pick up the distress in his voice even though she was struggling to stay awake. “Aang, why would you say that?”

Aang struggled to find the words. He was doing that a lot, tonight. 

The bundle in his arms was perfect. Bumi was his and Katara’s son. 

Bumi was perfect. Just like his mother.

Aang wasn’t perfect. He was as far as could be from perfect. 

Aang could only wish that he wouldn’t taint his son. Bumi was a part of Katara. The two of them were worth—more than worth—protecting. 

He could only hope that Bumi wouldn’t turn out like him. 

Guilt weighed Aang into the mattress. His arms were shaking before he realized it, but Katara’s hand rested over his where it wound under and around their son.

Their son.

Their beautiful baby boy.

Katara’s thumb rubbed up and down his knuckles. 

“Well, I hope he takes after you. I hope he has your little laugh that can brighten up a room with just a giggle. I hope his heart is as big as yours is, too.” She cuddled closer to Aang’s side. “He’s going to love you so, so much.” 

Aang didn’t know which of them Katara was talking to, but he sagged while Bumi twitched, his delicate fingers finding a fold in Aang’s robes small enough for his hand to grab onto. 

Aang’s heart soared. 

“Hey, there...Hey, there, bud.” Aang brushed the barest bit of the back of one of his fingers on his son’s tender cheek—so soft, too vulnerable. Aang didn’t know why he expected rejection. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Bumi. My name’s Aang.” Aang hesitated. “I’m your dad.”

The words left his mouth, and Aang couldn’t stop his tears if he tried.

He said it again, just to hear it—to make sure this all wasn’t some beautiful dream. He didn’t know why he was waiting for someone to tell him that it was.

“...I’m your dad.”

Bumi smacked his lips and held the finger on his cheek. 

“I’m all yours, buddy.” He kissed his son’s head, and he kissed Katara’s, too, when he pulled back. “Always—I will always be yours. I love you more than you could ever know, and I will always be yours.”

Katara leaned over. She brushed back the few silk-thin threads of hair on Bumi’s head and kissed him.

She kissed Aang, too, first on the dying trails of tears on his cheeks and then on his lips. His smile kept her trapped for longer than her shaking muscles could keep her up, and they were both laughing when she slumped against him again. 

They didn’t talk for the rest of the night. Words weren’t needed. 

In that moment, their very souls were peeled raw and exposed, and Aang and Katara tenderly wove into themselves the newest joy to claim a place in their hearts. 

At some point, Bumi was in Katara’s arms again, holding onto and bonding with his mother.

Aang sat behind them. He laid at enough of an angle that Katara didn’t have to keep herself up, and he molded himself like armor around his family. He pressed his cheek to Katara’s temple and bent his knees up to sit like castle walls keeping his two treasures safe. One of Aang’s arms wound around Katara’s, and he rested his hand over hers so they were both cradling their son. 

The wind, content and curious, pushed and pulled the warm feeling in the room like it was trying to stretch out the moment and make it last forever. Aang painted the back of Katara’s hand with his thumb and drew the lapping currents of air. The wind dripped tiny breezes like happy tears, welcoming into the world the new life that had air braided as deeply and as tightly into the strings in its soul as in Aang’s. 

Aang’s other hand laid on his son. His fingers reached under Bumi’s chin and brushed the barest tip of his pointer finger to his son’s cheek.

Whenever his heart threatened to spill over, Aang gave Katara tender kisses to her hair, cheek, and wherever else he could reach. He eventually rested his chin on her shoulder, and he grinned impossibly wider when Katara leaned her head to his and relaxed. She took down every one of her barriers and put herself and Bumi in Aang’s care, trusting him unconditionally. 

Something like pride filled Aang’s chest and made him feel bigger and stronger than he was. 

Bumi, one hand already clutched to Katara, squirmed fitfully, almost looking like he might be afraid. His tiny arm blindly grasped into the void and reached into an emptiness that made his face scrunch up all the more.

But then Aang pointed out his little finger to catch Bumi’s hand when it flailed past. 

And Bumi recognized his father’s touch and latched onto Aang without question.

Calm that came from safety settled over Bumi’s tender features. 

Katara smiled and rolled her head back. She nuzzled the curve of Aang’s jaw. Her voice was small and lost volume with every word, but it was right near his ear. It was bellied by her smile and something else that Aang couldn’t quite place even though it had every one of his senses latching onto it and his inner fire threatening to roar. 

“Look at you, Mister Dad. I knew my Forever Boy would be an amazing father.”

Aang held her closer—her and their son. The two halves of his heart teetered on sleep, and Aang swore on his honor, his past lives, and everything that he was or ever would be that he would keep them safe. 

Katara relaxed against his chest. 

Bumi held his finger a little tighter.

Aang felt like he could move a mountain. 

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Rushed to finish this fic because I’ve had a hell of a rough week and needed a fluff-aid-kit. (apologies for any choppiness🙏)

[spicyswords-inc]

A Nightmare Turned to Dream - a kiralfonse ficlet

A/N: uwu I don’t normally post much fanfiction... but gosh darn it after that Book IV finale in Heroes I needed to put metaphorical pen to metaphorical paper. 

Be warned that this contains MEGA spoilers for the Book IV finale in FE:Heroes. If you’re worried you might get spoiled, close tumblr, go play the chapter and then come back (or don’t I’m not your mom).

Anyways, a quick shoutout to my pal @eelkonig for giving this baby a once over. I don’t know what I’d do without you!

The fic’s below the cut! Enjoy!

Kiran woke with a start and jolted into an upright position. Their hands, which had been desperately gripping the horn that would return them home, were now gripping the soft sheets that had been covering their prone form. Kiran took a moment to slowly rub their thumbs against the downy fabric as the rest of their senses gradually came to. They slowly turned their head to take in their surroundings. It appeared that they were back in their room at the castle. Their room was sparse but convenient, only containing the necessities: the bed on which they lay, a small desk to lay their maps and tactical journals, and a small wardrobe that held several replicas of their signature cloak. 

Kiran slowly swung their legs over the edge of their bed to tentatively touch the cobblestone floor with their feet. When their limbs didn’t seem to show signs of sinking beneath the sturdy surface any time soon, Kiran released a breath they hadn’t realized they’d been holding. 

“That’s a good sign,” they muttered to themselves as they grabbed their boots, which had been laid on the floor at the foot of the bed. They tugged their hood a little more over their face as they gave their room another onceover before leaving. As soon as they stepped into the hallway, they heard a voice from behind that stopped them in their tracks. A voice they’d thought they’d never hear again.

“Oh, Kiran!” Alfonse exclaimed as he continued towards Kiran. “I am glad to see you finally awake! You had me worried.”

All Kiran could do was stare blankly. ‘Can I actually trust this to be real? Is he really…?

Alfonse blinked. “...Is something wrong? What is this blank expression you have?”

Before Kiran could reply, Commander Anna came from behind Kiran to join them. “Excellent. Now we’re all awake again, with Kiran back!” the red-headed commander exclaimed as she smiled towards their tactician. 

Alfonse took note of Kiran’s still blank-looking expression and tried his best to catch their gaze. “So do you not remember anything either?” 

Kiran feigned ignorance and shook their head no. If they’d all forgotten, there was no reason for them to share the details of the nightmare they’d just experienced. 

“Let me explain what I can,” Alfonse began. “All of us slept for three days and three nights. And suddenly, now, we all woke up, one by one.” The prince rubbed the back of his neck nervously when Kiran’s expression continued to not change. “You were the last of use to wake, following just after Sharena.”

The princess in question yawned loudly and stretched her arms towards the ceiling as she appeared from around the corner and walked in their general direction. “Whew! That was a great nap…” Sharena mumbled absently to herself. When she spotted her compatriots in discussion, she quickly rushed to close the scant distance between them. “Oh, good morning!”

Alfonse and Anna nodded their greetings while Kiran continued to stare and take everything in.

“It seems like we were all sleeping for quite a while, weren’t we?” The princess brought a finger to her lip and her expression turned inquisitive. “Why did we all fall asleep, though?” she wondered aloud as she closed her eyes thoughtfully. “It feels like I had a really long dream, but the details are...gone!” Seemingly unconcerned, Sharena simply shrugged and erupted into a bright smile. “Oh well! I’m sure we have nothing to worry about. We should focus on the time we lost to our nap! Time to get out there and take today’s missions by storm!”

Sharena’s boundless optimism was so contagious that Kiran found they were finally able to crack a smile. Some of the tension they’d been holding in their shoulders dissipated as Alfonse inquired about the schedule for the day. As the quartet went about actually performing the errands expected of them throughout the day, Kiran found themself gradually relaxing with each passing moment. They found comfort in the familiar routine: overseeing training, going over strategy, checking in on the heroes, and so on.

When it came time to patrol the perimeter of the castle, Alfonse had swiftly volunteered to join Kiran when they’d asked the Order of Heroes as a collective. Normally such enthusiasm would’ve made Kiran blush; they still weren’t quite sure what their feelings involving Alfonse were. But when they thought back to the sight of Alfonse’s unconscious, prone form, and Freyja’s declaration that Alfonse, because he had cheated death, had been erased from existence, they… they… 

“Kiran?”

A warm, strong hand wrapped around theirs brought them back to the present. Kiran blinked as Alfonse tried to peer beneath their hood and meet their gaze. Kiran instinctually used their other hand to pull their hood lower across their face.

“I-I’m sorry if that was too forward,” Alfonse stammered as he turned to face away from the summoner. “It was just… you’d started to slow down. And when you stopped walking besides me entirely I… well I…”

“It’s okay,” Kiran reaffirmed, squeezing the hand still holding theirs. “Sorry about that. I guess I got lost in thought…” Their voice trailed off as they glanced towards Alfonse, whose head turned to gaze at them once again at the same time. It took a moment for them to realize just how corny that must have looked, but when realization finally hit the pair found themselves glancing in opposite directions yet again.

Kiran willed their heart to settle, bringing their free hand to rest against their chest as they steadied their breathing. The duo stood together in silence still holding hands for what felt like forever. Kiran felt Alfonse adjust his posture slightly beside them. Chancing a glance his direction, it looked as though Alfonse had something to ask. But his voice caught in his throat as his sister and Commander Anna bounded towards them. The duo immediately ceased contact and tried to nonchalantly move their hands away from the other.

“There you two are!” Anna exclaimed exasperatedly. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you two.”

“My apologies,” said Alfonse, stepping towards the two women before him. “Are we needed for something?”

“Why else would we search for you?” Sharena quipped before groaning quickly. “Anyways, that’s not what’s important right now. What’s important is that Loki has been spotted just outside the forest. And she has units with her.”

No more words needed to be said as the small group jumped into action. As they all but sprinted towards the forest, Alfonse briefly glanced towards the summoner running just behind him. He’d been just about to ask them if they were okay. He’d noticed just how out of it they’d seemed since earlier that morning.

‘I suppose that will just have to wait.’ Alfonse thought despondently to himself as he returned his gaze forward. ‘They’re probably fine.’

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“Oh, hello. Lovely weather, isn’t it?” Loki cooed, twirling a loose strand of her magenta hair around her finger as she shot the Order of Heroes a disparaging look. “How have you been? Well, I hope.”

“Skip the pleasantries, Loki,” Anna spat as she stepped forwards. “What have you done this time?”

Loki’s face feigned shock as she brought her free hand to cover her mouth. “Me? I haven’t done a thing. If you want someone to blame… well…” The witch’s lips upturned into a devilish grin. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.” Loki’s gaze scanned across their group a moment. When her eyes descended upon Kiran, her eyes widened with acknowledgement. “...Ah! Forgive my rudeness. Welcome back, Kiran!”

Kiran’s eyes grew wide as Loki stared them down. They gulped reflexively but did their best to otherwise hide their discomfort. 

“Did you have a pleasant dream?”

Kiran’s breath hitched in their throat as images of the nightmare they’d just returned from flashed in their mind. Without a second thought, Kiran surged forward and aimed Breidablik at Loki.

“Kiran!” Alfonse shouted as he immediately chased after them. Sharena and Anna quickly shared a glance before joining their comrades in rushing the enemy. 

The battle didn’t last long. The team had worked together long enough that dispatching their foes was mere child's play. Alfonse, Sharena, and Anna expertly faced against the nameless axe, sword, and lance lackeys respectively while Kiran and Loki exchanged blows with each other. As soon as Loki noticed her debilitated henchmen, the sorceress clicked her tongue disdainfully before disappearing with a snap of her fingers.

