#[ and it gathers and along with the energy that the moon supplies that night; when everything falls into place... ]

[yuelun]

/takes a little breath amidst a quiet dash. Starter call!

Though I have threads/asks to get to, I'm curious if one of these would catch anyone's attention. I know sending in sentence starters isn't always up everyone's alley and it's a little harder when it comes to interacting with a character who's canonically dead in present day, like mine. Although (I need to write up the details for the first iteration of it) I do have her resurrected in a present timeline (see tags). If you're interested in me either coming to you, or fishing up something with a bit of a red line, give this a like and I'll see what I can do! Trust me when I say, if we're mutuals, I'm interested in writing with you. See this as a little cheat to grab my attention if you want it!

[ebonyclaw]

Flames Reduced to Ash: A Leafpool AU

Fanfic under the cut!

That evening, Leafpool was busier than she had been in a long time. The last time that she had felt this essential was during the aftermath of the badger invasion. Just like what had happened all those moons ago, today there were many injured clanmates for her to attend to, as well as medicinal supplies for her to gather, organize, and stockpile. Cats were brought to her choking: with lungs full of smoke, pelts full of ash, and scalding burn wounds. Their eyes were frenzied with pain and fear as she cared for each and every one of them as if they were her own kits. She soothed their pain with herbal poultices, comforting them with her soft voice and gentle touch. Due to the sheer amount of patients that she was faced with after this latest catastrophe, she kept only those with the most severe injuries in her den that night. The rest with more minor burns were sent to recover in their usual sleeping areas.

At this point, Leafpool was running dangerously low on both sleep and patience. After all, it is hard work being the ever-accommodating medicine cat of Thunderclan, especially in the wake of a disaster such as the great fire which had devastated their camp. What Leafpool really needed was a break, but for some reason, her former apprentice Jayfeather was nowhere to be found. It was now moonhigh, and the brown tabby was getting increasingly anxious.

Just as this anxiety began to stir in her mind was the silence broken by a rustling at her den entrance. Turning her head, Leafpool spotted a thick-furred ginger cat roughly shouldering her way in.

“Squirrelflight!” Leafpool breathed a sigh of relief, leaping from her nest, “I was beginning to worry! Have you seen…“

This momentary relief was short-lived, as Leafpool then got a better look at her dear sister. Squirrelflight’s pelt was patchy and burned, and she also had deep scratches oozing blood on her shoulder. She looked exhausted and ready to collapse. When Leafpool looked into her sister’s eyes, she saw a dark and haunted expression returning her gaze.

Leafpool rushed to her storage to get some herbs to treat Squirrelflight’s wounds. As she was hurriedly gathering some cobwebs to stop the bleeding on her sister’s shoulder, she was interrupted by her harsh mew.

“The kits… Leafpool… they know.” Squirrelflight croaked. 

Leafpool’s eyes shot wide open and she immediately looked around the den at her sleeping patients. With a nervous flick of her tail, she gestured for Squirrelflight to take this discussion outside, offering her a shoulder to lean on for support. They did not walk far, as Squirrelflight had already used most of her energy just making it to the medicine den. However, this conversation needed to take place where prying ears could not overhear. Sitting down and tucking her tail over her paws to hide the trembling, Leafpool looked her sister in the eye.

“Tell me Squirrelflight… What exactly happened during the fire?”

Squirrelflight began to let out several raspy coughs, her lungs and throat still raw from inhaling smoke. After her flank ceased heaving, she turned to look at Leafpool with serious eyes.

“During the fire: Jayfeather, Lionblaze, Hollyleaf, and myself were all searching for an escape route. We were surrounded on all sides by roaring flames, and things were looking bad. However, just as we were about to cross a fallen log to safety, Ashfur appeared from the smoke and blocked our exit.”

Following along with the story attentively thus far, Leafpool was left shocked. Ashfur? But he was their trusted clanmate!

Squirrelflight continued, “I yowled at him to move, to let us go, but you should have seen the hatred in his eyes… Leaf, it was chilling.” She shuddered when recalling the thought of the gray tom’s icy gaze. “It was as if this was a long time coming, like he was waiting for this perfect moment of revenge.”

Leafpool shuffled closer to her sister and gave her cheek a comforting lick, but Squirrelflight was not done with her story yet. She continued, “He was still… so angry that I refused to be his mate all those moons ago.” The ginger cat sounded hollow, “He couldn’t accept that I had long since moved on, that EVERYBODY else had already moved on. For Starclan’s sake Leafpool, the kits are all fully grown warriors now!”

Leafpool was left dumbfounded and completely unable to understand. How could a cat carry a grudge over something so trivial for so long?

“He was furious, and he was yelling about how much pain he was in and how it was all my fault… About how he didn’t ever hate Brambleclaw, he only ever hated ME for rejecting him.” Squirrelflight sneered in contempt, “At that point, I just wanted to make sure that the others could get to safety, so I asked him to please let them go. I thought that since his issue was with me he would have no reason to hurt them.”

Leafpool’s eyes were wide with sympathy, and she wrapped her tail around Squirrelflight’s own quivering tail. 

“B-but he said that they deserved to die too! He said that he would do anything to hurt me… including murdering those three! So… I told them all. I was so angry that he would dare to harm those innocent cats that it just erupted out of me. I said that Hollyleaf, Lionblaze, and Jayfeather were not my kits.”

Squirrelflight looked defeated and her ears fell flat, “Leafpool you should have seen their faces…”

Leafpool’s eyes misted over as she was overcome by the reality of the situation. She couldn’t help but to let out a gentle sob. Squirrelflight noticed her sister’s distress and rasped her tongue over her head,

“They do not know who their real parents are, don’t worry,” she mewed, reversing their roles as she turned to comfort Leafpool, “They didn’t even ask. They seemed to want nothing more to do with me as soon as we escaped the fire.”

This did not comfort Leafpool in the slightest. “But you ARE their mother Squirrelfight! Just as much as I am!” Squirrelflight tensed, surprised, as Leafpool continued, “You and Brambleclaw, you are the two cats who raised them! It wasn’t me, and it sure as Starclan was not Crowfeather. You will always be their mother.”

Squirrelflight sighed, “I do not know if they see it that way, Leaf.”

“They will surely come around, they were just shocked and scared, especially after having their lives threatened by their own clanmate! They have had a very eventful day… As a matter of fact, so have you. Go rest now Squirrel, we will work through this together, starting tomorrow.”

Squirrelflight met her sister’s eyes and blinked in exhausted appreciation before turning to go to the warrior’s den. Leafpool watched her leave, feeling like there were ants crawling under her pelt. That cat, their clanmate Ashfur, was suddenly very, very dangerous.

Leafpool padded back towards the entrance of the medicine den, her mind buzzing like a swarm of biting mosquitoes. Ashfur. Ashfur. Ashfur. 

He knows now that my children had to be kept a secret. After all, they are not only the children of an inter-clan relationship, they were also the children of a medicine cat! He may not know why, or who their real parents were, but with some digging he could find out. This was much worse than Squirrelflight let on. This could ruin everything, not only my position within Thunderclan, but the lives of my family as well…

While her consciousness was still rushing, Leafpool spotted him. In the darkness of the night, near the bramble barrier at the edge of the camp, there was a pair of glinting blue eyes staring back at her. The eyes blinked and disappeared, and Leafpool saw a spotted tail flick briefly into sight as the other cat turned and left. 

Rising to her paws, Leafpool began to move without even deciding to. Despite not having the same warrior training as her sister, Leafpool’s instincts took over as she began to tail the smoky gray tom through Thunderclan’s vast forest territory. She followed his scent over fallen logs and across streams, making sure to always stay hidden in the brush. They were heading deep into Thunderclan territory, and Leafpool could not help but wonder about his intended destination. Where could he possibly be going at this hour?

Suddenly, the scent that she was following was alarmingly close, he must have stopped moving. Crouching low, Leafpool peered out from between the leaves to see Ashfur pacing back and forth by the large river that cuts through their whole territory. His tail was lashing and his brow was furrowed. The gray tom then unsheathed his claws and slashed at a nearby piece of brush, letting out a frustrated hiss. Due to the exchange she just shared with Squirrelflight, Leafpool knew the context for this show of aggression. She realized that the reason that he was so angry was that he did not succeed in his scheme.

Leafpool couldn’t believe her eyes, she had always known that Ashfur was not her most pleasant clanmate, but she was never aware of just how much hatred he harbored in his heart. It is not as though she had disbelieved Squirrelflight’s story, but hearing about Ashfur’s true nature was different than seeing it herself firsthand. Leafpool knew then that she should leave, she had to return to her den and pretend that she saw nothing. However, her paws felt rooted in place, and her breath was becoming heavier. She kept watching the angry tom while her heartbeat accelerated. Her thoughts were spinning with fear, as the cat before her was clearly unhinged, and he also had a grudge against her dear sister. 

The emotion that began as terror quickly flickered into a rage that surprised Leafpool with its ferocity. She thought of how scared her children must have been during that confrontation in the fire. Hollyleaf, Lionblaze, Jayfeather… Squirrelflight… I love you all so dearly, and this selfish cat nearly took you all away from me! How dare he!

With trembling legs, she took a single step back, only to feel her paw land right onto a twig. The snap was quiet, but Ashfur’s ears immediately shot upwards. He was now on edge, as his eyes frantically darted around the clearing for the source of the sound. Leafpool held her breath and lowered herself even further, until her belly was brushing against the forest floor. Now, Ashfur was sniffing around the edges of the clearing, getting nearer and nearer to her hiding place. Leafpool felt her claws quietly unsheath and dig into the moss. As Ashfur got closer, Leafpool held her breath. 