Sharena fumed as she ran towards where Loki had been moments ago. “She’s gone… again! We’ll never get close enough to capture her!” Sharena sighed while her posture deflated slightly. “Gone...again… Huh.”

“What is it, Sharena?” Alfonse asked as he walked forward. He spared Kiran a quick glance before returning his full attention to his sister.

“I feel like… Something is familiar about this.” Sharena hooked a finger thoughtfully over her chin. “Is it deja vu, or is it something from a dream?” The young princess paused and glanced towards the ground. “But… what dream would it have been?”

Alfonse didn’t miss the way Kiran flinched at the word “dream” from the corner of his eye. “Are you all right, Sharena? Are you still half-asleep?”

Sharena’s gaze was still downwards when she noticed something on the ground in front of her. “...Oh!” she chirped, kneeling to the ground to scoop something into her hands. Kiran held back a choked gasp as Sharena produced a familiar looking flower crown. “A chain of flowers? Why… Where did I…” Sharena’s hands started to tremble slightly. “Why am I suddenly...so sad? These flowers are breaking my heart, and I… I…” She sniffled slightly. Alfonse turned and watched as Kiran seemed to do the same.

Anna awkwardly cleared her throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve just received a report you’ll want to hear, Princess Sharena. It seems a childhood friend of yours has just arrived for an unannounced visit… Ah, speaking of, there she is-”

The small group of friends turned in tandem towards where Anna had pointed.

“Ah!” Sharena squeaked as a head of blonde hair similar to hers came into view.

Hot tears streamed down Kiran’s face as Sharena’s friend, who so closely resembled Peony, appeared to the summoner that way, wings, floral attire, and all. Kiran couldn’t be too sure the person in front of her was actually a ljosalfar, but at that point it didn’t matter. Kiran was barely able to choke back their cry as their emotions overtook them and they crumpled to the ground. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Kiran’s eyes fluttered open, the first thing they noticed was how their eyelashes fluttered against material similar to their cloak. Eyes slowly coming into focus, Kiran then took stock of how their surroundings continued to shift around them even though they felt no ground beneath their feet. When they made to straighten their posture it was then that they felt their chest flush against someone’s back and hands that weren’t theirs wrapped beneath their thighs.

“Oh thank goodness,” Kiran heard Alfonse breathe as the prince continued to give them a piggyback ride. “I was already assuming the worst when you’d crumbled to the ground like that.”

Heat rose onto Kiran’s cheeks as they hid their face from the rest of the world by leaning their forehead against the back of Alfonse’s neck. “Sorry,” they muttered quietly, utterly embarrassed. 

“It’s nothing you need to apologize for,” Alfonse reassured as he stepped inside the castle. He paused for just a moment to shift and more comfortably accommodate Kiran’s weight before continuing towards their room. Kiran took a moment to look up and take note of their route; from the looks of it, it appeared Alfonse had the foresight to not go through the main doors of the castle but instead take a side entrance. Kiran felt a wave of gratitude wash over them; they didn’t want to even think about all the looks they would’ve gotten. Their lips quirked into the faintest of smiles as they returned their forehead to rest against the back of Alfonse’s neck. 

The pair continued in comfortable silence all the way back to Kiran’s room. As soon as Alfonse had reached their door, Kiran took that moment to shift their legs from Alfonse’s hold and return to a standing position. Alfonse watched as the summoner stared at their door handle but made no move to open it.

“...Are you okay?” Alfonse asked quietly, though he already had an inkling to what Kiran’s answer was. 

When the summoner slowly turned to face him, the young prince felt a sharp pain in his chest. Their eyes, which he hardly ever saw appear from beneath their hood, were visibly rimmed with unshed tears while their nose was scrunched and their lower lip quivered. 

Without thinking, Alfonse reached over Kiran, grabbed the door handle, and quietly ushered them inside before just as quietly shutting the door behind them. Kiran desperately covered their face with their hands to choke back any sniffles and sobs. Their tears soaked into their gloves for only a moment until familiar hands grabbed theirs to gently lower them. 

“Hey-”

Kiran suddenly removed their hands from Alfonse’s to quickly grab the edge of their hood and pull it further over their face again. Despite the attempt to hide their tears, their body still shuddered as their cries became harder and harder to hold back.

Alfonse waited a moment before trying to act again. The last thing he wanted to do was make Kiran uncomfortable. He just couldn’t stand to see them this way. Chest briefly filling with bated breath, Alfonse opted to take a seat on the edge of Kiran’s bed before trying anything.

“Kiran,” Alfonse tried again, his voice only slightly raising in volume. All he received in the form of acknowledgement was the sight of Kiran’s posture straightening ever so slightly. “...What happened?” he asked faintly. All Kiran could do was shake their head in response, their tears now spilling past their hood to drip onto the floor.

“Are you okay?”

Kiran shook their head again.

Alfonse bit back a sigh. He’d never seen Kiran look so despondent. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Kiran looked up just enough to lock eyes with the prince in front of them, their eyes peeking from beneath their hood. Then their resolve crumbled. Unable to hold back their grief and anguish any longer, Kiran slowly approached Alfonse with outstretched arms. Alfonse wasted no time in returning the embrace. He brought one hand to rest against the back of Kiran’s hooded head while the other pulled Kiran’s form flush against his. Kiran, in turn, draped their arms over Alfonse’s shoulders and shoved their face against his shoulder. Alfonse felt every tear, gasp, and shudder as Kiran wailed into his shoulder. All Alfonse could do in the way of comfort was reassuringly rub their back as Kiran let out the emotions they’d been bottling up. 

“I-I thought you were dead!” Kiran blubbered into his shoulder. “I thought I’d killed you! I th-thought you were gone, and that it was all my fault!”

Alfonse moved the hand that had cupped the back of Kiran’s head to grasp one of their hands. “I’m right here, though,” he reminded gently. He tightened his grip around their hand. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

When Kiran returned his grip with a similar squeeze, Alfonse felt a burst of confidence as he quickly leaned forward and chanced a kiss against Kiran’s hooded brow. The prince felt the summoner in his arms stiffen and immediately worried that he’d gone too far.

“I’m sorry, was that too-”

“No!” Kiran immediately interjected. Both parties erupted into equal amounts of blush as the silence that surrounded the room began to envelope them. Thankfully, the silence they shared wasn’t tense or anxious. The two simply relaxed and reveled in the other’s company as they continued to embrace the other.

Alfonse had no idea how long they remained in each other’s arms. But when he felt Kiran’s breath steadily even out and then deepen, he didn’t try to hide his smile. Moving as smoothly as possible so that he wouldn’t wake his summoner, Alfonse quickly scooped Kiran into a bridal carry before just as quickly laying them down on their bed. Alfonse made sure to gently remove Kiran’s boots from their person before carefully covering them with their sheets.

He took in the sight for just a moment. He’d never seen so many sides of Kiran. The Kiran he was familiar with was the calm, calculated tactician that held together the Order of Heroes. Alfonse couldn’t think of a time he’d seen Kiran scared, upset, or vulnerable. Though he’d never wish the feelings Kiran had shared upon anyone, it was relieving for Alfonse to see. It made Kiran more… human.

“What am I even thinking? Of course they’re human,” Alfonse whispered to himself, turning to leave Kiran. A hand wrapped around his stopped him in his tracks. Alfonse looked back and saw a barely awake Kiran holding onto their hand like it was the only thing they knew to do.

“Please don’t leave,” Kiran whispered, a shudder passing through their spine.

Alfonse complied and lowered to a kneel beside them. He made sure to move in a way that allowed their hands to stay connected. “Alright. But just until you fall asleep.”

“‘Kay,” they responded sleepily before closing their eyes again.

Alfonse waited for the grip around his hand to loosen sufficiently before painstakingly removing his hand to return it to his side. Something told him that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d do this for Kiran. Alfonse smiled as he took in Kiran’s peaceful slumbering form one last time. It wasn’t as though he minded. 

[squidpro-quo]

A/N: Here’s my present for the lovely @the1412raindrop for the @dcmksecretsanta! Apologies for the hint of angst, I loved the snowed-in prompt, feat. some fluff and cocoa. And bonding over birds

Hakuba frowned out at the white-studded darkness beyond the rattling windows, lowering his mug of cocoa slowly. Something was moving out there. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, his eyes weren’t as good as Watson’s and the storm was definitely reaching its peak now; odds were that it was a stray snowflake blown in about in a weird way. The winds were supposed to escalate beyond gale-force soon, the snowstorm settling into her nest for the night until her downy drifts had covered everything in Ekoda. It was almost midnight anyway, only fifteen seconds left, there was no one who could still be on the estate’s grounds at this hour. 

Except there it was again. The scrape of his chair was lost under the sound of Watson’s screech, wings flapping as though she were about to take off, and Hakuba cupped his hands to look out into the roiling snow. White stretched out across the lawns, lightening the night despite the late hour and he would’ve missed it but for that. Against the pale misted expanse, a long dark shadow twitched along the tree line before tipping onto the ground. A brief flash of light, a reflection, and Hakuba was running to grab a scarf and coat, slipping his bare feet into snow boots and tromping out into the howling wind. 

Keeping his gaze fixed on the dark slash in the landscape, Hakuba waded his way through the snow with heart hammering because he didn’t want to be right. A nightmare, one where secrets were uncovered like the swarm of bugs underneath a rock and a falcon with a broken wing, but when he saw the face with the blueing lips and ice-white fingers, he didn’t hesitate to scoop Kaito from the ground and carry him inside. 

His hands were cold enough to make Hakuba concerned, the snow soaking into his shirt, staining it black instead of blue, and the barely-there flutter of his eyelids even when Hakuba laid him down on the couch. 

Turning to raid the hall closet for the stack of blankets that Baaya had made liberal use of whenever he was sick, he was surprised to find fingers catch at his hand and hold him weakly in place. 

“—kuba… that you?” Thin slits of blue showed above the pink of his wind-whipped cheeks and Hakuba crouched down to meet him. 

“You better have a good story for this, Kuroba. Stay still, it’ll be warmer soon.” Despite knowing he should pull away, Hakuba let Kaito’s grip loosen on its own before standing to retrieve the blankets. 

His mind wandered as he pulled the stack into his arms, at the familiar snow-white pants and shoes, at the odd button-up shirt he knew wasn’t Kaito’s style outside of school. He didn’t want to connect the dots, as easy as they were, the important thing now was the way Kaito was barely even shivering. 

He’d expected Kaito to have shifted, or otherwise tried to get up in his absence because Kaito was the kind of person who could never sit still—a fact Hakuba knew from many classes spent distracted by the way Kaito would flip his pens between his fingers—but he was surprised by what greeted him on his return. 

Kaito lay where Hakuba had left him, snow melting into his hair and his eyes fully open now, with fingers slowly stroking Watson’s wings where she’d settled onto his chest as if to ensure he didn’t move. 

“Good girl, he’s a slippery one,” he praised, setting the blankets onto Kaito’s feet before starting to unfold them one by one. Most of his friends had found Watson an eccentric, if not intimidating, pet but Kaito was either still too frozen to think properly or he’d just assumed what worked on cats would work on birds. Either way, the fact that Watson liked Kaito enough to land on him immediately was a sign of goodwill that Hakuba hadn’t seen in her since he’d first met her. 

“She’s beautiful,” Kaito croaked, rubbing a finger over Watson’s beak before Hakuba could warn him. But she just bumped her head against his thumb and demanded more. “Mine would be swooning over her, the little flirts.” 

Hakuba had bent to tuck the first blanket in tight around Kaito and found his soft words reaching his ears just as he’d dug his hands underneath Kaito’s waist to wedge the edges in firmly. The crooked smile Kaito wore was smaller than he was used to seeing during class or during pranks, but it was still enough to make his face heat at the lift of his eyebrows. 

He grabbed for the next blanket and cleared his throat. “You’ve got some birds of your own?” Imagining a pair of loud parakeets, or even some parrots, he could see their colorful plumage fitting in perfectly with Kaito’s personality. 

“Half a dozen doves, little imps the lot of them. Too sweet for their own good.” 

This time he was more careful, the blanket a little looser for the sake of his own temperature and yet the answer still made him pause as he fiddled with the fringe on the edges. Doves; he could picture them, sleeping in between Kaito’s slender fingers and cooing as they perch on his shoulders. Perfect for a magician and perfect for… He promised himself he wouldn’t connect the dots and so he focuses instead on where Kaito’s hands have stilled, drifting towards his instead. 

“They sound like a handful with so many, Watson has a queen’s maintenance all by herself.” He crouched under the pretense of adjusting one of the blankets and pulled another one from the pile at the end without moving. Brushing the thick cover straight where Watson’s claws have wrinkled it, he didn’t realize he was pressing his hands into Kaito’s chest until he breathed too deep and the shiver was harsh enough to pass through into Hakuba’s hands. “I’ll go get some cocoa, get something warm inside you too.”

When he stood, a hand found his yet again, fingers not frozen icicles anymore but still chilled. 

“Stay.” Kaito’s voice was stronger, his grip enough to tug this time. 

A small part of him, instincts that his father had instilled in him, warned that any threads he allowed to be wrapped around him will that much harder to severe at the inevitable end, but Hakuba wanted to the listen the part that was restless fingers buried between feathers, calloused palm pressed against his and a smile that never failed to carry mischief even under such cold circumstances. 

Slipping beneath the blankets was easier than he could ever imagine, and if he pocketed the monocle and chain he found the next morning out in the snow, it was a secret he was willing to keep.

[crewhonk]

Only Happy Accidents (13)

AN: Second last chapter!!!! How insane is this! Sorry for the late upload, the queue ate the original post rip. Anyways!

Summary: Steve and clan deal with the consequences of YN’s high risk emergency surgery and the birth of Steve’s son, Charlie

Warnings: Surgery complications, mentions of blood, Steve is afraid, Bucky is afraid and he has a little meltdown

“Uneven Odds”— Sleeping at Last / “Everything Changes”— Sara Bareilles / “The Story”— Sara Ramirez

Only Happy Accidents

_________________________

July 5th, one day post birth

Steve sat by the bed, staring. It’s all he could do, honestly. Charlie was asleep in the cradle a foot away (he slept with his mouth as far open as it could go— just like Steve did), and sleep was so far away he couldn’t even think about it. So, he stared.

YN was alive, but the tubes and wires connected to her body and going down her throat made her seem farther away than ever. Her hands were warm, sure, but she wasn’t breathing on her own, so what was the point, really. 

Helen had found him crying over Charlie, and she’d sat down in the chair opposite him and told him that YN’s heart had stopped beating for a while during surgery— something about blood loss, and the lack of oxygen going to her brain for that extended period of time put her ability to wake up or even breathe on her own a slim possibility. Cho had taken him and Charlie down to YN’s room, and the tubes and wires were honest to god worse than the screaming and blood, because at least when she was in that amount of pain, his wife was still alive. Sovereign. 

Steve had immediately asked if he could do something, and after getting his blood tested, found out he wasn’t a match for a blood transfusion— hoping that the enhancements in his blood would help YN heal. Even in all his super-enhanced glory, and with the enhancement created under the best of intentions, Steve still couldn’t save the people he loved the most— no matter what century it was, he couldn’t stop things like this from happening. So, Steve had cried like a damn baby as he held YN’s limp hand, begging and praying and compromising with the universe for her to wake up. 

Charlie was the only thing stopping him from doing something dangerous— the cooing happy baby, unaware of the grief around him was a reminder for Steve that good things still existed. To think that Steve could ever hate something like this— something so good that he’d created made him sick to his stomach. When Steve wasn’t cradling the baby or hovering over the bassinet, he was at YN’s head, pushing the hair away from her face and glaring at the tubes and kissing her cheeks and knuckles. 

Apparently, Bucky Barnes had taken enough pity on him after walking in on him crying for the fifth hour in a row and had pulled Helen aside, asking if he, possibly could get tested. 

He was a match. 

So, that’s how Busy Barnes found himself standing next to his godson and best friend, watching as his own blood— that created and given to him by such evil people for such evil purposes as it saved the lives of the people he cared most about in this world. 

His best friend. 

His godson.

YN Rogers, who had brought so much fullness to everyone she touched— she reminded him so much of Rebecca it tore his heart in half some times. 

And he waited with the Rogers family, holding Charlie when Steve was too distraught to hold him, and leaning into Natasha when he needed the support she gave him. She was taking it hard, too. Not being able to have children herself, and then watching a wonderful, peaceful pregnancy turn into something so traumatic had shaken her to her bones. Her bravery in this made Bucky admire her more than he ever had, and the ring in his pocket burned a hole through his skin down to his bones as more days passed. 

As soon as Helen had injected the blood, her stats had increased gradually— not the dramatic, gasping romantic event he’d half been expecting, but as the hours went on, YN’s cheeks grew flushed with just a little more colour. 

The room remained quiet into the following day. The sun rose slowly on the anxious family, and Steve squinted as the sunlight shone directly in his face. He’d fallen asleep with Charlie sprawled on his chest in the armchair next to YN’s head, and someone had thrown a clean blanket over them, keeping them warm as Charlie was kept in a comfortable snooze agains this fathers heart beat. Steve’s hand cradled the kids bum as he rubbed his back lightly and leaned his head back, shutting his eyes and listening to the constant heart rate beeping from the monitor beside him. She was still alive— that was nice. At some point, Bucky had put Charlie in the basinet so Steve could fall forward onto the bed and just rest his eyes for a few seconds. 

“Steve—” A raspy, chalky, but all too familiar piped up from beside him, and his eyes flashed open as he jolted, almost forgetting the newborn in his arms before hugging him closer and staring at the woman in the bed. 

She didn’t look as if she was awake. Her body hadn’t shifted, and her eyes were still shut peacefully, but the breathing tube was nowhere to be found so either YN was dead and her ghost had come to haunt him or—

“YN?” He whispered, leaning towards the bed and staring hard, begging the Gods again to just stop playing with him. 

“You’re yelling, you know.” She whispered back, cracking her eye open at him. 

“How long have you—“ Steve whimpered, standing and leaning over her, tracing his eyes over her features— she looked good. 

“A few minutes. You looked like shit so I figured you could use the beauty sleep.” She teased and he let out a sound halfway through a cry and laugh before he ducked down and kissed her breathless. He knew she felt just as relieved to have her eyes open by the speed of the heart monitor— it beeped quicker than it had today, and the thought of her alive and well and responding had tears wetting his cheeks. 

“YN, baby. I thought you were— I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do if you didn’t—“ He choked out, tears falling onto her cheeks, which he kissed off quickly. 

“Hey, don’t think about that, okay, baby? I’m alive and— wait, where is my baby?” She cut herself off, suddenly remembering that she was in fact a mother now. Steve smiled and kissed her nose once more, trailing his fingertips over her cheek and lips as he stood up. She kissed his fingertips and he flushed, pulling them away regretfully before turning around to the cradle and scooping a sleeping Charlie into his arms and walking over to his wife. He moved slowly, watching the adoration fill YN’s tired face as Charlie got closer. 

Steve placed him on her chest, and her hand, delicate and hesitant rested on his back as if her touch would shatter him. Charlie stirred only slightly, burrowing his face into YN’s chest and wrapping his tiny fists into the fabric of YN’s hospital gown. 

“This is our son, Charlie.” Steve whispered, throat tight with emotion as YN let out a dry sob. She ran her fingertips over his coned head lightly, the soft downy hair caressing her fingers. 

“Charlie.” YN whispered, tears streaming down her face as she looked down at him. “He looks like you, Steve. And my dad, but there’s a lot of you in him.” She commented and he smiled, hand on her thigh as he stared at the scene in front of him. This— this is the only moment of his life he would ever want to remember. Somehow, despite how scared and angry he had been, everything— everything leading to this moment was worth it. 

“I thought he looked like you. Wait until you see his eyes, baby.” Steve whispered, brushing the back of his knuckle across Charlie’s cheek. 

YN looked up at him, eyes bright and shining and alive and she lips pulled into a tired smile. “Kiss me, Steve Rogers. Please, kiss me.”

And so he did. He sat on the bed next to her, and covered over his little, perfect family and kissed his perfect wife breathless. 

“I love you, YN Rogers. I love you, I love you, I love you and thank you for surviving and coming back to me.” Steve whispered against her lips and she shuddered out a breath. 

“Hey, you married me so you’re stuck with me for life, pal.” YN smiled, kissing him again rubbing her thumb across his cheekbone once she pulled away. He leaned into her touch, turning his face to litter her palm with kisses. The small family was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. 

Steve loved Dr. Cho. He really truly did, and he had all the respect int he world for her, but could he just have an hour without seeing her wearing that stupid damn poker face. There was a polite greeting as she looked over YN’s charts, nodding and humming to herself before she clipped the board back on the bottom of the bed and looked at the Rogers. 

“So, YN, we should likely discuss the surgery.” And with a small nod, Cho continued. Steve shifted to take YN’s hand as she wrapped her free arm around Charlie who made a tiny squeaking noise before smacking his lips and falling back to sleep. 

“So, the surgery was extensive, and did not go without trouble. Your heart stopped for longer than any of us would have liked, and it is because of Mr. Barnes that you’ve recovered so well.” She started and YN looked at her confused. 

“Pardon?”

“Mr. Barnes donated his blood— he was a match for donation, and the serum he had been enhanced with kickstarted your recovery. Without it it’s unlikely you would have woken up with full brain function if you woke up at all.” She said, grimly and YN looked up at Steve quickly, watching him purse his lips and nod. 

“I tried, but we weren’t a match. I couldn’t save you, I’m sorry.” He whispered, coughing when his voice cracked. YN, shocked with the news clutched his hand harder and nodded, turning back to Cho.

“There’s something else, isn’t there.”

“Usually, the placenta carrying the child would be set up higher int he uterus and away from he cervix. However, your own was lower— closer to your cervix, and had adhered to the uterine wall too deeply for it to release properly. Usually, this complication would have been detected in scans, but it was such a microscopic abnormality that we missed it, and during your contractions, your placenta detached too quickly which caused the bleeding and damage.” She said, and YN fell back against the bed. She clutched Charlie closer to her as a comfort and the feeling of his little fists tightening reassured her slightly. 

“So what happens now?” YN whispered, not wanting to look at Steve for fear of him looking disapointed in her. 

“Well, there was so much damage to your uterus that the chances of you becoming pregnant again are low, and if you did the pregnancy would be incredibly high risk. If you’d decided to carry on with the pregnancy, you would likely have to have a cesarian, and depending on the placement of the placenta, the entire uterus would need to come out.” Cho said, trying her best to keep her poker face. 

YN’s chin wobbled at the news and her eyes grew hot as she flicked them up to the room, glaring at the ceiling with everything she had in her. Why would this have happened? Was it because fo the snap? Was it just her body’s inability to deal with things like this? 

Before he let YN fully pull away and retreat into herself, Steve squeezed her hand and called her name. On the third repetition of her name, she looked at Steve and the tears finally fell from he corners of her eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” She whimpered. “I know you wanted a big family but—“

“You stop that right now,” he demanded, voice strong despite the sinking feeling in his heart. “This is not your fault, okay? And I’d rather have a healthy, alive wife and a healthy, loved, spoiled little boy than anything else, okay?” He ducked his head, trying to catch her eyes again. Her beautiful eyes looked up at him again and he cooed, wiping her tears away with his fingers. “And if we decide we want another baby, we can adopt. Maybe we can even get a pet first— cause, you know. That’s something that couples usually do before they get married anyways.” He joked and YN snorted, wiping her eyes and nodding. 

“Maybe a plant.”

“Maybe even a plant.” He confirmed and smiled, kissing her nose and playing his hand on Charlie’s little bum. 

“I would also like to take you out on a date for once. No baby. Just me and you.” He offered and YN smiled, blushing lightly. 

“Yeah, we kinda skipped out on that bit too, huh?” She smiled, and neither Steve nor YN noticed Cho leaving, noticing that her company was no longer wanted in this moment. 

“Like a movie and dinner, and I take you home and kiss you on the doorstep.”

“We live together, Steve.”

“It’s the thought that counts.” He defended. 

“I want flowers.” She said. “And chocolates. I wanna be wooed.” 

Steve sat back and laughed, hand resting over his heart as he looked at her so fondly. “I married you and gave you a baby and you still need to be wooed?”

“No, but I like the way you get flustered when you try to flirt with me.” She wrinkled her nose at him and he rolled his eyes. 

“I do not get flustered.”