Suddenly, recognition sparked in Ashfur’s eyes and he threw his head back.

“I know that you are here, Leafpool!” He yowled, fur bristling, “I can smell your fear-scent!”

Leafpool felt her muscles tense. The sound of her name sent a jolt of lightning down her spine.

“I am sure that Squirrelflight would be DEVASTATED if something were to happen to her sister!” Ashfur meowed smugly, flexing his claws.

Leafpool felt her blood go cold, fully realizing the precarious situation that she had placed herself in. They were both deep in Thunderclan territory with no other cat around, late at night. Far enough away from Thunderclan camp that their sleeping clanmates would not hear any yowling in the distance. Ashfur was a formidable warrior, with many moons of battle experience, and Leafpool was a cat trained only in healing and botany. He was also particularly dangerous for another reason, and that was the strength of his undying hatred against Squirrelflight. Leafpool then understood that if he were to find her now, it would result in a fight to the death. This would be a fight where the odds would be heavily stacked against her.

Leafpool knew then what she had to do. Not only for her own safety in her current situation, but also for the safety of her family in the long-term. She rose a little from the ground, enough to gather her strength in her haunches. She could see Ashfur’s gray paws approaching the bush that she was hiding inside. Up until now her thoughts had been a surging river, but at this moment, her mind went scarily silent. She patiently waited for an opportunity to present itself.

When Ashfur crouched beside her hiding spot to investigate closer, his eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something. These words never left his mouth however, as Leafpool erupted from the foliage and wrapped her claws around Ashfur’s speckled shoulders. She had the element of surprise, and she knew that she had to finish her attack quickly before he retaliated. Leafpool used all of her weight to bring Ashfur to the ground as he was spitting in rage. His claws flashed past her face to score a scratch in her flank, and her blood splattered onto the stones beneath them. Leafpool gazed into his eyes, aglow with fury, to see nothing but a stranger behind them. She did not hesitate, with the thoughts of her sister and children drowning out any doubt or fear that may have remained in her heart. Pinning the tom to the ground, Leafpool sunk her teeth deep into the light fur of his throat. She held fast, and as he writhed underneath her, she felt his skin pull and tear away in her jaws. Leafpool did not hunt prey for her clan, so she was shocked at just how warm the fresh blood was on her tongue. This must be what catching fresh-kill feels like! She thought, mortified.

After his thrashing slowly began to subside, Ashfur went limp in Leafpool’s grasp. She loosened her grip on his shoulders, and removed her fangs from his neck. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, and he was convulsing at her paws. After a few seconds of a sickening gurgling, he went silent, blood trickling down his chin. Leafpool decided then to take a good look at the wound, just to be absolutely sure that it had killed him. The wound was deep and messy, and was surrounded by torn fur and exposed bloody tissue. This was a kill accomplished by an inexperienced killer, and it was sloppy. The part of her that was a medicine cat grimaced, and she immediately knew that the wound was fatal. 

At once, Leafpool was struck by both a sensation of relief, and that of a deep and existential horror. She felt as though she was going to be sick. Never in her life did she ever expect to be a cat who would intentionally  kill another, not with her line of work as a healer. She restrained herself from retching, and she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. She inhaled and exhaled the crisp night air, grounding herself and relieving her nausea. I am used to seeing nasty wounds and smelling blood. She attempted to reassure herself.

The corpse of the gray tom could not be left here in the clearing, and Leafpool knew that. While his open throat could have been caused by a fox or dog, especially given how messy the kill was, the deep scratches on his shoulders were clearly that of a cat’s. Leafpool was certain that his body would be discovered by her clan’s dawn patrol the next day if he were to be left here. It would be better for Ashfur to be considered missing, as opposed to being found as a murder victim. That could lead to a lot of trouble, and potentially even conflict with another clan if they got blamed for his death. Leafpool did not even want to imagine what the consequences would be if she was discovered to be his killer.

Now that the adrenaline coursing through her veins had stopped, Leafpool suddenly felt very small and weak. Using the last remnants of her strength, She hoisted up Ashfur’s body so that it was draped over her back. Slowly and painfully, she hobbled with him towards the riverbank. His back legs dragged across the ground, and his throat was leaking a bloody trail onto the soil. Finally, once she had reached the edge of the river, she shrugged off his body into the churning current below. This river was the deepest and the swiftest on their territory. Leafpool hoped that his body would be carried all the way to the lake so that it would disappear for good. It would be best if Thunderclan quickly forgot about this rotten tom. Leafpool thought darkly.

She watched as his body vanished downstream, and then she washed herself clean with the water. She also cleaned away the bloody trail that he left behind, as her clanmates would be able to tell by the scent that it was cat blood. She looked through the canopy of leaves above her, at the slivers of visible night sky. The stars above twinkled mockingly back at her, almost as if they were saying, we saw what you have done. Leafpool felt a rush of indignation at this perceived scrutiny. Judge me however you like! She thought bitterly to herself, I have served you for my entire life, and all you have done is abandon me when I have needed you the most.

It would soon be sunrise, and Leafpool had to return to the camp before it was time for the dawn patrol. She hurriedly retraced her steps through the forest, all the way back to her den before collapsing in utter exhaustion. The blackness of sleep began to overtake her within moments. Her bravado in the face of her ancestors from earlier had already begun to fade, being replaced by an inescapable terror that shook her to her very core. Oh Starclan, what have I done?

[mello-jello]

Levihan Drabble Week - Smut Sunday

Warning: Smut. Obvs. 1356 words @levihan-drabbles Prompt: "Most nights are tough. She lays there in darkness. Overwhelmed by things she wish she didn't think about"

---

Preview:

"What do you think, section commander?"

"Hange?”

"HANGE!"

"AH SORRY!" Hange snapped from her reverie.

"Is everything alright?" Ervin asked.

"Uh, yes, absolutely!" She frantically scrambled through her papers, trying to remember where they were on today's agenda.

This was a very important meeting she had been looking forward to, ever since Ervin approved her proposal for capturing titans alive. But her mind kept drifting.... elsewhere.

Abashed, Hange quietly asked if they could please repeat the question.

___

It was a warm summer night. Hange was curled up in bed when she heard a familiar knock on the door. He didn’t wait for her to answer.

"Hey, Levi," she yawned as he let himself in. She was on her side, facing the open window, the cool breeze refreshing on her skin. Levi took off his shirt and carefully climbed into the bed. This had become a regular occurrence, since Levi found he slept better with Hange. The hot summer nights and a little skin weren’t going to stop him. And she didn't mind. It was usually only for a few hours anyways.

They settled into their usual positions, but after a few minutes, she felt the mattress shift. She turned to find Levi propped up, staring down at her.

"Um-" before she could say anything, he reached up and tenderly removed the glasses she was still wearing. "Oh. Haha thanks."

Hange expected him to just roll back over, but instead he stretched across to place the glasses on the table on her side. Oh. The pale blue light of the moon on his bare chest was a sight to behold. He lingered while he was practically on top of her, eyeing her lips.

He placed his hand on her heart, making it beat faster. He gently slid his hand up to the base of her neck, fingers extending out to caress her collar bone. It was all she could do to not hyperventilate.

As his hand made its way to the nape of her neck, she desperately tried to read his face, but to no avail. He was soft, intently watching her reactions, but that's all she could tell. What prompted this? Is he, like, testing something? Was this a sick joke? Was he drunk?

Hange abruptly grabbed his wrist, stopping it in its tracks. She held his gaze for three shaky breaths before they mutually gave in, each hungrily kissing the other.

"What do you think, section commander?"

"Hange?”

"HANGE!"

"AH SORRY!" Hange snapped from her reverie.

"Is everything alright?" Ervin asked.

"Uh, yes, absolutely!" She frantically scrambled through her notes, trying to remember where they were on today's agenda.

This was a very important meeting she had been looking forward to, ever since Ervin approved her proposal for capturing titans alive. But her mind kept drifting.... elsewhere.

Abashed, Hange quietly asked if they could please repeat the question.

--

At dinner, Hange sat with her squad, at their usual table. But, unlike usual, the section commander wasn't the centre of the conversation. In fact, she’d barely said a word.

They were excitedly chattering about the upcoming mission. Captain Levi and three other squads were out surveying supply routes and checkpoints ahead of time. They were expected to report back in three days.

She was mentally scolding herself for that embarrassing meeting in front of all the high ranking officers. This was her mission. Yes, last night was a first. A very, very nice first, but she didn’t want this to be the cause of any mistakes on her part. She needed to focus and not think about Levi. Or his lips. Or his lips on hers. Or his lips on her neck. Or his breath on her skin.

She smirked to herself. Nope, not gonna think at all about how hot it was to see him panting. Captain Levi, Humanity’s Strongest. He who hardly broke a sweat when training- hell even in real battle he never lost his composure. But last night, beneath the open window, his laboured breaths and tiny gasps were a sweet pleasure exclusive to Hange. He had pulled away from the kiss, completely breathless. He brushed her hair to the side, allowing him to plant a kiss on her forehead, then her cheek, and then her neck. He deftly opened the top two buttons of her nightshirt, and kissed her chest and - oh! She squirmed underneath him as he lightly brushed her nipple with his tongue, leaving it wet and sensitive to the breeze. Her back arched upwards, yearning to press her body against his.

Her wish was granted when he came back up to her mouth, repositioning himself to lay completely on top of her. He started rocking his hips when she felt his bulge grind in between her legs.

She unwittingly crossed her legs at the memory, smacking her knee against the bottom of the dinner table, thereby interrupting any and all conversation. They all stared at her. She wasn’t sure if her face instantly flushed, or if it had gradually been growing hotter as she recounted the events of the early morning.

Moblit was the first to speak, “Section commander, are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered, a bit too quickly to seem convincing. She cleared her throat. “Yes,” she repeated calmly. “I just…I... yeah I gotta go,” she bolted from the mess hall, leaving her dinner tray behind, silently cringing at herself. Smooth. Pull yourself together, Hange. Two more days.

The nights were the toughest. There was nothing to focus on. She lays there in the darkness, unable to sleep, overwhelmed by things she wished she didn't think about. Not now. Not when there was so much work to do. She should be thinking about the mission - No - she should be sleeping, so she’ll have energy to think in the morning. Damn you, Levi. She let out a long sigh as she realized it was time to get up and go to the final prep meeting.

All of the meeting participants were gathered outside Ervin’s office, making small talk while they waited. Hange found a chair to sit on while she reviewed her notes. Her eyes scanned along the pages. She was absent-mindedly scratching her neck when her finger tips sensed unnatural divots in her skin. What the- Oh right. He had bit her.

“Hange, we’re all waiting for you,” Ervin said, leaning out his office door. The others had already made their way inside. He gave her a suspicious look.

“I’m sorry to hold you up, Ervin. But I forgot something, I’ll be right back, I promise!” Hange said, charging down the hallway.

“Very well,” Ervin groaned.

Hange didn’t forget anything, but she needed to deal with something. She rounded the corner of the hall, and found a small powder room. She locked the door, leaned back against it and closed her eyes. She drew a long inhale through her nose. It must be done. On exhale, she thrust her hand down her pants.

All she had to do was reminisce about the look in Levi’s eyes when he came into her. She let the scene play out in her head: They were forehead to forehead, their breaths mixing in the small space between them, Levi rhythmically pumping into her, and her hips rolling in response. She was so close. She tilted her head back, preparing to be taken over the edge. Levi grabbed her by the chin and pulled her back to where she was, demanding eye contact. That small action was what did her in. Her eyelids fluttered, but she managed to keep them open for him while she came in intense waves. He wasn’t far behind. One pump. Two pumps. A moan starting from deep within began its escape and Levi trapped it by digging his teeth into Hange’s flesh.

That was enough to make her come a second time all on its own.

“Sorry about that, everyone! Alright, let’s talk titans!” Hange entered the meeting room.

---

When Levi’s group returned later that evening, Hange did not go out to greet them. She waited in her room. He knew where to find her. He knocked before letting himself in. She sat in her chair, reading a book.

“Miss me, Four-Eyes?” He asked, with a huge, shit eating grin plastered across his face.

Hange shrugged without looking up, “Eh, not really”.

Levi’s grin disappeared for the split second he believed her.

In that split second of vulnerability, she tackled him to the floor, hastily tearing at his clothes.

“I need MORE, Levi!” She said playfully.

He was happy to oblige.

[gladerwolfstarkimagines]

Imagine being Azula’s unofficial drinking buddy at parties and her getting jealous when Ty Lee takes you away from her.

It wasnt often fire nation teenagers celebrated anything. There wasn't always much reason to celebrate and parties were frowned upon for being “frivilrous” so when they did occur it was a big deal. They were usually excuses for the youth of the fire nation to get out all their pent up energy meaning they weren't just chilled dances but big shows of ego fuelled by bucket loads of alcohol with atleast five fights breaking out. All the teenagers were filthy rich so money was no object meaning the parties were extravagant, the alcohol imported, the location classy and the event itself always memorable. The fire nation knew how to throw an event.

When parties did happen it was even rarer that your friends would all be in attendance. Ty lee was always down for any party but Mai and Azula were harder to convince. Azula could be enticed sometimes, she liked people watching so with the right timing you could convince her. Mai was harder, it had to practically be the right cycle of the moon for Mai to agree to come, that or Zuko had to be going which was even rarer than the right moon cycle. But maybe it was because your school years were running out drastically but when a party was announced Ty lee, Azula, Mai and Zuko all agreed to go and you were thrilled. The four of you were good friends, five including Zuko, and you loved seeing them in situations that didn't involve brains or brawn.

The very first fire nation party you attended with Ty lee and so you copied her lead. You followed Ty lee around, nodding and smiling at her friends, talking to them all with as much energy as she did but it was soon exhausting! At the end of it all you found you didn’t care about all the acquaintances you wasted time talking to. So you weren’t looking forward to the next party but there was one major difference...Azula came and that changed things significantly. Azula did not care about some guy from english class and so she distanced herself from everyone and you decided to join her. After having one of the best times of you life isolating with Azula you started a tradition. Every party from then on the two of you would find some place where you could watch but be out of the way of the party. You’d gather a large supply of alcohol and nurse it all evening just in each others company. Ty lee would flick in and out when guys bothered her. Mai would join you when she came or if Zuko was here she'd disappear with him. Zuko would sometimes appear if he' d lost Mai and you'd point him in her direction but mainly it was just you and Azula, relaxing and drinking. You and Azula could be sat in silence or laughing loudly. One of the things you liked most about Azula was that she didn't do anything without a reason, she didn’t partake in small talk just because she felt awkward or wanted to look like she was having fun. If she didn’t have anything to say she didn’t speak and it was as simple as that. You could sit in comfortable silences together for ages, or sometimes you’d think of something and both be laughing, the alcohol making it seem even funnier, and you’d forget there was anyone else in the whole world let alone room.

When you and Azula did this nobody dared approach you apart from Ty lee, Mai or Zuko. You remember in one of the earlier parties a guy had approached Azula and tried to hit on her using a back handed compliment. In response she'd burnt his eyebrows off and since then nobody dared approach her. It didn’t bother either of you, it was nice to be in the company of others but not have to worry about interacting with them. Another time some guys had noticed the amount of alcohol you were gathering from the main table and questioned it before realising who you were. They challenged girls couldn’t drink that much before pailing realising Azula was beside you. Azula challenged them to a drinking competition in response and they (without a choice) accepted. You won of course and since then the whole youth population of the fire nation had regarded the two of you with respect and courtesy. Nobody dared to bother you if Azula was around and even if she wasn’t, they knew who you were and didn’t dare mess with Azula’s best friend. 

You were thinking about this as you walked next to Azula on the way to the party and contemplated how tonight would go. Considering your company you figured there would definitely be a intensified version and sure enough when your group walked in most of the party stopped what they were doing to look. Azula and Zuko were royal but you, Mai and Ty lee all had reputations too. Your friends were the smartest most skilled people in the entire academy, not to mention the richest teenagers with the best prospects and it showed. They just seemed to demand fear and respect and you got why, you were in just as much awe of them as the rest of the fire nation. 

Of course your friends knew they were wildly impressive and they owned it. "Im going to miss this" Mai smiled as she asked for the best whisky and the kid went into his dad’s study to get it her. "Miss it?" Azula asked "this will always be our lives, you could show up on anyones doorstep and tell them who you know and they’d do what you asked". Mai nodded her head "i suppose i could". Ty lee frowned "but you won’t right?". Mai smirked and Azula laughed, you’d never seen azula and Mai get along better than through a mutual hatred of humans.

You gathered your alcohol and Azula gestured for you to follow her spotting  a good table. The five of you flocked to it and started dishing out the alcohol. You were soon having a good time and could tell Azula was too. Zuko seemed content and Mai was enjoying her whisky but oddly the most happy member of your group was not enjoying herself. "So whats the plan for tonight?" Ty lee asked and Azula raised an eyebrow "plan? You’re looking at it". "This is what you want to do all night?" Ty lee frowned and Azula nodded. "But this is boring i'm bored" Ty lee frowned "don’t any of you want to dance? Mai? Zuko?". Mai shot Ty lee a glare so powerful even Azula looked away and Zuko turned up his lip in disgust. "Okay fine, y/n? Azula?" she asked. Azula laughed in response "what about the many times me and y/n sit here drinking makes you think we’d want to dance?". Ty lee sighed "i...i don’t know" and lowered her head. She looked so sad you frowned "i don’t want to but because you want to so badly....". Ty lee’s head shot up and she grinned "you mean it?". "Seriously?" Zuko and Mai asked both shocked and slightly horrified. You nodded "why not?" and downed your drink. Ty lee grinned "youre the best y/n!" and dragged you away.

You didn’t enjoy the dancing but seeing Ty lee so happy made it worth it. She was the kindest person you’d ever met so you didn’t care if you felt awkward or looked very weird trying to copy her movements, your friend was happy and so were you. After a while Ty lee took pity on you, asking if you wanted to get a drink and relieved you left the floor to go grab one. You made your way back to your table to find Mai and Zuko gone and Azula sat alone. "Hey" Ty lee said brightly but Azula just looked at her. Ty lee grabbed her drink and barely put her lips to it when someone called out to her and she rushed away leaving you and Azula alone again. "So where did Mai and Zuko go" you asked. Azula shrugged in response and you frowned. She was angry at you. "I didn’t know they’d gone" you said trying to stop a full blown argument "you shouldve caught my eye and  got me to come back". Azula tutted "what makes you think i’d prefer your presence to my own company?". "Well the fact you’re mad i left you?". "I’m not mad you left me" Azula glared "i don’t need you y/n, least of all to sit beside me" she rolled her eyes. "So what’s got you all bitter?" you asked. "Nothing" Azula shrugged "i just never thought you were on of those basic girls y/n, i mean dancing like Ty lee, copying her to fit in... it’s just disappointing frankly". You narrowed your eyes "Ty lee wanted to dance so i went with her, end of story". "If you say so" Azula smirked and you felt your temper peak. "Your seriously this mad at me for having fun with Ty lee?" you asked "i don’t have to stay by your side or ask permission to do things! Our arrangement isnt like that, we never even made it official". Azula blushed and went the most flustered you’d ever seen her "what are you talking about! I know we’re not official!" she cried. "Our plans... I meant we never made our plans offical" you clarified "that we would stick together in parties" you trailed off and saw Azula turn even redder. She'd misunderstood what you meant and that seemed to make her even angrier. "Yes well i shouldn’t have to clarify everything with you y/n, i’m too busy for that". "Well i’m not a mind reader if you don’t tell me what you want me to do i won’t do it, maybe just say what you want next time". Azula rolled her eyes and you sighed "whatever Azula" and walked away.