“Okay, you big ol’ beefcake DILF. I’ll believe it when I see it.” YN teased, giggling when a blush crept up his neck at the nickname. 

“I am not a DILF.” He hissed, smile on his lips. 

“You’re my DILF.”

_______________

Charlie had latched onto YN’s nipple immediately, and soon enough, the soreness in her breasts diminished exponentially. She sighed and leaned back into the many pillows Steve had brought her once they found out she’d be in this room for the next week and under Cho’s careful eye. It was the first time YN had alone with her son, and frankly, she couldn’t wait to watch this little guy grow up into someone she could love relentlessly. 

He had her eyes. It was simple and plain as the sun— her eyes lived on in Charlie, and seeing the exact mirror of herself in this creation which had lived in her stomach for nine months was nothing like she’d ever felt before. Holding this squirming, cooing little angel in her arms as he fed on her was the most satisfying thing she’d ever felt. She felt productive and accomplished, and peaceful as she ran her fingers over his body. Down his head and cheeks and over his back and bum, poking at his chubby little thighs and counting his toes and fingers over and over again. 

She was scared she wouldn’t feel a maternal surge take over her body once she met Charlie— it was a common thing, apparently. She’d learned about it in the birthing classes she and Steve had gone to, as well as the couples therapy they’d gone to, but it was a weight off her chest to feel this much love for her little guy. 

There was a knock at the door, and YN looked up to see Bucky walk in and upon seeing her breastfeeding averted his eyes. 

“I can come back later if you—“

“Bucky come in.” YN smiled, feeling an incredible warmth of appreciation flood her body at the sight of this man. This man who had given her chances upon chances and who had walked her down the aisle and saved her life— she wouldn’t have anyone else as her sons godfather. 

Bucky nodded, and placed the small bouquet of sunflowers he had brought her on the bedside table and sat in the armchair that Steve had made his home in. His eyes never left Charlie, smiling at him and how well he was feeding. 

“God, he’s a strong little guy huh?” He hummed and YN nodded, looking down at him and sighing. 

“I didn’t think he’d be so small, though. I thought he’d be way bigger considering how big my stomach was.” YN hummed, almost missing the swell of her stomach. She’d shrunk well, but her skin was loose and soft— something she’d have to train down once more with the provided trainers Cho recommended. 

“You did have a huge bump.” He laughed and YN pretended to be offended. There was a period of silence before Bucky spoke again. 

“Did Cho tell you?” He whispered, looking down at his hands and YN nodded. 

“Thank you, Bucky. I know you weren’t the biggest fan of me in the beginning, but that was a very wonderful thing you did.” She responded, feeling regret at her words. No matter how much she praised Bucky and thanked him, he would never know just how damn grateful she was. “You’ve done so much for me these past few months, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

Bucky let a rush of air through his nose and he shook his head. “You take care of Charlie and Steve, and let them take care of you. That’s how you pay me back.” Bucky smiled a closed mouth smile and he went back to picking at his nails. 

“What’s going on, Buck?” YN whispered, reaching towards him. He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak before shutting it again. “Buck, talk to me.”

“It’s just— I was enhanced with HYDRA’s serum. I was only allowed to save your with a serum hat killed so many people and caused so much pain and that’s not fair to you— you deserved so much more than—“

“James Buchanan Barnes you listen to me now and you listen closely.” She said, making her voice strong but remaining quiet as to not disrupt Charlie. “I don’t know how many people have told you this before, but I’m assuming you’ve heard it more than once. You are not the serum in your blood. You are not the things they made you do. You are the man in the stores Steve told me. You are the man who loves science, and space, and technology. You are a man who loves gun and knives and knows to treat them with respect. You are a man who is planning a proposal to the woman who he loves, and you are a man who carries the ring around waiting for the moment you feel she deserves. You are a man who watches. A man who looks out for the people in his life— for Steve, and Sam, and Natasha. You are the man who sacrifices himself for those he loves. That is the man I want to have as my child’s godfather because I believe that man is someone to look up to as a hero and an idol. James Barnes you are one of the most magnificent people I’ve ever had the true honour to meet.”

Bucky looked up, tears making his grey eyes shine, and he grabbed YN’s hand before pressing his head against it and letting out a sob. She let her hand glide through his hair, soothing him to the best of her ability as he cried into her mattress. 

“You are worthy of the love you receive, James.” YN whispered and he nodded into the mattress, coughing out another sob before wiping his nose and eyes and looking at her with soft eyes. 

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you.” He whispered. “Thank you.”

“You’re my family now, it’s my job to tell you how everyone else feels.”

Bucky wiped his face again and sat back, sighing out a choppy breath. It was a while before his head shot up and stared hard at YN. 

“How did you know I was planning that?” He asked, brows furrowed. 

“Steve’s really bad at keeping secrets. You’re better off doing it sooner than later before he lets it slip to Nat.” YN shrugged, smiling as Bucky’s eyes widened and he shot up front he chair, rushing out of the room to find where Natasha and Steve had gone to, fearing that his best friend really was as ditzy as his wife claimed he was. 

________________

July 13th

“We could so make it all the way down this ramp with me on the back of this wheelchair.” Steve joked as he pushed YN through the halls of the compound in her wheelchair, and YN threw her head back and laughed, slightly startling the baby in her arms. 

“Steven Grant we will do no such thing with your child in my arms, do you understand.” YN scolded through her laughs and she could almost feel Steve’s smile behind her. Charlie had grown strong, and his eyes were brighter than ever as he stared up at his parents and listened to their happy sounds. He was swaddled tightly in a thin blanket, and was dressed in the softest light yellow onesie YN had ever felt. YN’s favourite part of the outfit Steve had chosen today, however, was the black and white beanie with cartoon zebras dancing around the rim of it. God, she’d done well. 

“Yes ma’am.” He chortled, and the sliding doors opened in front of them, making YN gasp a large breath of fresh air. In this moment, she made a vow that she would spend more time outside. This past week of indoor solitude was enough to make her insane. She was excited to go home, though— the familiarity of her own home and the welcoming scents of her and Steve was something that made her eager to leave the compound. 

Steve walked up to the range rover and scooped Charlie into his arms, stealing YN of her breath. It was an image she would never get over— the man of her dreams carrying their child and making Charlie look like the smaller thing in the whole wide world. Steve lifted Charlie up to his face and peppered light kisses all over his chubby cheeks, eliciting shrieking giggles from the child. Steve was the one to make Charlie laugh the most, and it made YN slightly jealous. Mostly happy, but what the heck? She carried the kid for nine months, why wasn’t she the favourite parent. 

“Remember to have it tight! But not too tight because—“ YN watched as Steve put Charlie into the car seat, and he looked back at her, glaring slightly in amusement. 

“I know how to strap the kid in, Sweetheart.” He chided and YN pursed her lips, watching Steve’s every move. Steve tucked Charlie into the seat with a blanket and pulled the carseat hood over him, encouraging the kid to take a nap in the car. 

Steve shut the back door and turned to his wife, smiling down at her. Before she could move to stand herself, he curled his arms around her and scooping his arms around her as he lifted her bridal style. She squealed and cliched at him, making him laugh. He continued to hold her with one arm as he opened the passenger side door and placed her on the seat, cupping her face in his large hands and kissing her softly. 

“How about we go home, huh?” He whispered against her lips and smiled and nodded, kissing him again slowly and tasting him. God, YN would never get over how damn lucky she got with him. 

“I would very much love that. Can we stop at McDonalds though? I need to do something that Cho doesn’t approve of for once.” 

______________

 Later that same night, YN came out of the master bathroom wrapped in a towel to find the hottest thing she’d ever seen before. 

Steve was sitting against the headboard shirtless, his slow even breaths telling her that he was asleep. His long eyelashes dusted over his cheeks, and his mouth was wide open, head lolling to the side. His wide shoulders were bare and the dark smattering of brown chest hair made YN’s mouth water. However, the hottest thing about this whole situation was the fact that Charlie was curled up on his chest, mouth open the same way and eyelashes mimicking his fathers. His ear was pressed flat against the left side of Steve’s chest, and had probably been lulled to sleep by the steady beat of Steve’s heart. 

“Fuck.” YN cursed, dashing over to the best of her ability to grab her phone, taking several pictures for reasons. She threw her phone back on the bed and pulled on some underwear and a pad as well as one of Steve’s hoodies— the first time she’d actually managed to fit into one in months. It wasn’t long before she walked over to her boys, sitting next to Steve and using the long hair he’d grown from his eyes. 

He hummed, furrowing his brows and closing him mouth, licking his lips and rolling his head to face YN. He opened his eyes slowly, and blinked in the light from the bedside table. 

“Hey, beautiful.” She murmured and his cheeks darkened slightly. 

“You stealin’ my lines now, Sugar?” He whispered, hands wrapping around Charlies body and hugging him tighter to his chest. 

“They’re good lines.” She replied, wiggling her fingers around Charlie and scooping him to her chest. She stood slowly and bounced her way over to the cradle only two feet from Steve’s side of the bed. She lay him in gently and jumped slightly when Steve hands circled around her waist, hugging her to him as he rested his chin on her shoulder. The two stared down at this creation and swayed. 

“What the hell do we do now?” He snorted and YN giggled, making him kiss her neck and cheek in pure happiness. 

“I have no fucking idea.” She shook her head and reached up behind her, curling her hand into his hair and scratching his scalp almost making him purr in delight. 

“How about we figure it out together, huh?” He replied and YN turned in his arms, wrapping her own around his neck and standing on her tip toes to kiss his chin. He squeezed her upper ribs, careful of her incisions before guiding her to the bed and sitting her on it, cupping her face in his hands before bending over and capturing her lips in his in a heated kiss. 

“We got time, don’t we.” YN mumbled against his mouth as she backed up on the bed, making room for him to crawl on her and cage her between his arms. 

“We have so much time, baby. So much damn time to figure out anything we wanted.” 

“You’re not tired of me yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Shithead.”

“Your favourite shithead.”

“Maybe so.”

_____________-

Tag List (send me an ask, ONLY. must interact with the fic more than a like): yesfanficsaremylife / notyourtypicalrose /  laurxn-robinson / disaster-rose / lille-kattunge / wwecrazed2010 / vxidnik / chewingoffmyfoot/ vitamingrant / captainamericasbeard / chrisgalore / songforhema / mmyepic / multifandommandy / tommyhoe / lostdarksoul6 / crist1216 / taeeemin / jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory / feelmyroarrrr / teller258316 / mrsdeanwinchester19 / qrangr / mariswritingforfun / nerdypinupcrystal / kittycatlover18 / laucontrerasv / printedpeterparker / @dumblani  / @captainomad / eversonaive / rainbowkisses31 / i-think-i-am-adorable / rainbowkisses31 / smalltintedgorl/ geeksareunique / jennmurawski13 / clutteredmind-emptythoughts / venezuelaanklemayonnaise / manuosorioh / stupendousshepherdloverpony

[chenqingssuibian]

be not afraid (for i’m here tonight)

[crossposted on ao3]

tagging @goldencorecrunches because it was their post that inspired this!! 

A baby cries in Lotus Pier. His face is so red the dot between his eyebrows, a symbol of his sect, has disappeared entirely into it, wailing shrill as he writhed in his crib. He is louder than the wind and rain outside, than the creaking of the buildings and the rustle of the trees and the howling. Wild dogs have been roaming the streets, as of late, feral and thin and dangerous, and as all dogs, they moved in pacts. In a few hours when the storm breaks, Jiang Cheng would be leading a hunt for them. He would need his strength, and that meant he needed rest, but - 

But a baby cries in Lotus Pier.

Jiang Cheng sits up in bed. The healers had said it wasn’t colic, that the baby is perfectly healthy, that there was nothing to be done but let him cry. The mothers he’d asked had said that it was natural, even, for a child like him to cry the way he does. Nothing soothes him, when he’s like this, and Jiang Cheng is almost at his breaking point.

A-jie, he thinks, rising from bed. Even if he made the effort to make his steps light, it wouldn’t matter, so he doesn’t, coming to stand beside the bassinet. Your son’s face is purple. He is still a little awkward, when he picks his nephew up; Jin Ling pauses in his wailing, big wet eyes blinking in surprise as Jiang Cheng settles him against his chest. As all good things in Jiang Cheng’s life, it does not last. The second those eyes lock on Jiang Cheng’s tired, pale face, Jin Ling opens his little mouth and lets out the loudest cry yet. Jiang Cheng’s head throbs painfully, and he can almost feel the pulses of pain vibrating in his teeth. “I know, A-Ling,” he sighs, bouncing the baby lightly and getting nothing in return but more shrill crying. “I’m not who you want to see. I’m sorry.”