As you got outside you realised it was never a smart idea to yell at Azula or storm away from her and you'd done both. Part of you was worried what she’d do to retaliate but another part of you was more worried by the concept of the argument itself. Azula had always been your closest friend, you’d seen her be harsh to other people but she wasn’t like that with you. No she wasn't all honey and sweetness but your years of friendship has earned a more raw version of Azula and from that your friendship had blossomed into...well you weren’t sure what it was. You knew you liked Azula a lot and you suspected it was similar to how Mai and Zuko liked each other or how every boy seemed to like Ty lee. You even suspected Azula migh feel that way too due to the way she acted around you. She'd do things like invite just you to places even Zuko wasn’t allowed to go or she’d show you small acts of kindness...securing the drink you liked best or switching lockers with you because she was taller. Nobody saw the small things Azula did, only the big awful ones and you were pretty sure you were the only person Azula allowed to see her like that. But now she seemed to have curled back up in on herself and you hated how that felt.

You were outside pouting when Mai caught sight of you and came over. “What are you doing way out here, it’s freezing!” Mai commented and you shrugged “I had to get some air”. "Why aren’t you with Azula" Mai asked and you sighed "we had a fight". "Ow no trouble in paradise" she said sarcastically smirking but she dropped it when she saw your face. Mai was the most perceptive of all your friends and you were pretty sure she suspected you had a crush on Azula. "Was it bad?". You nodded "i don’t even know where we stand anymore...if we're even friends". "You'll always be friends" Mai reassured you "Azula can stay mad at anyone but you? I’m certain she won’t stay mad at you for long". You frowned "don’t be too sure". Mai didn’t like seeing you gloomy, that was her thing, so she grabbed your arm and tugged you back inside. "Where are we going?" you asked and Mai smiled "to go find Ty lee, she has a way of cheering people up and you are in major need of that".

Sure enough when Ty lee caught sight of your sad face she made it her mission to make you happy again. From jokes to hugs to twirling around of her hands Ty lee tried it all and it was slowly working. Mai got you a comfortable seat hidden away from Azula’s sight and your good mood came racing back.

You were enjoying spending time with Mai and Ty lee but it was your turn to get the drink so you made your way to the main table and started loading up a tray. You stretched to grab the wine Ty lee liked when some guy appeared, leaning across you to grab it first. You looked at him and he smirked "here" holding it out to you. You raised an eyebrow but took it "thanks, i think". The boy smiled "no problem, you know i haven't seen you smile so much, you’re y/n right?". "Can't say i’ve ever noticed you" you replied and he laughed "i didn’t mean it as an insult just you look pretty when you were dancing and smiling...compared to when you just sit in a dark corner drinking". "Thanks for the feedback" you replied and turned to walk away when the boy grabbed your arm. "Hey whats the rush? I was thinking we could get to know each other". "I'm good" you said dryly but the boy was persistent. "Ow come on you don’t even know me! I bet i could make you change your mind just give me 5 minutes". "Look i’m flattered but i came here with my friends and they're the only people i want to spend tonight with". "But you're always surrounded by girls it’s like you scared or boys or something...wait are you scared of men?”. You raised an eyebrow and put the tray down. You opened your mouth ready to lay into this idiot when someone cut you off.

"Youre the one who’s going to be afraid if you don’t step away from her right now" a voice called. The guy smirked and turned around cockily but all that confidence fell away when he saw the princess Azula stood behind him. "Azula....". "Princess Azula to you" she snapped "now take your hands off her before i break them in 3...2..". The boy bolted and you couldn’t help a small smile at Azula. You were pleased the boy was gone but you were more pleased Azula was here. That could only be a good sign. "You didn’t have to do that i could handle it" you smiled "the boys going to be having nightmares for months". "Good" Azula nodded her head "if he can’t take a simple hint then he needs teaching". You nodded watching Azula carefully. You wanted to make up with her but you refused to apologise, thankfully Azula skipped over it. "Want to get some fresh air with me?" she asked and you nodded "okay". You passed the drinks to Zuko who was helpfully passing by and followed Azula outside.

There were some other kids out there but Azula led you past them to a quieter corner. "So about earlier....". "Azula it’s...you dont have to" you winced waiting to skip over it but Azula didnt want to. "No you’re right, if i want you to do something i have to tell you and i'm nothing if not open to efficiency tips" she smiled and you laughed. Azula looked back down and was quiet for a while. You watched her worriedly but smiled as soon as she spoke. "I like being with you" Azula said awkwardly. "Me too, which is lucky considering how much we're together" you smiled and Azula nodded "yes but at school Mai and Ty lee are there or at the palace Zuko’s around...at these parties it’s just me and you and it’s...nice, i like our time together at parties, i’m surrounded by people but it feels like it’s just you and me" Azula blushed "and i felt like Ty lee took that away from me tonight...you took it away from me" Azula sighed. You frowned, you had no idea Azula was so protective over you or that she valued your company this much. "Well i’m here now" you offered grabbing her hand. Azula nodded her head "yes you are" and smiled before looking away her cheeks red. She rubbed the top of your hand with her thumb before speaking again "and you told me to tell you what i want so, to make sure there’s no future confusion, i...when we go to parties i want you to go with me, as in attend with me, we go to them together as an exclusive duo". "Azula friends aren’t exclusive" you blushed and Azula nodded "i know i’m not asking to be your friend y/n". You paused and Azula kept her eyes on you "i want you to be my...more than friend". You smiled and nodded your head "i’d like that very much". Azula smiled blushing too "that is good" and you both stood awkwardly holding hands while grinning from ear to ear. 

Later

Everyone ended up at your table as the night rounded down and you wondered if Azula would mind but she seemed content. Really content. She even laughed at Zuko’s joke which was unprecedented. You were sat pretty close anyway but Azula decided to be comfier and put her arm around the back of your chair. You saw the others notice your and Azula together even though they pretended not to. Mai was smiling, Ty lee was suddenly really affectionate with you two and Zuko kept trying not to look but was being very obvious until Mai nudged him. You and Azula noticed but she didn’t care so neither did you. You glanced at Azula and she smiled at you. You blushed in response and smiled back at her. Azula shifted closer and you leant into her, leaning on one another. You fitted together well and felt so safe and protected with her arm around you. You’d always known your place was by Azula’s side but this was the proof. Now you were never going to be parted from her. 

[konohacafe]

Daylight : 01

↳ Kawaki x Sarada

" I can't lose you too . Not after everything. "

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

She could see the moon from her window. The light that bleached her room, had Sarada feel at a moments' peace as she laid on the bed, her body tucked at the edge. Wrapping her arms around herself had done nothing to quell the goosebumps that dotted the pale expanse of her skin. The sheet was thin against her petite frame, yet she pulled at its seams, trying to gather a semblance of warmth against the dropping temperature. Blankets were rare in the camp, and they had all but been distributed amongst the children and the elderly.

They were supposed to get some more in the supply run, but the team she had sent had long outrun the period of their arrival. 3 days ago. Delayed missions were usually harbingers of bad news, and worry licked its way up Sarada's spine as her thoughts once again settled on the missing team. They should've been back by now.

He should've been back by now.

Kawaki had led the run this time. He was one of the best, second only to her own mother, nevertheless, she had not been able to try and convince him to stay. To guard the camp they needed people like him, she had rationalised. He had barely acknowledged her wishes at first and even after her numerous attempts to defect him from said, he had adamantly shot her down.

"This is my duty. And whatever I am to you should not interfere with this.”

The harsh words had been like an icy dagger to her chest, and Sarada had stared at his retreating back, unable to voice the agony that twisted in her gut. She hadn't seen him since, with only Shikadai informing her about his departure.

And now, as her fingers picked along the worn threads of the duvet, she couldn't help but feel regret settle deep into her bones. The threat of losing him, made the organ beneath her breast constrict arduously, the possibility too grim for her to even comprehend.

Sarada thoughts continued to spiral until her senses suddenly felt a familiar chakra drop. Relief flooded into her veins. She would recognize it anywhere, for all the years she had spent basking in its presence. The infernal nature of it clashed against her own tender one, and tears burned at the edge of her lids. The Sharingan ached tempestuously, and it took every ounce of her chakra to will it down.

Sarada felt him before she heard his inaudible footsteps. His chakra gently nudged against her own, and like every time it took her breath away. It soothed against her consciousness, and then it halted, almost as if the bearer had realized that she was still awake.

Sarada considered the possibility of him leaving on her account but then the next moment, he was perched on the sill of the window, his back hunched and hand tightly gripping a kunai blade. The blade's edge glinted sharply amidst the twilight and when he scanned the room, if not for all the gruelling years of training, she would've missed the way his eyes softened imperceptibly when they landed on her figure.

“You're back” She breathed out. His eyes darted across the small space before he replied.

“Aa” It's blunt but hearing his voice made her heart skip a beat.

Kawaki was dressed in standard mission uniform, and Sarada could not help but notice the gashes against the front when he settled against the chair that rested in the corner of her almost bare room.

Sarada took her time to take him in, her eyes raking over his face, the scratches and then his arm that had a makeshift bandage resting across, red seeping at places. Worry bloomed beneath her breast, and she has to resist the urge to heal it herself,

Kawaki looked around the room, his eyes dodging her own eager gaze. He looks tired, she surmised, the darkness smudged beneath his eyes giving away all the nights he must have stayed on guard.

“Did everyone make out okay?”. Sarada asked curtly The responsibility that she holds entitles little intimacy and something made her feel she has indulged in way more than she deserved.

"Yes. We had to take an unexpected detour, but all of us made it back in one piece. Kousei had a worrisome wound, but he is getting treated as we speak now."

Hearing that all his teammates were safe let some weight off of her shoulders. Guilt ate away at her as she realized how she had only been fixated on the man in front of her and paid little attention to all her other comrades that were equally in danger as well.

Before she could lose herself in her self-depreciation, she asked him.

"What about your wounds?”

Kawaki's eyes met hers at that, and even in the pale moonlight, they looked as beguiling as she remembered. When he spoke, his voice was sombre.

“I will ask Sumire to look at them in the morning.”

Rejection was ugly. It made her skin prickle with jealousy, that he refused her indirect offer to help. The argument had always been the same. Each time she had proposed to soothe the ache of his injuries, he had nothing but refused her.

" Let the healers do their job. You are far more important to waste your energy on me "

His answers had never changed over the years, however, her feelings over the said hadn’t either.

It would not be a waste. Not with you. The words burned the edge of her tongue, but she swallowed them back each time. The fear of losing what they have made her bite her lip and take his refusal gratuitously even today.

But fear is a double-edged sword because in the next second she launched herself into his arms. His body jolted in surprise beneath her own, all hard planes, and bones poking underneath her ribs. Sarada swallowed back a sob that bubbles up in her throat when his palm came to softly rest on the small of her back. His fingers were embers against her skin and as her own tangled into the lighter locks at the nape of his neck, he inhaled sharply.

A part of Sarada expected Kawaki to push her away like always yet her heart constricted painfully when instead he guided his head into the curve of her neck. His warm breath fanned the expanse of the skin on her collarbone and with a flush, she realized that her state must look quite disarrayed, with a tattered vest resting against her ribs, a couple sizes too big for her.

“Sarada” Her name tumbled from Kawaki's lips, and she shuddered at the intensity behind his words.

" Don't leave me again. I cannot lose you too. Not after everything. Not after Dad and Boruto “. Sarada ached with desperation, her words bleeding with anguish.

Kawaki's own were muffled against her skin.

“I won't”. The promise empty and cruel, but Sarada clung to the words earnestly. Hope draws her like a moth to the flame, and she would let herself bask in the warmth of it when she could. In the warmth of Kawaki's arms.

" Do you think things would have been different? Back then, if we had done something? “. Sarada couldn't help but let the hurt seep into her words. The question eats away at her every waking moment, and this is not the first time she has asked him this.

As always, his lips stretched into a thin line, and he didn't answer. But for the first time, she felt the way his heartbeat stuttered beneath the soft of her palms.

And when Kawaki's lips brushed against the top of her head gently, Sarada gasped audibly. They felt cold yet softer than she imagined, brushing above her brows almost carelessly, and then he is gone, with nothing left behind but red cheeks and a whisper of something her mother would've called love.

[tumbleweed-palmer]

Wait there was more to that ask

Jimmy, me, awkward supply closet quickie

The Best Kind of Stress Relief

=============

She missed her boyfriend. Y/N knew this would be a totally ridiculous statement if she were to ever say the words out loud. How could she possibly miss him when they literally worked in the same building?

If she wanted to see her boyfriend so badly all she had to do was hop in the elevator, hit the down button, get off in the basement, and make her way on over to Autopsy. She’d find her boyfriend right there assisting Dr. Mallard as usual.

Even if she didn’t have the opportunity to see him during the work day she knew for a fact that they would go home together at the end of the day. Even if one of them worked late they’d still wind up in bed together at some point. They’d wake up together and go into work together unless Jimmy was called away early for a body pickup. They would be together in some form or fashion.

How could she possibly miss someone who she lived and worked with?

It was just this case...this case was eating up so much time. They both had work piled up to their eyeballs and they were so exhausted all the time. These past few weeks they had rarely even been able to share a dinner together that didn’t consist of terrible fast food they ate in the car on the way home. They barely had the energy to share a completely G-rated shower together at night before they collapsed in bed and got whatever few hours of sleep the good lord blessed them with before their alarms woke them up and they were pulled right back into work.

They hadn’t even had time to even have one of their usual lunch breaks together. Jimmy hadn’t been able to sneak away from Autopsy and come upstairs to linger around her desk. He would always sit at the edge of her desk and try his best to ignore Tony’s prodding of “Who let the Autopsy Gremlin out of the basement? Mini-Probie, you know he can’t leave the basement.” She hadn’t been able to make excuses to go down to Autopsy and linger herself trying to pretend that she wasn’t there to see her boyfriend but was there because she was totally interested in Dr. Mallard’s work. Dr. Mallard of course knew she was more interested in making moon-eyes with his assistant, but he’d at least been willing to play along with the story Y/N gave him. Lord knows he’d spent too much time gently encouraging Jimmy to pursue Y/N to get too grouchy that they were finally an item.

Jimmy’s and her lives were so intertwined together that the interruption in their usual routine felt so draining.

Y/N knew what she missed the most about her boyfriend at the moment. She missed the sex. They were so exhausted lately that they had no energy to do anything even remotely sexual.

They’d always shared an active sexlife. They were both overly affectionate people. They saw sex as a wonderful way to bond with one another. Not only did it feel amazing and it was a hell of a lot of fun, it was also something incredibly intimate. They saw it as a chance to be as close as two human beings could possibly be. They both understood that sex was an extraordinarly intimate action after all it involved being in such a vulnerable position with one another.

Their sexlife was amazing. It was passionate and filled with laughter and such intimacy.

He was the first guy she’d ever slept with where sex didn’t feel like such a chore. With Jimmy sex felt so fun and so loving. She felt so close to him when they made love. She didn’t feel exposed or as though she had to perform to stroke his ego. Sex felt the way it should with Jimmy. It felt like a wonderful way to show one another that they loved the other.

Jimmy Palmer was the most incredible man Y/N had ever dated. To say that she was absolutely devoted to him would be a vast understatement.

She could still remember how they’d even gotten together in the first place. Jimmy had been there for her when she’d felt so low. He’d somehow made everything seem okay.

She’d been recruited as the new probationary agent that would be working with Gibbs’ team.

She was terrified. She’d heard horror stories about Leroy Jethro Gibbs. The other probationary agents whispered about how tough he was. She’d only witnessed him from afar. He seemed so intense. She’d heard stories about how Gibbs hit his agents on the back of the head as a wake up call. She’d heard about how he had a million rules for his agents to follow, but he never told you the rules. He just expected you to learn them on your own and never forget them. She’d heard how he barked orders and expected results. He didn’t accept excuses or apologies. He would do anything to solve a case and he expected his team to follow suit. He was a tough cookie. He was a marine through and through.

Y/N was crapping herself at the thought of working under him.Part of her was excited. She’d hoped that this would be her chance to prove herself. Surely if she worked hard then everyone would see that she could make an amazing NCIS field agent. Surely this was her chance. Still though it had been so terrifying. She’d been overwhelmed with the feeling that she was in over her head.

She had tried her best to keep a tough exterior and to take whatever challenges Gibbs had thrown her way. On the outside it had looked as though she was excelling at every challenge thrown her direction. She kept determined. She held her head up high and tried to show how motivated she was to learn. She tried to give them the impression that she was strong. She tried to remind herself that she had worked too damn hard to get here. She worked way too hard to let Gibbs or anyone intimidate her from becoming a field agent. She tried to look to Ziva for inspiration. Ziva was so strong. She was such a strong agent who didn’t put up with anyone's crap. Y/N wished she could be more like Ziva.

On the inside though she felt like she was drowning. She felt so in over her head. It felt as though she was failing. She had to fear that she wasn’t strong enough for this. She wasn’t capable of this, a voice in the back of her brain insisted. She was so inferior and eventually everyone would see it.

She tried not to get too discouraged but it weighed on her so heavily.

Tony hadn’t made it easy. He had bestowed her with the nickname Mini-Probie. No matter how many times she asked him to call her by her name he still insisted she was “Mini-Probie.” or worse “Probie Jr.”

Later on of course she’d realize that Tony only bestowed the nicknames on her as a sign of affection. Tony tormented those he cared for.

At the time though it had felt so demoralizing.

Tony had thrown the worst jobs at her: Crawling through mud and dumpsters searching for evidence. Going into lakes and down hills. Going into the thickest woods to retrieve evidence. Carrying all the equipment. Gathering evidence off the floor on her hands and knees. Dusting massive surfaces for fingerprints all by herself. If there was a pet at a crime scene Y/N was handed a pet carrier and told to retrieve it. If there was a piece of evidence in some other god awful location Y/N was told to grab it and bag it.