A-Ling is not comforted. Jiang Cheng shifts his weight from one foot to the other, swaying as he rubs the baby’s back. Tears soak through the fabric of his inner robes, and Jiang Cheng squeezes his eyes shut. A-Ling sobs, and he’s trying to blink back the sting in his own eyes, resting his cheek against the dark, downy hair on the baby’s head. “I miss them, too.” 

And he did. Jin Zixuan was not his friend, per se, nor his favorite Jin, but A-jie had loved him with everything she had and when he’d died, part of her had, too. He’d only seen Jin ZIxuan with a-ling once, but the awe and love he’d seen on his face had been too much to bare, too pure to ever forget. And it went without saying that he missed A-jie - to suggest otherwise would be like denying that the sun rises in the east. Every breath he takes, he misses her. He can feel her in every room of Lotus Pier, can see her sitting on the dock with a lotus in her hair, feet skimming the surface of the water. A-jie is everywhere and everything and as A-Ling sobs against his chest he misses her even more, longs for her to be here to soothe her son the way only a mother can.

But A-jie is dead, has been for a month now. A-Ling probably remembers her laugh, now, but soon that will fade and then he will know nothing of her at all. The knowledge that his nephew will never know her soft voice, her gentle touch, burns in his chest brighter than his rage. Wei Wuxian, he thinks, jaw clenching. His heart aches. He hates him, hates the things he’d taken from Jiang Cheng, from Jin Ling, hates that he can’t bring himself to get rid of his things or burn his clothes or believe he’s truly dead. Because if Wei Wuxian really did die, then Jiang Cheng is even more alone, with nothing but his rage and a sealed room of trinkets and-

A-Ling lets out a wail, and Jiang Cheng loosens his hold, wills his body to relax. “Sorry,” he whispers, voice lost in the wind and the rain and that crying that rings in his ears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Jiu-jiu’s sorry, A-Ling.” But A-Ling will not be mollified. He has his grandmother’s temper, it seems, because he just keeps shrieking in Jiang Cheng’s ear. He raises his eyes to the ceiling, thinks, A-jie, what would you have done?

He is his mother’s son. She had rarely soothed him, as a child. He cannot remember her touch. Had she sung to him? Or had that been A-jie’s job? His father’s affection had always been rare, but it was even rarer after Wei Wuxian came to them, and he can’t remember his touch, either. Just A-jie, always her, dabbing at his feverish face and making him soup and holding his hand when he’s scared. If she sang to him, he cannot remember. But a song comes to him anyway, along with a memory, and Jiang Cheng is singing despite himself. It scratches in his throat, voice rough from a long day of training disciples and long years of disuse. But when Jiang Cheng glances down at A-Ling, he’s sniffling, tears clinging to his lashes as he stares up at him.

So Jiang Cheng keeps singing.

He sways from foot to foot, taking slow steps around his bedroom. If the song had words once, Jiang Cheng does not know them, but he knows the melody and if this is what it takes to stop his nephew’s tears that so be it. He can feel a phantom hand in his hair, a thumb stroking his cheek, and Jiang Cheng closes his eyes and keeps on. His voice grows more confident with every minute, and A-Ling snuggles into his shoulder, pressing his warm forehead against the crook of his neck. The scent of lotus and rich soil fills his nose.

When A-Ling finally, finally falls asleep, Jiang Cheng allows himself a smile. 

---

For the first time in a month, there is silence at Lotus Pier. Huang Li is afraid. He stands outside the door of Jiang-zongzhu with three other disciples - they were on watch duty together, and it had been Zhong Sicheng had been the first to notice the eerie quiet. He is pale as a sheet beside Huang Li, his round eyes bulging as he presses his lips together. There is no storm now that day’s broken. There is no excuse that Huang Li can use to explain away the quiet in this corridor.

“They probably just passed out from exhaustion... Right?” Mei Shu says, holding tightly to his sword. He is the youngest of them, at only thirteen, without a courtesy name. Despite that, he was one of the first to join the revitalized YunmengJiang sect, along with his brother, Mei Dejun, who stands beside him. He had served in the Sunshot Campaign, and therefore is nearly as respected as the sect leader himself.

“No way,” Mei Dejun says, staring at the closed door with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You were a colicky baby, just like the young master - trust me, even when you exhausted yourself, you found a way to make noise. And Jiang-zongzhu wouldn’t pass out from exhaustion alone. He’s Jiang-zongzhu.”

“Then...” Zhong Sicheng glances away from the door, eyes shining. “We only have two options, don’t we? Either Jiang-zongzhu got Jin-gongzi asleep-”

“Doubtful,” Mei Dejun cuts in, earning a withering glare from Zhong Sicheng.

“He either got the baby to sleep,” Zhong Sicheng repeats, voice going high-pitched, “Or something happened.”

“Jiang-zongzhu wouldn’t have let anything happen to A-Ling,” Mei Shu says, with the faith and confidence of a child who has not yet been failed by his hero. “And we would’ve noticed if someone had snuck in!”

“Maybe your Jun-ge would’ve,” Huang Li says, scowling at the younger boy, “But you wouldn’t. You were asleep on your feet!” Mei Shu reddens, eyes growing wet, and opens his mouth to speak.

“You-”

“Stop.” Mei Shu’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click as his brother’s hand falls heavy on his shoulder. He glares at Huang Li with barely-concealed contempt, even though Huang Li is five years older and fifty pounds heavier and has wiped the floor with him more than once. He sneers as Mei Dejun continues. “We won’t know until we open the door. Keep your voices down. If we wake that damn baby, Jiang-zongzhu will do more than make us do everyone’s laundry for a week.”

Zhong Sicheng nods. It’s perhaps the first time he’s ever agreed with Mei Dejun, and it’s clear on is face that he hates doing so. “I’ll open it,” he says, a determined sheen to his eyes. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be patrolling here, anyway, so I won’t get in trouble for leaving my station. Stay out of sight. If something happened...”

“We’ll be right behind you,” Mei Dejun says. In the dim morning light, he still manages to look every inch the head disciple he will be. Mei Shu nods, jutting out his little chin, and Huang Li sighs in resignation. They’re all going to get whipped by Zidian, he’s sure of it. The three of them move down the hall, close enough to hear everything but far enough away that they won’t be seen unless Jiang-zongzhu comes out to find them.

“Zongzhu?” Zhong Sicheng knocks lightly on the door, face pinched, and waits for a response. He glances over to where the three of them are hidden, puts on his bravest face, and pushes the door open. “Zongzhu, I’m coming in.” He does not shut the door behind him, giving him what would be a quick and easy escape if it wasn’t Sandu Shengshou’s private quarters he’s entering without permission. The wood creaks quietly beneath his feet, and his purple robes swish as he enters, and then - 

Silence. They sit in silence for five whole minutes while Huang Li fidgets and Mei Shu’s worried stares growing increasingly frantic and Mei Dejun’s furrowed brow grows more intense. Then, finally, blessedly, Zhong Sicheng steps out of Jiang-zongzhu’s room, face blank. Huang Li wants to kiss him, if only in thanks for breaking the tension. Mei Shu follows him as he approaches, craning his neck to look around him into the room. “Zhong-ge,” he says, voice hushed. “Is... Is everything alright?”

Zhong Sicheng opens his mouth to speak and nothing comes out. Wordlessly, he steps aside, letting Huang Li and Mei Shu have a clear view into the room.

Despite the sparse decoration, it is the most opulent room Huang Li has ever seen in Lotus Pier. The calming scent of lotus lingers in the air, and he steps forward to chase it as his eyes dart around the room. It is nothing like the barracks, nothing at all - they could fit ten people in here, easy, with plenty of room left for more if desired. On the wall, a sword is mounted, one Huang Li has never seen; at first he thinks it’s a carving, but would a carving be in a place of honor? What kind of sword has a hilt and scabbard that look like that, like driftwood twisted in the waves? A tea set sits at the table below it, fine cups and kettle made of jade. The cushions are Yunmeng purple, just like the wall hanging of their sect symbol, and the gauzy curtains of the bed - 

The bed. 

On the bed, curled up in only his inner robe, dark hair loose and tangled beneath his head, lay Jiang-zongzhu. This in and of itself isn’t so strange - everyone sleeps. The thing that made Huang Li’s breath catch in his throat isn’t, exactly, the smooth skin of Jiang-zongzhu’s chest on display, though that certainly doesn’t help matters. No, it’s the sleeping bundle he holds tight against himself that does it; Jin Ling, the loudest baby he’d ever had the misfortune of hearing, is clinging to his uncle’s loose robe, tiny mouth open and eyes darting beneath closed lids as he dreamed. It is the quietest, and therefore, cutest, Huang Li has ever seen him, and his heart goes thump-thump-thump in his chest with the sudden swell of affection. One of Jin Ling’s hands is curled around Jiang-zongzhu’s long, thin pinkie. Jiang-zongzhu is smiling in his sleep. He looks so much younger, Huang Li realizes. He looks his age. Barely three years older than Huang Li himself.

“Mei Shu,” Huang Li says, voice hoarse. “You seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Mm hmm.”

“Mei Shu,” he says again. The boy just hums. Huang Li would look to see if he’s gaping like a fish, but that would mean looking away from the bed, and that is the last thing he wants to do. “We’re not dreaming, are we?”

“Dreaming about what - oh.” Mei Dejun cuts off, and Huang Li really wishes he could tear his eyes away because Mei Dejun has never sounded surprised in the entire time he’s known the man. “Oh, that’s precious.”

“That’s one word for it,” Huang Li says, an almost giddy grin spreading on his face. “Who would’ve thought? Jiang-zongzhu is a cuddler.”

“They’re so cute,” Mei Shu coos, awe clear in his voice. Huang Li looks over, finally, and sees that he is, in fact, gaping like a fish, ears burning red. “I’ve never seen Jiang-zongzhu look so... Happy.”

“Not a lot to be happy about,” Mei Dejun says, voice low, “when your entire family is gone.” It is a reality they have all had to be reminded of, once or twice. That Jiang-zongzhu lost his sister and his brother just a month ago, that he lost his parents and his friends in the Wen attack only three years ago, that he’s rebuilt the sect and his life by clawing the pieces back together with his bare, bloody hands. It's why they all chose to follow him. Huang Li’s shoulders slump as he watches uncle and nephew cling to each other in their sleep, heart aching.

“Not all of it,” Mei Shu whispers. There is hope on his face when Huang Li looks over, and Mei Shu looks up at him to give a small smile. Huang Li had never noticed it before, but he has dimples. “They’ve got each other, don’t they? And us, now. Neither of them are alone anymore.”

For a moment, they are all quiet. Huang Li wishes he could believe as easily and whole-heartedly as Mei Shu that everything would be alright. There is truth to what he says, Huang Li knows, but only the simple truth of a child. The pain in Jiang-zongzhu’s heart may never fade, even if he gets married and has fifteen kids. Huang Li’s pain certainly hasn’t left him, or Zhong Sicheng, nevermind Mei Shu’s gege, whose pent-up anger and heartache comes out daily on the training fields. Huang Li’s got the bruises to prove it.

It is Zhong Sicheng who speaks. “We shouldn’t wake them,” he says, careful as he steps back toward the door. “Or tell anyone what we saw.”

Fat chance, Huang Li thinks. “Right,” Huang Li says, taking Mei Shu’s sleeve to tug him along. “C’mon. We need to get back to our posts.”

---

There is song in Lotus Pier.

Three times a day, it can be heard; a low, lovely baritone that echoes over the lotus ponds and bounces off the rooftops. The owner of the voice is well-known, though no one has the audacity to name him. The songs he sings change over the months, but the disciples like one best. It’s a haunting lullaby, the kind that leaves you feeling hollow in your bones and demands listeners. A ballad long forgotten, some say. Others think the singer composed it himself, that it was borne from the ceaseless suffering he faced. The only thing anyone agrees on is that it isn't a song from Yunmeng, or the surrounding areas, for that matter.

Sometimes, Huang Li thinks he hears a flute playing along, twining around the voice and making it whole.

[bibliocratic]

for @speakerunfolding who has done some AMAZING art of Jon and Martin with their daemons: aren’t. they. beautiful!

jonmartin, that martin’s daemon character study that’s finally finished.