He shoved the jobs no one wanted on her. It was the only way she’d learn he’d insisted. He was making her a better agent. He was a senior agent and he knew what she needed to do in order to learn.

McGee had tried to offer her reassurance though it was clear he was thankful that she was now the one stuck with the jobs he’d always been forced to take. Sure Tony might still call McGee “Probie.” but Y/N was clearly another victim and Tony seemed to take just as much pleasure at tormenting Y/N as he took in tormenting McGee. Misery did love company.

Y/N was close to cracking under the pressure.

She’d been once again tasked with yet another gross job that nobody else wanted. She’d found herself in a dumpster behind a seafood market searching for a gun that had possibly been tossed. She’d been left alone with the task combing through slimy fish parts trying not to puke. She smelled like rotten fish and all she wanted to do was crawl home and hide in her bed after she scrubbed her skin clean of the rotten stench.

Dr. Mallard had been so kind to her, offering her a chance to use the hazmat showers insisting that he was a true gentleman and wouldn’t stand for a lady being forced to drive home covered in fish guts.

She’d tried her best not to cry when he’d given her a gentle pat on the arm not cringing at the sticky remnants of fish parts crusted to her shoulder. “You’re doing well my dear. You took great initiative to retrieve that gun. That gun is a crucial piece of evidence. I’m sure Jethro will appreciate your determination. Take as long as you need to shower in the hazmat shower. There’s soap to use, it isn’t the nicest, but it will do in a pinch. There are a spare pair of scrubs in stock in Autopsy. I’m sure you can wear them home, though they might be a little large.”

She’d managed to work out a “Thank you Dr. Mallard.” trying to resist the urge to hug him. He had been so kind to her from the start. He made her think of her grandfather to be honest. Her grandfather was a lot like him; filled with stories. Her grandfather had quite the analytical mind as well. He’d actually had hope that she might go into the sciences like him, but Y/N had her heart set on this. Perhaps she would have been better off if she’d followed her grandfather’s dreams for her?

She’d showered so long scrubbing her skin so much it’d turned red and getting the water as hot as he could possibly stand. She didn’t care that the bar soap had made her skin a little dry.. Ziva had been kind enough to offer her some shampoo and conditioner gently giving her a tip to always keep some travel size soaps and shampoos in her desk. You never knew when you might need it Ziva had insisted. Y/N had scrubbed herself until she no longer smelled like rotten fish.

She’d found the blue scrubs without any problems relieved that they weren’t too large for her smaller frame.

When it was all said and done Y/N felt clean but still so defeated.

She took a deep breath trying to soothe herself and regather her confidence. She just had to get a hold of herself and remind herself of why she was here. She wanted to become a field agent; not a probationary agent. She wanted to become a real field agent. She worked so hard to get hired. She had to keep her chin up and keep going. Someday all of these terrible experiences would be worth it.

She’d found herself sitting in Autopsy at Dr. Mallard’s desk taking deep breaths trying not to cry. She refused to cry. She was a grown woman. She wasn’t going to cry.

She wasn’t sure why she remained sitting in Autopsy. There was something about the silence of the room. It was so quiet. It was the one place where she knew she might have a chance at being alone to gather her thoughts.

She’d barely noticed Jimmy Palmer enter the room, the man looking just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

He felt his heart sink as he noticed how absolutely heartbroken she looked. Her face was downturned she looked up at him revealing that she was clearly trying not to cry. It broke his heart.

She was far too lovely to look so broken. She was so wonderful inside and out. She didn’t deserve to look so upset.

He’d definitely noticed the new probationary agent. She was an attractive young woman so of course he’d noticed her. To be honest he’d noticed how rough Tony seemed to be treating her. Jimmy could admit he’d had to bite his tongue on occasion when he witnessed Tony take it just a little too far.

He felt like a coward for not saying something. Y/N seemed to be the type of woman who’d probably see any attempt Jimmy made to say something to Tony as Jimmy suggesting that Y/N wasn’t capable of handling her job. She’d see it as a patronizing action and not an act of kindness or care.

Jimmy could admit he’d found several things to adore about Y/N/ He enjoyed her presence at crime scenes and around NCIS. Anytime she was the one who got to come down to Autopsy he felt his heart lift at the sight of her and he’d maybe tried to make more jokes then, hoping to work a smile out of her.

He adored her entire attitude on the job. She seemed so determined. He guessed he related to her in that sense, he was a student too after all. He studied under Dr. Mallard in hopes of becoming a full blown medical examiner instead of just an assistant and Y/N studied under the NCIS team hoping to become a field agent and not just a probationary agent. He respected her determination to go after what she wanted.

He liked how eager she seemed to please everyone. She was clearly a hard worker. He’d always found those values admirable and relatable.

It wasn’t just her sense of motivation that Jimmy liked though. He liked everything about her. She was as pretty as she was sweet. He liked the hint of perfume she wore. It was a soft floral scent he occasionally caught when she was near. It smelled like lilies. He liked her smile the few times he’d spotted it. He liked her laugh the few times he’d been lucky enough to hear it. He liked how soft spoken she seemed. He could admit he worried about how soft spoken she seemed. He knew the life of a field agent was difficult and dangerous. He had to hope someone who seemed to be as sweet and as gentle as her wouldn’t be harmed on the job.

He would be lying if he tried to claim that he maybe hadn’t developed a massive crush on Y/N. There was no chance of him not liking her as much as he did.

He knew it was useless though. She was a perfect ten and Jimmy was sure he was probably not anywhere close to being a perfect ten. He knew what people saw when they looked at him. People found him strange especially when they found out just what his career goals were. They saw him as being a geek who slouched too much and always said the wrong thing at the wrong time. They found him awkward and they found his sense of humor to be off putting. Sure he’d started hitting the gym and trying to have a bit more pride in his appearance, but he was very sure that women who looked like Y/N didn’t go for guys who looked like Jimmy.

Y/N spoke her voice cracking, praying Jimmy couldn’t see the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “I should go, I-I...Dr. Mallard told me I could borrow some scrubs because my clothing was all fish gutty. It’s late so I should go. Tell Dr. Mallard I said thanks again, since you’ll probably see him before me. Have a good weekend Jimmy.”

Jimmy felt the words leave him unable to stand it any longer. He’d kept his lips sealed long enough. “Are you okay?”

She took a deep breath trying to hold it together. “I’m fine Jimmy. It’s just been a long day.”

Jimmy replied not willing to let it go. “You don’t seem fine.”

Y/N felt the tears fall then she unable to stop herself. Jimmy had always been so sweet to her. He was so polite and he tried to keep so positive. He was the one bright spot she knew she could count on at a crime scene. No matter how awful a crime scene was she knew that at least Jimmy would be there. He was always so cheerful. She didn’t understand how someone worked with the dead and saw just how much violence people were capable of could be so positive.

She spoke frantically wiping her eyes trying to pretend that she didn’t feel as awful as she so clearly felt. “It’s so stupid. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not stupid. I’m sure it isn’t stupid if it’s making you this sad. Of course I’m going to worry...I mean I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but I’d like to think that I’m still allowed to worry when I see you looking so down.” Jimmy insisted taking her by surprise as he made his way over to her.

He pulled out a chair at the desk motioning for her to sit, taking a seat in the other desk chair.

Y/N gave in telling herself it would make her feel better. It would make her feel better to have a friendly ear to vent to. She forced the words to fall from her as Jimmy frantically searched for a tissue, finally finding one and handing it over to her. “I just, I feel so overwhelmed.”

“You’re doing great though Y/N. I’ve seen you at crime scenes. You’ve been working really hard.” Jimmy replied so fast to reassure her.

“I’ve been faking it. I’ve been trying so hard but I’m so tired. I’ve worked so hard to get here. I’ve studied so hard and worked so hard. It’s all I’ve wanted for so long. I just, I’m in over my head.” She admitted the words spilling from her, feeling so good to get it all out.

She let out a heavy sigh shaking her head wiping her tears as she spoke. “Maybe I’m not made for this...Maybe I’m just not good enough.”

She was surprised by how fast Jimmy spoke in response. “That isn’t true. I know it’s been hard, but you said it yourself. You’ve wanted this for so long. You’ve worked really hard for this. You cannot stop now, not when you’ve worked so hard to get here. I know things may seem really rough right now, but I’m sure that things will get better. You’re doing really great. I mean Gibbs barely yells at you...and I don’t think he’s ever hit the back of your head, or I haven’t seen him do it.”

Y/N managed to laugh at this though it came out a little weepy. “He hasn’t...he has yelled, but he yells more at Tony than anyone.”

She let out a soft sigh, her tears managing to dry up a little she wringing the tissue she was holding in her hands. “Thanks Jimmy...today has just been the worst. I literally spent all afternoon in a dumpster searching for a gun. It was at a seafood market and Tony decided that I was the lucky one who got to dig through it. It was disgusting. I don’t think I ever want to eat seafood ever again... How long do you think he’s going to stick me with Probie duties?.”

“Probably until a new Probie comes along.” Jimmy replied, giving her an apologetic smile.

Much to his relief the comment didn’t make her feel worse, letting out a laugh that sounded a little less weepy. “On the bright side at least Dr. Mallard let me borrow the hazmat shower, which explains the scrubs.”

Jimmy felt the words leave him before he had a chance to stop himself. “If its any consolation, you look good in the scrubs.”

He paused his cheeks flushing more words spilling from him he stumbling a bit over his statement. “I mean, not that you don’t always look good...because you always look really good, I mean you always look really beautiful. You are beautiful... It’s just, uh you look nice in blue and uh...you l-look...you look good for someone who spent the afternoon in a dumpster filled with rotten fish parts.”

A little voice in the back of his brain told him he’d fucked everything up. She probably thought he was a total moron.

He widened his eyes surprised as she spoke her voice just as filled with shock. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Jimmy felt the words leave him he unable to deny it. He took a deep breath taking a chance. “Yes, always.”

It was her turn to feel her cheeks flush the words leaving her so soft he almost didn’t hear them “Thank you.”

He took another deep breath taking another chance. It was now or never. The worst thing she could do was tell him no. “Would you...uh, do you have any plans tonight?”

Y/N spoke a small shy smile crossing her lips. “No, I mean...I don’t have any plans unless Gibbs calls me in to work.”

Jimmy nodded his head working up the courage to ask. “Would you like to get dinner with me tonight? As in a date? I promise no seafood.”

The laugh that left her scared him for a moment. Was she laughing at him? Did she think the idea of him asking her out was so ridiculous that it had reduced her to laughter.

His doubts died as she spoke nodding her head the words leaving her. “I’d like that...would you be okay with me stopping by my place so I can change...I imagine you aren’t planning on going to dinner in your scrubs so I should probably ditch these.”

Jimmy was tempted to tell her he’d eat dinner with her no matter what she wore but he only managed to nod his head frantically the words spilling from him. “Of course, that’d be okay...I can just, uh I can follow you to your place and then we can leave for dinner in my car...if that’s okay with you?”

“Yes, that sounds great.” She insisted, standing up from her chair.

She hesitated for a moment, taking a chance as she leaned down, taking Jimmy by shock as her lips pressed to his cheek. She spoke her own cheeks flushing just as dark as his. “Just let me go get my purse and I’ll be ready to go.”

That dinner date had been the start of something wonderful. It hadn’t taken them long to become official. It had only taken a couple of dates before Jimmy had worked up the nerve to ask her to be his girlfriend.

They hadn’t looked back after that.

Things at work were still hard at times. Y/N still felt defeated at times. She still felt overwhelmed more often than she’d like to admit. Jimmy made it easier though. He made things seem so much brighter.

They’d been together for a little over two years now and they’d learned to lean on one another through the changes they’d endured at work and the stress and danger of their careers.

She was sure that she loved him more than she’d ever loved anyone. That was why this was driving her insane.

To be frank she was horny and stressed and exhausted. It was a deadly combination. She missed her boyfriend. She needed him so badly she wanted to cry.

As hard as she tried to focus on the case and her job any time she had a moment of silence her mind drifted back to the last time Jimmy and she’d had sex. It had been after a night out at a local bar with everyone at work. They hadn’t stayed long, they both making an excuse to leave early. The second they’d gotten home they’d barely made it to the bedroom. She kept thinking about all the filthy things Jimmy had moaned against her ear while he was grinding against her. He talked so much as it was and that trait didn’t go away when he was inside of her. He surprisingly had a filthy mouth when he got lost in pleasure. It was kind of amusing sweet gentle Jimmy who wouldn’t even watch an R rated film would moan in her ear about tight she was and how hard he wanted to fuck her.

Remembering all these little details wasn’t helping her ignore the desire coursing through her.

She finally decided she’d had enough. She knew it was a risky move but she needed to do this. It was either do this or attempt to take a cold shower in the hazmat showers.

It had been surprisingly easy. She knew her boyfriend’s routine after all. Even in a time like this when things were so hectic she knew that everyday around 3 Jimmy would go grab a cup of coffee and a snack. He cut his lunch break a little short just so he could have the time to step away to do this.

Jimmy hadn’t expected the arms to reach out from the supply closet yanking him by his scrub top into the closet.

He widened his eyes his heart still racing even as he realized exactly what was going on. Her lips pressed to his he eagerly returning the kiss but only for a brief moment he pulling from her the words spilling from him. “What’s going on?”

She pressed her lips down his jawline the words leaving her. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He chuckled at the action and her words. “You just saw me this morning.”

She continued to press kissed along his jawline working her way down his neck nipping his skin pulling a soft moan from his lips.

She spoke her words muffled against his neck. “I know, I just love you so much. I’ve missed you so much baby.”

She continued to suck and nip at his neck knowing she would definitely leave a mark behind in her wake. Jimmy couldn’t stop the soft moans from leaving him finding it so easy to sink into her affections his body easily reacting remembering just how badly he’d missed this.

She ran her hand down his body between them knowing her destination as she continued to work her lips against his pulse point.

He felt a surprised squeak leave him as she placed her hand over his crotch gently massaging him causing his cock to slowly begin to harden his body definitely remembering just how badly he’d missed her.

He pulled from her speaking frantically. “What, what are y-you doing?”

She gave him a flirty smile staring up at him clearly able to see how dark his eyes had gone with lust. “What do you think I’m doing? You’re a smart guy, I think you know.”

He felt his cheeks flush realizing her hand hadn’t left his crotch. He managed to speak his voice still a little frantic. “I uh-he-here? I mean r-right now? Here?”

“Yes, here.” She replied her lips pressing to his jawline again.

He sighed closing his eyes fighting the urge to sink into this his fears still running through the back of his mind. “What if s-someone walks in or hears us?”

She giggled fast to reply her lips still pressing along his jawline. “No one will walk in and no one will hear us as long as you’re quiet.”

She pulled back her voice taking a serious tone realizing he seemed pretty tense. “If you aren’t okay with it then It’s fine Jimmy. You can say no and I won’t be upset.”

Jimmy quickly debated his choices in his head. He could promise her that they would pick this back up at home. He could wait it out until his body no longer showed how excited he was. Then he could walk back to Autopsy and pretend nothing had happened.

Or he could give in to what his body was screaming it wanted. She’d told him she missed him, and he’d missed her. He’d missed her so much it was driving him insane.

Of course he might die from embarrassment if anyone walked in on this or even overheard them.

He loved her so much though. He wanted her so much. He wanted this so much.

He took a deep breath, his lips pressing to hers before he pulled back speaking. “We have to be quick and you have to be quiet.”

“I’m not the one we have to worry about. You’re the loud one.” She remarked her lips finding his.

He pushed her against the wall, his hand so easily roaming her body as he spoke. “That’s funny coming from someone who moaned my name so loud one time that the neighbors complained the next day.”

“That’s because the walls in your old apartment were paper thin.” She insisted a soft moan leaving her as he began to work the buttons of her shirt open sliding it from her body.

He groaned as he pulled the shirt from her his eyes locking down at the pink lace covering her breasts. “Fair enough.”

She giggled knowing him well enough to know that she always had a chance of winning any disagreement when he spotted her breasts.

He wasted no time to work his lips along her neck nipping and sucking as he worked his way down her shoulder pulling more giggles and soft moans from her. He pressed his lips against her cleavage nipping and sucking, unable to stop himself from grinding against her.

He ran his hands up her back easily finding her bra clasp and working it open pulling it from her body. He moaned as her breasts were revealed to him, wasting no time to lock his mouth over her breast suckling.

She whined her fingers running through his hair messing it as he worked her breast easily working it before moving to her other breast giving it the same treatment.

He only pulled back as she pulled his scrub top up pulling it and the white undershirt he wore up and over his head tossing it on the floor. He moaned as she pressed her lips to his chest, nipping sure she would leave a mark there too.

He whined as she worked her way down his body, dropping to her knees. He groaned as she stared up at him, unable to stop his hand from pressing to her cheek as she leaned against his touch. She spoke, her voice teasing. “I thought you said we had to make this quick.”

He nodded his head, the words spilling from him. “I know. I just love you so much.”

She spoke, her fingers sliding under the waistband of his scrub bottom and boxers. “And I love you.”

He groaned as she pulled his pants and boxers down, allowing them to rest around his ankles, the sight probably looking ridiculous but he was a little too distracted by the moan that left her lips to worry about that.

She spoke, her lips pressing along his shaft, her breath warm against him. “Is this for me?”

“Always, always for you.” He moaned his head falling back as he continued to press kisses along his shaft her hand resting against his balls massaging them

He groaned as he locked her lips around him, bobbing her head enthusiastically. He groaned his eyes practically crossing his knees already growing wobbly. God, he’d missed this. He’d missed this so much more than he realized.

She worked his cock he putting his hand over his mouth trying to stifle his moans. She pulled back a giggle leaving her, her hand wrapping around him and stroking. “Yeah, you’re real quiet.”

He giggled against his palm, his hips rocking against her touch.

She placed her lips back around him pulling her hand back to bob her head once again more moans leaving him muffling against his palm.

He stared down at her, his hips continuing to rock, unable to believe how perfect she really was. She was so amazing. She was all his. Somehow he’d managed to win her heart. He was the only one who got to do this with her. If he had his way she would be the only one he did this with for the rest of his life.

He groaned, finding it so hard to muffle his noises. She was right, he was the loud one.

He grunted knowing that if she kept this up at this rate he was going to cum. It was almost pathetic really. In his defense it had been so long since they’d had a chance to do this and he’d been so stressed lately. He was sure any kind of stimulation from her no matter how brief it was might cause him to burst.

He pulled back from her his cock bobbing a groan leaving him as he pulled his hand from his mouth. “I need you, I need you so fucking bad.”

She stood up from the floor kicking her shoes off and unfastening her pants sliding them down her body along with her panties.

He groaned searching the room trying to decide how he wanted to go about this.