Some cws in the tags. Also on A03

“What do you think then?”

“'bout what?”

“About this one.”

“Don't think anything much. You like it, I like it.”

There's a rodent-fanged nibble on the fleshy pad of his thumb. A sure-footed scamper up his arm, a scritch-scratch scrabble of claws up the terrain of crumpled uniform that he's yet to change out of.  Backpack slumped spineless by his bedroom door, his shoes toed off unlaced.

“You've got to have an opinion, Martin.”

“Why?” Martin replies, playfully obtuse. He's gifted with another nip.

“You jus' hafta,” comes the long-suffering, impatient response. Long buck-teeth roll the lobe of his ear in an admonishing but painless grind.

“Fine. Bossy. I like this one, right?” Martin says to keep the peace. He brings his hand up to flatten the attentive perked-up peaks of rounded ears, ticks the fur-fat round of a soft stomach. The pink tail that's trailing lazily, wormish with ridges, he strokes along its length and it coils around his middle finger. He brings it up and watches the mouse trapeze itself playfully by his tail.

“You like everything I try,” harrumphs the mouse dismissively. There's a flutter of dirt-brown wing, and Martin giggles as the nightingale alights on his forehead, hopping initially to balance.

“That's not a bad thing,” Martin says. His attention truly stolen away, he closes the notebook he's been tongue-out concentrating on, filling with careful doodles.

“You're indecisive, 's what it is.” The nightingale pecks at his nose affectionately.

Martin shrugs because it's true.

Expecting a response, the nightingale chirps a half-annoyed sound.

“What about this then?”

The bird transfers to his chest and fixes him with a beady, challenging stare. Martin stares back, though it makes him grin cross-eyed

The weight on his chest increases, and bigger rounded eyes look out of a furred face.

“Ergh – you're getting hair everywhere!” Martin complains, pushing petulant against the bulk of the huge rabbit. “Mum'll get mad!”

“I'm fluffy,” the rabbit says almost defensively. “How'd you like that – me being soft?”

“You are really soft,” Martin concedes, running his fingers through the dense tufts.

“Right, what about this?” The rabbit repeats insistently, shifting on his haunches, getting hair absolutely all over Martin's school trousers. He'll have to clean them before Mum notices.

Suddenly the face has lengthened to a snout, the teeth have sharpened vulpine.

“What you think? Better in a fight than a rabbit or a mouse.”

“Are you planning to get into fights?”

“Someone needs to protect you,” the fox says simply, the colours of his fur pulling his face into a natural frown.

“Well, you don't like being bigger animals anyway, so it doesn't matter,” Martin replies. He rubs the silky fur through his fingers like trailing river water.

The fox growls and whines in the way he does when Martin's just not listening.

The grasshopper mouse comes back, snuffling his small pink nose.

“You really wouldn't mind?” Aron says slowly. His words more precise now, considered. “Even if I'm not big, or soft, or fast, or strong?”

Martin shakes his head and thinks mournfully that he really ought to get a start on his homework.

“We've got ages yet,” Martin replies, scooping the mouse up under his chin. “Ages 'n ages. And I know I'll like whatever you end up being, so why do I need to worry?”

“That's 'case I do the worrying for the both of us,” says Aron, but he nuzzles up against Martin's throat anyway.  

–

The first day of the summer holidays finds him blearily squinting in the dawn-wash glow of his room.  Its grasping fingers illuminate bookshelves and posters and a pile of clothes that's slipped off his desk chair; it cuts a slice across his bed, over his pillow.

He wonders, too woozy for irritation, blinking deeply, why he's awake so early.

“Martin!”

Something nips at the skin of his hand.

“Mart – wake up.”

“Wossit?”

He garbles a sound that barely makes landfall at language, strains his neck up to look around for Aron.

He sees the crouching, cringing shape sat unfamiliar against the back of his hand, near the fin of skin between thumb and forefinger. Legs folded tight against each other, the spokes of the form folded neatly back into itself so that it squats like a bobbly pebble, eyes catching the room light and reflecting it back like the precisely set stones in a crown.

“I can't change back!” Aron moans. “Martin, I don't know what to do, I – ”

“Ok,” Martin whispers roughly, sitting up and wincing as it sets the bed off in a snapping creak. His hands hover because he wants to pet and stroke and reassure, but he doesn't know where he can touch. “Ok, it's, it's alright, it's – try something easier? Come on, it's alright.”

Jointed legs tufted with monochromatic hairs flail, propelling themselves to scuttle over skin, off his hand, unsteadily tumbling onto the bedclothes, clambering back up on the duvet slung messy over Martin's knees. There is a sensation of a headache that barks with a sudden ferocity behind his eyes even as Aron gasps, strained.

“I'm trying,” he replies, miserable, and that headache rips and snarls up in Martin's head, the ache distracting from everything else but Aron's panic. “I'm trying, I can't, I can't, a-and I don't know what to do, what should we – ?”

“Shh,” Martin says, near tears himself, clearing his throat. “Sh, it's – stop, stop for a minute.”

Aron stops. The headache subsides. Martin feels clammy and overheated, and his small soul is churning out enough terror to blanket them both insensate.

Martin forces himself to take a very long, very troubled breath.

“It's – it's ok,” he whispers finally. “We'll just. Let's just – let's breathe, yeah. We'll – we'll sort this.”

“I'm sorry,” Aron garbles, “I'm sorry – I'll – I'll try something else, something bigger, something with teeth or a tail or wings, I'll be better, give me a minute.”

Aron's tried on the shape of dogs and lizards and snakes and horses, and even – once, when he was younger and Mum took him to the seaside, a fish.

Martin's never seen his soul in the dressing of a spider before.

“Aron,” Martin says slowly. He keeps his hands folded on his lap but his fingers twitch to reach out. “This is – we've settled, haven't we?”

Aron can't nod. His form can't allow for such an expression. But he brings his legs in closer, pebbles up and won't look at Martin, and that's answer enough.

“Please,” Martin says, holding out his palm. Flat, fingers docked against fingers. “Come here, please.”

It takes a moment before Aron creeps shamefaced onto his hand. Martin adds his other hand so he can cup the small shape like he's holding a weakly burning candle flame out of the wind.

Martin studies him now the panic has subsided. Admiring the greenish-blue of the chelicerae at the front of his face, the way they ripple with colour as the light catches them like fish scales, like an oil spill. The downy white tufts and lines like tree rings along his abdomen that break up the coarse run of  black hair.

“Aron,” Martin whispers, “I think you're great. Look at you. You're amazing!”

“But I'm not – ” Aron begins tentatively, but Martin interrupts him by clumsily reaching out with a pawing touch, stroking the upstruck wired fur against where he thinks his neck probably is.

“Ow.”

“Shit. What?”

“.... you poked me in the eye,” comes the response, tinted with a ghost of amusement.

“Sorry!”

Martin pauses, and then leans in eagerly to see, holding up his hand to get a better look.

“I am not an art exhibit Martin,” comes the huffy reply.

“Sit there and be admired for a minute,” Martin snarks back, and he feels Aron's fleeting smile in return.

“I can and will bite you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Martin replies, not really listening, turning his cupped hands this way and that. “How many do you have? Eyes, I mean?”

“Eight. Duh.”

“Woah,” Martin replies, ignoring the snide aside. He casts out a finger again, moving it over the abdomen a bit more carefully, his bitten nail trailing along the curving round to the small protrusion at the back where he supposes webbing must come from.

“I think you're cool,” he whispers again.

“What about Mum?” Aron asks. He's grown bolder, crawls up to the ends of Martin's fingertips where he sits like a lord surveying his kingdom.

“We just, we just won't tell Mum yet.” Martin worries at his lip. “She'll... she'll worry, she doesn't need to know right now, does she?”

They keep their secret for four days. An advantage of how small Aron has grown.

Until his Mum catches sight of him, half-burrowed under the lip of his t-shirt collar while Martin is finishing drying the dishes. He's had a growth spurt recently, and barely going on tip-toe, he reaches up the higher cupboard where the glasses are kept.

“Change into something else,” she says briskly. It's been a bad day, her face washed out and lined with sleeplessness, pale-lipped and shivery. Martin watches as she finishes swallowing the last of her tablets with a blank expression, clipping her pill box closed.

Martin stiffens. Feels Aron crouch and bristle against his collarbone. He sees Kacper perk his ears up, his yellowish eyes snagged on Martin's throat. His bushy tail tipped with white flicks distracted.

“I can't,” Martin replies, feeling his face heat up with the suddenness of attention being paid to him. His voice cracks in the middle, and he flushes at how squeaky it comes across.

“Something else, Martin,” she insists sharply, her eyebrows pulled down.

Kacper, who has been sat on his hunches near her leg, stands. Glances up at her.

“Lena, calm down,” he warns, but his Mum takes a step forward. Martin blunders back the same distance, nearly elbowing a plate off the counter. Their kitchen is pokey, and he's crowded back against the washing machine.

“Mum, I- I can't,” he repeats. His words are thick and clogging in his throat, his body feels too unwieldy, too big for the suddenly very cramped space. “Aron's, he's settled, Mum, and – ”

“Don't be stupid, Martin, you can't have – ”

“He's settled, Lena,” Kacper's voice is grumbling terse at the back of his throat. “Being upset about it isn't going to help anyone.”

“He's not settled. Not as that!” she barks, and Martin's not sure who she's snapping at, but she takes another step and  grabs against his wrist, and it's tight as a manacle and her nails dig into the pasty skin there, and Kacper's protestations become a vocalized growl. “He's not settling like that.”

Martin does start crying then, hot tears leaking down his cheeks, his free hand cupped protectively over the fragile, unwanted shape his soul has taken. His mum's lip curls upwards when she sees his tears but still she doesn't let go, and her grip is bony and harsh and it hurts.

“Lena!” Kacper snarls, and his teeth catch and yank backwards at the fabric of her trousers,  “Enough, Lena, leave it!”

“Mum?” Martin asks faintly with his squeaking, crumbling voice. He doesn't pull away. There's nowhere to pull away to.

His mum sniffs. Sets her shoulders high again, and rips her hand back, and leaves the room without another word. Kacper glances over at Martin, and Martin desperately wants to bury his face in the soft orangey fur like he used to when he was younger, wants to feel it under his fingers.

But Kacper leaves too, and Martin and Aron are suddenly very alone.

They don't say anything for a long time. Martin puts the last of the plates away, and he goes upstairs and locks the door of his room, sits heavily on the side of the bed.

“Aron...” he begins.

“I don't want to talk about it,” comes the cloth-muffled response.

“I – ”

“I mean it,” Aron snaps. “I don't want to talk about it. Leave it be, yeah?”

“Oh,” Martin replies. He wipes at his eyes, stares at his feet.  “Oh. Ok.”

The entire incident is never spoken about again.

Aron takes to lurking under Martin's clothes whenever they're in the house.

–

“All you have to do is look in a mirror.”

The world rings wrong in his ears. His in-gasping weed-choked breaths  are scraping and disjointed as he parses them as noise. He can hear the slide of his own fingers curling against his damp palms. The room is at once so loud and crushingly far away like a distant crashing storm tide, and yet right up against his ear, like a dropped glass in an empty room, Elias' voice, cut-sharp and close and the slivers sliding into him as splinters as he listens.

“The resemblance is quite uncanny. You even have a spider, you know, just like he did.  Not the same species of course, but then she never looks close enough to check, does she? The face of the man she hates, who destroyed her life, watching over her...”

“Shut. Up.” Martin hears himself push the sound out as a feeble whistle between his teeth, and it gets lost in the groaning rigging of sound in the room. The weight of being so splayed open has him bow-backed and trembling.

It's hard to remember why he's doing this. It's hard to focus on anything other than how much she despises him. How much he's always known it.

Through blistering tears, he watches Aron scuttle down his trouser leg, over his shoelaces, a tear-blurred shape moving at surprising speed over the foot-worn and un-swept floor. He thinks he might be planning on biting Elias. He can feel the pulsing reckless fury that is the only thing breaking up the solid mass of despair cementing and expanding in the hollow of his chest, the rage that even the satisfaction of burning statements hasn't appeased. At everything this man has done – but he's not a man, he's not a person – , at everything he's sat back and watched and done nothing to prevent, and as Martin chokes airless on his own drowning grief, his anger has found motion, enough room to lash out amidst the agony.

Elias looks down at Aron, almost bored.

And brings down his foot.

Martin drops.

There isn't an expression to describe the sensation. His knees send a pained recoil down his legs as he slams against the floor, a shock up his spine, but Martin can't feel that, can't feel anything but alight, burning, illuminated down to the bones of him. He retches on a shell-shocked wail as Elias idly watches the panicked body squirming under the vicious pressure of his shoe, as  Aron cries out as his body is pressed squashed against the floor, and Martin can do nothing.

There's a curve to Elias' smile now.

He shouldn't be touching him, Martin's brain is scream-sobbing, he shouldn't, he can't, he shouldn't be touching...

“You want to know what she sees when she looks at you?”

Martin thought he didn't have room for any more, but Elias pushes his mother's hatred into him anyway.

There's a harder, painful pressure, and he hears Aron squeal. He thinks his own voice mouths a  pleading 'stop' that goes unheeded.

Elias' voice is tight and biting and cold.

“Don't burn any more statements.”

Even when the pressure lifts, there are steps walking away, the door closing on this pitiful tableau, Martin cannot move, awash in the flotsam of wrong, smudged and tarnished and beheld in the cruellest violent light, knotted in the weeds of a revelation that is no less choking for how little of a surprise it was.

Half-blinded by tears, he inches forward on his knees, feeling around, finding the furred body quivering where it was made to stay.

“I've – I've got you,” he slurs desperately, scooping the shape up against his face, feeling for anything broken, anything fractured, feeling his front legs twitch feebly against his cheeks. “He – he's gone, he shouldn't have, he – he....”

“She hates us,” Aron finally speaks. The loudest thing in the room, Martin almost wincing from the suddenness – where Martin's grief has already begun to settle into the cracks of him, Aron's is an outpouring, a final barrier broken. “She hates us so much, Martin, a-and we did nothing and she – god, he left so we got everything she reserved for him for no better reason than we were there to hate and he wasn't, a-and she...”

Aron's words are lost in a babbling wail, and Martin can do nothing but clutch him desperately, shushing, every excuse and reasoning and childish hope he's ever entertained that she'd ever be proud of him laid bare as the dessicated husk it always was, already striped by life's disappointments long before.

Aron climbs under the collar of his shirt when Melanie comes in. He will not crawl out for a very long time.

–

He discusses it with Aron while Jon is in the shower. Jon uses up all the hot water from the immersion heater, his showers long, aimless and scalding, even with his hair now hacked back from its tangles. Sometimes Martin even thinks he catches a hum, a snatch of tune, though it's always faint, muddied by the bathroom acoustics, close-lipped and idle. He thinks Jon's happy here. Hopes he is.

There's the slow wash of steam trickling from under the bathroom door onto the landing, into the sitting room. Martin tries not to be reminded of other, colder mists.

“It seems unnecessary...” Martin is responding, chewing the nail of his thumb.

“We don't know who could come here!” Aron replies dogged. He keeps rubbing his front legs together anxiously, like Martin does with his hands, but he stays on the sofa arm so all his front-facing eyes are fixed on Martin. “One of us needs to be here to keep watch. Who knows who could come? Daisy – ”

“Daisy's Jon's friend.”

“She's tried to kill him before,” says Aron dismissively. “We don't know her, Martin, we don't know she can be trusted.”

“Jon does – ”

“And it's never helped him,” Aron snaps. He untenses, and the bristles coating his back soften. “OK. Maybe Daisy isn't a problem. But what if Elias finds him? While we're out getting food or walking down to the village, it's not safe for him to be alone.”

Martin nods worriedly. He rubs the cold-cracked skin of his palms over his thighs and tugs at his lip with his teeth.

“We don't even know if it will stretch that...”

“We do, don't lie,” Aron retorts. It's not unkind. It's just harsher. More direct. Everything about them has had all the edges taken off. “You know it will stretch that far.”

It will. Martin doesn't know how far it was, from his office to the Panopticon, but he'd stretched it and stetched it until he'd stopped feeling Aron's terror, until it had boiled down from a fire-brand mutilation to a wincing sunburn of feeling. And once Peter cast him into the Lonely. Well. He hadn't felt anything at all then.

“We shouldn't be able to do this,” Martin says miserably. He rubs his hands over his face. “Be so far apart from each other.”

“Well, we can,” Aron replies simply,  “so we should use it to make sure they stay safe.”

Martin lets out a breath too heavy for his lungs to hold.

“You're right,” he says finally. “I know you're right, s'just... it's not – it's not natural. Being able to – it's not, it's not right.”

“No.” Aron says and he crawls onto Martin's arm, up onto his shoulder. “No, it's – it's not. But it's what we've got now.”

Martin wipes at his eyes, takes another more pronounced inhale.

“Hey. Hey, it might heal one day. Don't make that face.”

“'m not making a face.” Martin replies, feeling belligerent and childish in his response.

Aron rears up and sets both front legs on the spot on Martin's chin he can reach.  

“Your sulky face,” he says, and his voice is warm. Everything about him feels warm these days.  Martin is mummified in five layers of clothing and still has goosebumps.  

“I missed you,” Aron continues, simply. He has never found honesty easy, but he looks at Martin, taps against his chin with the stunted pedipalps at the front of his body and repeats: “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Martin croaks out, and he has no more words to express what he wants to stay.

After a moment, Aron makes a decisive 'clearing throat' noise, and continues.

“I've told Emer. The plan.”

“How'd she take it?”

“She's practical. She can see the benefit.”

“Is she going to be the one to tell Jon?”

“You don't want to do the honours then?”

“You know I don't.”

“Chicken.”

“Sod off.”

“I'm right though.”

“Yeah, don't get used to it.”

Aron hums in reply, and then returns his gaze to Martin.

“You really want to get back into the habit of keeping secrets from him?”

“No, I.... No. You're right.

“Twice in one day.”

“It's a miracle.”

“If you're going to be this insufferable with him, he'll hand you back.”

“I'll hide in his sleeve cuffs. Jump out at him.”

“Don't.”

“I won't. Relax.”

Martin carefully traces a finger over the bristles of Aron's abdomen, scratching lightly with a nail near the back, rewarded with a contented chitter.

“Then it's agreed,” he says, and they sit, quiet and sedate in each other's company until Jon and Emer come out.

–

Martin frets, so as he tramps down the uneven and rain-boggy hill, muttering and grumbling about the state of his boots, he throws out little questioning checks through the wide net their thread has become.

Aron, secure in the safehouse and out of the spitting rain, responses momentarily with reassuring pulses, wordless and rudimentary but implying safe – warm – dry.

Martin gets these placid reassurances three times in a row when he sends a hand-wringing anxious ?, before he's eventually gifted with a spikier snatch of mild frustration. The wave of safe – warm – alive – annoyed is speckled with the impression that whatever Jon, Emer and Aron are now doing, Martin's frequent checks are now disruptive.

A pause, and then a kinder wash that implies that Martin should hurry up and get back.

Martin leaves it at that and keeps his queries minimal.

It's while he's in the little shop that the humming connection shifts, a new harmony billowing into the background melody, and he's treated to a rising ball of crunched and cosy heat blooming and pulsing at his breastbone.

Martin knows what causes such a fireplace in him. He's been feeling it a lot recently. His hands suddenly  don't feel as cold-nipped. He has to try and keep the smile off his face to avoid looking foolish as he peers at the 'two for three pound' offer on grapes, ticks vegetables off the shopping list, impulsively throws in some strawberries on the off-chance Jon might like them.

Another pulse, not three minutes later: a glint through his spine, like a cloud shifting and exposing a sun trap as he stares non-plussed at the spice isle, trying to decipher Jon's deplorable handwriting.

The steady sensation comes upon him with the regularity of waves upon a beach.

He has a pins-and-needles buzz at his fingertips as he makes the walk back, the bag handles digging into his palms, and even the rain, pouring hard from burdened storm clouds, does not dampen his mood.

He hears Jon's rumbling tumbling speech as he shoulders open the front door, hefting the bags into the entranceway.

“... and it's actually a common misapprehension, easily done by rudimentary scholars in the field, when in fact, a  rather simplistic way of rectifying such an error is to...”

Martin watches and allows the smile to claim him utterly.

Jon is ironing. A little pile of ordered clothes on the sofa, precisely folded. Chattering away to his audience: Martin's spider soul, settled comfortable on Jon's shoulder. Martin waits long enough, and Jon, thoughtless and undisrupted in his lecture, reaches up to run his finger all the way from Aron's front section, poking one of his eyes more likely than not though Aron doesn't say a word, all the way down to his stubby spinnerets, doing this two or three times in a rhythmic gesture before he returns to his chore.

Martin feels bathed in an undemanding tenderness.

Emer has noticed his arrival where Jon hasn't. She flutters over to him, lands in his coarse briar bush of hair before alighting again and setting down on his shoulder, the position more to her satisfaction.

“You've missed a treat,” she says drolly, using her front legs to clean her long, feathery antennae.  “He's been on a roll for about twenty minutes.”

“That's our Jon,” Martin murmurs. His eyes crinkle as she snorts a laugh.

They watch him for a minute.

“He irons his socks?” Martin continues, Jon using the steam function to neatly flatten the fabric over the toes obliviously.

“Even the socks,” Emer replies, ever so fond.

Another pause.

“Never thought I'd see the day when Jon would like spiders,” Martin says.

“Not any spiders,” Emer says, and she flutters her gossamer-white wings at him affectionately. “Just yours.”

Jon notices him then. His face breaking into softness. Helps him unload the shopping into their neatly categorised cupboards and newly cleaned fridge, makes them both tea though he steeps it too long and adds too much milk, sits up against him, folded up and knobbly-limbed as they channel-hop through the rubbish on TV.

Martin's soul sits safe on Jon's shoulder all evening.

[teacupfulofstarshine]

pattonella part 8: everybody is chugging their “love and respect patton” juice

a/n: first posted fic of 2020! 

CW: brief nonspecific death mention, injury mention, minor angst 

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // read it on ao3! 

“so what was it like, growing up a prince?” virgil asks. logan is on his back, eyes closed, and virgil is next to him, his head is on logan’s shoulder, and logan has an arm wrapped around him. 

“it was . . . interesting,” logan hums. “my mother passed on shortly after roman was born. i did not know her well, as roman was only one when she left us and i was not yet three. thomas, however . . . thomas was five. he had memories of her, when she was born, and when she died it was . . . hard on him.” 

“i can imagine.” 

“father retreated into his work. he threw himself into the running of the kingdom to cope with his grief, and . . . and we were left to raise ourselves, among nursemaids and tutors and such. father loves us, we never doubted that. but he was . . . distant.” 

“yeah, my mom wasn’t super good at warm and fuzzy, either. and of course, i had a shitshow for a brother until i made peace with patton. you’re lucky that you had thomas and roman.” 

“they are very important to me, truly. but for the most part, i spent my childhood throwing myself into books and lessons. i know so many things i might never need to use in real life.” 

“like what?”

“hmmm?”

“what kind of stuff did you learn?” 

logan gently sweeps his thumb over virgil’s hipbone. “um . . . i can play the piano, i can play the violin, i can sing classically, i can speak . . . approximately five languages, i can fire multiple ranged weapons, i can play chess -”

“i know that,” virgil says. he tilts and kisses logan’s neck, and logan makes a low, pleased noise. virgil hums in response, nuzzling him and trying to gather the strength to ask a very important question. 

“what is it, dearest?” logan asks, a smile in his voice. 

“what do you mean?”

“i can hear you overthinking about something, virgil.” 

“you don’t know that’s what i’m doing,” he says defensively. 

“that was a rather defensive tone you just took, dear.” 

“i . . . you are right, and i’m sorry. it’s just . . .”

“speak freely, virgil. you know i’ll listen, whatever the grievance.”

“not a grievance. just a question. well, a series of questions, actually, but it starts with just one question. i - i’m sorry, i know i’m bothering you when you’re supposed to be resting and all that -”

“virgil, i have been bedridden with a concussion for nearly five days. i am approaching the end of my restful period. and even if i was not, you are never a bother to me. please, ask your questions.” 

virgil takes a deep breath, inhales it and holds it and slowly exhales it. “you . . . when you and roman came to - to rescue us . . . when you brought us here, away from sanders manor . . .”

“yes?” 

“in the carriage, on the way home. you swore to me that . . . that you would never lie to me.”

a pause, a beat of silence. “i did, virgil.”

“is that still true?” 

“it is, virgil.” 

“i - i’m going to ask you a question, logan. and i want - i need - an honest answer.” 

“of course, virgil.” 

“i know that roman’s sent letters to patton, and he’s sent one to me, as well, but you’ve definitely received letters from him too, right?” 

“that i have.”

“what’s really happening?” virgil asks. “my letter just asks that i take care of patton while he’s away, and patton’s just say that roman misses him and wants to come home very soon. they don’t tell us anything about what he’s doing, or how he’s doing. is he okay?” 

a pause, a heavy exhale. “he is, virgil. the bandits are proving more troublesome than he had initially thought - they caught wind of roman riding out with some knights, and they changed up their attack plans, roman is fortifying the village now and making sure that they’re ready for the next attack.” 

“is he wounded?” 

logan does not respond right away. 

“logan, you promised to answer me honestly. is roman wounded?” 

“not severely,” logan says. “i understand that an arrow grazed his arm, nicked him slightly. but he is not seriously injured. if he were, they would send him home to recover. he is alright.”

“but he hasn’t told patton, has he.”

“i suspect not. he does not wish to worry him.” 

“won’t it worry patton more not to know? to expect roman home unscathed and see him hurt?” 

“i cannot say i have historically agreed with my brother’s decision making skills, but i trust him. and besides all that, from what i understand he’ll be home soon.”

“good,” virgil sighs. “i worry for patton when roman’s away. he’s not used to being in such a large place, and he’s used to dorian treating him as worse than a servant. i think he’s going a bit . . .”

“stir-crazy?”

“yeah. when roman’s here, he takes patton around the castle and entertains him and fills his day with things to do. but now that roman’s away, patton doesn’t know what to do with himself. his whole life, almost, his days have been full of the things your servants do. he’s not used to having things done for him, he’s used to doing things for others. i’m . . .”

“worried for your brother?”

“yeah.”

“i understand. i worry for roman, and not just when he goes off to fight. i worry for thomas, too, since he is burdened with more and more responsibilities as our father takes ill. normally, one of us holds court with him - in place of a queen, you understand, or a prince consort - but with me injured and roman away he’s been holding his own. he can, of course, but still.”

virgil turns to kiss logan’s head. “i guess worrying for our brothers is another thing that brings us together, hmm?”

“i suppose so,” logan smiles. “but i’m sure that patton is fine.”

“i hope so.” 

*~*~*~*~*

patton doesn’t think he’s suited to be royalty. 

he doesn’t know what to do with himself without roman. he’s used to having things to do, to occupy his hands and time, and now he just . . . sits around. 

he wakes up early one morning, before the curtains are open. patton’s been trying to sleep later and later, now that he doesn’t have to be up before the crack of dawn, and the curtains are always opened by the time he wakes up. there’s also a steaming tray of breakfast on the bedside table, and no matter how quickly patton thinks he bathes and dresses the dishes are always gone before he comes back. 

this morning, patton tries his best to fall back asleep, but he can’t. he stays tucked into the warm, soft mattress and the soft, downy pillows and the thick, heavy blankets, nestled securely in the four-poster bed, and he’s almost halfway to slumber again when the door creaks open. 

patton almost sits up, but remains totally still instead, measuring his breathing to ensure that it’s even and deep. a shadow enters, creeping inside, and as they approach the bed patton steels his nerves and tries to think if there’s something nearby he can bludgeon an attacker with. 

the shadow grasps the curtains at the edge of the bed and pulls them back, tying them to the side. then, it crosses to the windows and pulls the heavy drapes back, tying them off as well. when the shadow turns, patton sits up, and the shadow gasps. it’s a young man, perhaps two or three years his junior, with dark hair and wide, dark eyes (the only details patton can make out at this distance). 

“are you okay?” patton asks. the man takes a step back, as though he’s going to leave the room. “no - no, please, please stay!” 

“wh - whatever you want, your lordship.” 

“what is your name?” 

“i - nathan, your lordship. my family calls me nate.” 

“may i call you that?” 

“i - if you wish, your lordship.”

“you don’t have to call me that!” patton yawns, rubbing his eyes. “do you know where my glasses are? i can’t see a gosh-darned thing without them!” 

“on your night table, your lordship. would you like me to help you?” 

“if you could pass them to me, i’d appreciate it an awful lot!” nate hurries around the bed and holds the glasses out to patton, who takes them and slides them on. from this distance, curtains open and glasses on, he can see nate much more clearly. 

he looks absolutely terrified. 

“hey, don’t be scared,” patton says. “i’m not going to - to hurt you or anything.” 

“of course not, your lordship. i just - i’m not supposed to let you see me, sir.” 

“whyever not? i see servants around all the time, why should you be any different?” 

“the palace is meant to run like clockwork, sir. you might see some of the clock gears, but most of them operate far below your sight.” 

“you’re more important than a silly old clock gear, though,” patton says. “you’re a person! what’s your actual job title?” 

“i’m a bedroom attendant, your lordship. i bring you breakfast and clear the dishes away, and i make the bed and change the sheets and clean your clothes and take them to be mended if need be. oh, and i clean the bedroom, of course.” 

“can we change that title at all?” 

nate swallows, hard. “do . . . do you mean that . . . that you wish to fire me? has my job been . . . unsatisfactory? or is it the fact that - that you’ve seen me?” 

“no! no, no, nothing like that. i just - roman is gone, and i’m lonely. i want someone to keep me company during the day, when virgil and logan are about. you seem nice enough!” 

“you . . . you would like me to be your . . . your personal servant? your personal attendant?” nate whispers. 

“yeah! are you against that?” 

“no . . . it’s just . . . i’ve been told that - that being a personal servant to a higher up is a very good job, depending on the higher up that you work for. and you - you seem like - like a good person, your lordship.”

“excellent!” patton claps. “so how would i go about getting you as my personal attendant, then?” 

“i - i suppose you would have to talk to - to the king, your lordship, but he . . .”

“he’s ill,” patton finishes. “yes, your lordship.” “so who would i ask?” 

“i . . . suppose his highness the crown prince - well, the eldest prince, i suppose.” 

“good. i’ll go this morning! i want you to come with me, nate. are you allowed to do that?” 

“my job is to serve the royal family and their guests. that includes you, your lordship. if you request me for something, i will come.” 

“perfect, nate!” patton grins, and despite the clear nerves nate smiles back. 

*~*~*~*~*

thomas scrubs his fist across his eyes when he sees the size of the stack of paperwork set in front of him. “what is all this?” 

“the paperwork for today, your highness.” 

“this seems like an awful lot. i’m not really crown prince yet, you know, father still handles most of this stuff.” 

“your father is feeling quite ill today, your highness. i was told to add the paperwork in with your standard. should - should i not have?” 

“no, no, it’s alright. thank you. you may take your leave.” 

the servant bows her head and ducks out of the room. thomas sighs, reaching for the fountain pen resting on the edge of the desk. “more and more paperwork . . .” 

he makes it through three or four documents before someone knocks on the door and the servant from earlier pokes her head in. “your highness?” 

“yes?” 

“lord sanders is outside, requesting an audience. shall i tell him to leave?” 

“no, no, send him in.” 

the servant ducks back out, and then patton bounces in with a different servant at his heels. he’s wearing one of roman’s old outfits, a flowy red tunic top and gray pants with soft gray boots. “thomas! oh - i mean - your highness -”

“none of that,” thomas says, waving his hand and standing up to greet patton. “you’re gonna be my brother in law, pat.” patton grins again, hurrying around the table to hug him.

“oh! thomas, this is nate!” 

the servant bows to him, hands shaking slightly. “y - your highness.” 

“he’s the - what did you say your job title was, nate?”

“bedroom attendant, your lordship.”

“yeah, that! but i was wondering if we could maybe change that job title?” 

“change it? to what?” 

“uuuuh . . . nate?”

nate looks up at thomas. “lord sanders was wondering if - if it might be possible to - to change my job from bedroom attendant to - to his personal servant.”

“yeah! roman’s the only person i really know here, and he’s gone, and i’m lonely.” thomas watches patton fidget with his fingers. “i want a friend, if . . . if that’s alright. i want someone to keep me company.” 

“so what you want is a lady-in-waiting?” 

“a what?” 

thomas drops back into his chair, picking up his fountain pen and pulling another document in front of him. “if you were a noblewoman, you would have a personal servant that tended to your personal needs and served as your confidant for all things personal and private. her title would be lady-in-waiting. as you’re a nobleman, you don’t have a lady-in-waiting, but if you wanted nate to be your personal manservant, i suppose the duties would be the same.” 

patton looks at nate with wide eyes and grins. “would you like that, nate? would you like to be my personal manservant?” the servant stares at patton. “it’s okay if you don’t want to . . .”

“no! i - i would very much like to! if you would like me to, sir!” nate’s eyes are watering. “my - my mother would be so happy!” 

“your mother?” 

“she’s a cook in the castle kitchens, sir,” nate says. “she - she wanted me to be more than just a bedroom attendant, she wanted me to have a good life, i - when i tell her of this promotion, she’ll be overjoyed!” 

patton looks at thomas eagerly. “nate can be changed to that title, right?” 

thomas smiles and reaches for a clean piece of parchment. 

*~*~*~*~*

“are you sure that you’re alright, sir?” 

roman looks up from where he’s been staring into the fire. one of his knights, claire, is frowning at him. “hmm?” she unstraps her sword and sits down next to him, balancing the sheathed blade across her armored knees. “did you need something?” 

“i asked if you were sure you’re alright, sir. you’ve been staring off strangely lately.” claire unsheathes her blade and tilts it, reflecting firelight off its perfectly sharpened edge. “it’s unlike you.” 

roman sighs. “i’m alright.” he shifts, wincing when he tugs on the bandages tied around his arrow wound. “i’m just worried about my brother.” 

“prince logan? or crown prince thomas?”

“he’s not crown prince yet,” roman responds automatically. “i’m worried about logan, because he was concussed by that horse, and i’m worried about thomas, because father is ailing and he keeps having more and more work piled on him, and i’m worried about patton because he must be so lonely without me there, and i’m just . . . worried about the kingdom in general.”

“prince logan is strong,” claire says, pulling a whetstone from a pouch and beginning to sharpen her sword. “he won’t be killed by something like a draft horse. he’s recovering well, isn’t he?” 

“yes . . .”

“and crown prince thomas will have to adjust to running the kingdom sooner or later. i’m sure he will be able to handle it. he is capable, is he not?” 

“he is . . .”

“and lord sanders has his brother to keep him company. he will adjust in time.”

“i . . . suppose . . .”

“the kingdom is healthy, prince roman. that is why we’re here, is it not? we’re here to help the kingdom stay healthy. everything will be fine. we’ll make sure of it.” 

roman smiles. “what would i do without you to keep my head on straight, claire?” she scoffs.

“there’s nothing straight about either of us, and you know that for a fact, prince roman.” 

*~*~*~*~*

patton wakes up to nate tying the curtains back. “good morning, lord sanders!” he greets. when he steps closer, patton is able to make out his clothes. he’s wearing a pale blue tunic, with grey pants and boots and a heart-shaped crest stitched above his heart. “am i dressed appropriately?”

“that depends. what are you wearing, exactly?” 

“i’m wearing the colors and crest of the sanders estate! i looked into them in the castle library, and mother sewed the crest onto my tunic. do - do you not like it?” patton reaches out and touches the crest on nate’s chest. a memory flashes to his mind - his mother, wearing such a crest on a silver chain around her neck, bending down to kiss his forehead as she tucks him in. 

“it . . . i think it’s perfect, nate,” he says softly. nate smiles, straightening his tunic proudly. he offers patton his glasses, and the world slides sharply into focus. 

“i can fetch your breakfast from the kitchens whenever you’re ready, sir! what would you like me to bring you today?” patton hums, considering. he isn’t particularly hungry in the mornings, most times. 

“just a little toast and jam, if it’s alright. and - and perhaps some tea with honey?” 

“certainly, sir!” 

“you don’t have to do that,” patton says. “call me ‘lord sanders’ or ‘your lordship’ or ‘sir’ or anything like that. you can just call me patton.” nate shakes his head. 

“it wouldn’t be proper of me, sir. at the very least not in public. i might get scolded for being impolite, even if you told me to do so. but . . . but in private . . . perhaps i could work my way up to that, sir?” 

patton smiles. “that’s a start, nate.”