He sighed knowing his knees still felt pretty wobbly. He was so desperate he didn’t trust himself to stay upright at the moment. Besides, he didn’t think pushing her against the wall so close to a shelf was a good plan. He could already imagine the risk of pulling down a shelf.

He quickly made his choice telling himself that even if the floor might not be the cleanest it was the best option.

He sat down resting against the wall motioning to her. “Here, ride me.”

She giggled making her way over to him a deep groan leaving him as he watched her. There was something so intoxicating about the sight of her standing over him like this nude and wanting him.

He groaned knowing he might have a bit of a submissive side to him. Though he guessed that was pretty obvious given his overeagerness to please her. He’d do anything for her, he’d give her anything. All she had to do was say the word and he’d give her anything. He was always so desperate for her, so desperate to make her feel good. He was always so desperate to make her happy. He was always in such awe that she wanted him. She could have anyone and she’d chosen him.

He ran his hands along her thighs as she approached him, a groan leaving him his eyes locking down at her center. “If I had more time I’d eat you out right now, fuck. This case better be over soon or I’m gonna find whoever killed that petty officer and kill him myself.”

She giggled at this comment, shaking her head. He was the only guy she’d ever dated who seemed to love going down on her. She’d definitely noticed just how much he enjoyed pleasing her. Of course she was always willing to make sure she pleased him in return. She had to find it downright awe inspiring just how much he adored pleasing her though.

She lowered down straddling his lap not allowing him to enter her just yet his lips pressing to hers. She reluctantly pulled her lips from his reaching forward and pulling his glasses from him.

She spoke, giving him a gentle smile as she set his glasses down on top of her pile of clothing. “I don’t want anything to happen to them.”

He gave her a lovesick smile not helping but to adore how she always looked out for him even in the tiniest ways. He groaned as she pressed her lips back to his.

He reached down between them grasping his cock sliding it along her she so wet he wanted to cry. He had a feeling he might not last as long as he was hoping. He knew it was going to take some serious effort on his half to hold back.

He grunted his moan muffled against her lips as she lowered herself over him, taking him slowly down to the hilt. He groaned she so tight and wet and so hot. He grasped onto her hips squeezing so tight he had a feeling he’d leave bruises behind.

She gasped, the feeling of him inside of her always a little overwhelming. He filled her so perfectly and in this position he hit at such a different angle. She had to adore how close she felt to him at this angle. This was exactly what she needed to feel so close to him.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, taking her time slowly rocking over him moans intermingling between their kisses.

He kept a tight grip on her hips encouraging her movements. She felt so good. He couldn’t stop himself from voicing it he speaking against her lips. “Fuck, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed your pussy so much.”

She giggled shuddering against him, unable to deny how much she loved a little dirty talk. There was something so flattering about knowing that sweet polite Jimmy Palmer could say such filthy things. She knew she was the only one who got to see this side of him. It was a side of him that was reserved for her and her only.

She spoke trying to keep her voice down, finding it so hard not to moan as loud as she wanted to when he felt so amazing. “Feels so good Jimmy. Missed you, missed this so bad. You always feel so good.”

He groaned, pressing his lips to hers doing his best to rock up against her as she continued to ride him. This position was hell given the fact that the floor was freezing and hard, but he found it hard to complain too much when she felt so amazing.

He pressed his lips to her neck, his voice muffled against her neck. “I love you, I love you so much sweet girl. My sweet girl, so good for me.”

She whined burying her face against his neck she riding him enthusiastically, his hands still squeezing her hips so tight. She managed to speak the words muffled against his skin. “I love you Jimmy. God, I love you so much.”

They continued like this, their moans muffled against one another’s skin, she rocking against him finding the perfect rhythm, Jimmy doing his best to encourage her movements.

She couldn’t believe this was happening. If anyone had told her way back when she’d been hired on as a probationary agent that she’d one day find herself riding the medical examiner’s assistant in a supply closet she would have never believed it.

Then again she also never would have believed that when she’d walked into Autopsy the first time that she’d be meeting the love of her life. She had to wonder that if she knew back then what she knew now if it would have made those first few months at NCIS any easier.

She whined against him, feeling so amazing. She spoke against his neck “Such a good boy Jimmy. So fucking good.”

He grunted shuddering against her, her words making him throb. Oh yeah he definitely had a kink for pleasing her.

This entire experience was actually more than a bit of a kink for him. He couldn’t help but to get off on the idea that anyone could walk in on this. Anyone could hear this. Anyone could hear just how much he was pleasing her. The thought filled him with such a sense of pride.

Of course realistically he knew he’d die of shame if anyone ever walked in on this or heard it, but for some reason the risk of being caught or overheard turned him on so much.

She slid a hand down between them, her fingers sliding along her clit rubbing it helping herself feel all the more amazing.

Jimmy groaned gazing down between them, his voice sounding out in a hushed whisper. “That’s my girl, fuck yes.”

She whined her head falling back, she biting her bottom lip to hush her moans. He stared up at her still so in awe of her. He had to wonder how he’d gotten so lucky.

He pressed his lips against her breasts suckling them as she rode him, her fingers continuing to rub her clit in a circular pattern.

They continued like this, both knowing this would be over quicker than they’d hoped. This had been just what they needed though. This was always their preferred method to cope with stress. Anytime things at work got to be too much they knew they could find pleasure in one another. Of course usually they were able to wait until they got home, or at least got to the backseat of his car in the parking garage.

They were amazed at their ability to find comfort in one another. They both knew that no matter what happened they had one another. When a case went well they could celebrate the success with one another. When a case went wrong they knew they could find comfort in one another.

When one of them had a terrible day they both knew that they could lie in one another's arms pressed skin to skin together. They didn’t even have to do anything more than hold one another and it would be enough.

She was sure she’d never found more comfort with anyone than she’d found with Jimmy. He was quite sure he felt the same.

There was a reason he’d begun looking at engagement rings secretly on an incognito tab on his laptop anytime he had a chance to do so without anyone seeing it and figuring out the plans dancing around in the back of his mind.

He knew that one day hopefully soon if he was lucky enough he would make her his wife. He would have the rest of his life with her. Growing old with her sounded perfect.

She spoke, her voice rising a little bit more than she meant the words falling from her. “Jimmy fuck, you’re so good baby. I’m so close.”

He pulled from her breasts placing a hand at the back of her head pulling her down muffling her moans with his lips. He spoke giggling against her lips. “Sssh not too loud baby.”

He pressed his lips back to hers as she continued to rub her clit, she continuing to rock over him losing rhythm the longer she moved. He gripped down onto her hips helping encourage her movements as she got closer and closer to the edge.

She whined her back arching, shaking against him as she reached her end. She moaned against his kisses muffling the noise. She quivered against him her nails digging into his back as she came her center contracting around him.

He grunted the sensation of her squeezing him so tight making his cock ache.

He allowed her to rock against him she shaking as she worked her way though her orgasm.

She gasped as she came down from her high she so sensitive.

She resisted the urge to pull back from him the feeling so intense. She wanted him to cum. She needed him to feel so good.

She pulled from his lips moaning against his ear her voice so soft and so needy saying just the thing to get him there. “Please Jimmy. Come on baby. Cum for me my good sweet man, let go for me.”

He grunted his fingertips digging into her skin knowing he would have to rub lotion against her hips tonight. Her skin would be sporting so many bruises after this.

He felt his end hit him hard he shaking his face burying against her neck muffling his moans of her name. He came hard spilling into her, she rocking against him working her pelvic floor muscles trying to milk his release. He whined as he felt the last of his release spill from him he knowing they were making a mess. He would have to find some tissues or something to clean them.

She remained ontop of him even as he began to soften his grip on her so tight he refusing to allow her to pull from him.

He spoke his voice low and raspy a drowsy laugh leaving him. “I’m going to find whoever inserted your IUD and thank them.”

She giggled her nose scrunching at the comment his cheeks flushing from more than the orgasm he was recovering from. He spoke another laugh leaving him. “Sorry, I know gross.”

She shook her head smoothing back his messy hair as she spoke her voice low. “It does beat the hell out of dealing with condoms.”

He pressed his lips to hers so thankful that she always had a way of making him feel less like an awkward idiot.

They widened their eyes as they heard an exasperated voice out in the hallway. “Has anyone seen Mini-Probie?”

Y/N muffled her laughter against Jimmy’s shoulder as an unfamiliar voice replied. “Who?”

“You know, Agent Y/L/N?” Tony sounded out still sounding so fed up.

They were thankful as his voice faded off, Tony clearly moving away from the supply closet.

Jimmy pressed his lips to hers his hands pressing to her cheeks he holding her against him even as they pulled from the kiss. “We should probably get back out there.”

She pressed one more kiss to his lips as she spoke. “I love you.”

“And I love you. You can drag me into a supply closet anytime you want.” He replied trying not to sound so eager.

She chuckled shaking her head as she moved up and off of him trying not to cringe at she mess they’d made. “You better not make that offer. I’ll keep taking you up on it.”

He smiled up at her, that lovesick smile once again returning to his lips. He had a feeling he wouldn’t have any problems with that.

“It doesn’t even have to be a supply closet. We could try a few other locations. I’m pretty sure I could find so many places for us to find some privacy around NCIS.” He exclaimed, causing her to giggle, he absolutely loving the sound.

It was such a world away from the sorrow filled girl he’d comforted in Autopsy a little over two years ago.

God, he loved her.

He had to hope she’d take him up on his offer. He wasn’t lying, she could pull him into the supply closet anytime she wanted.

[heliads]

Troubled Waters Chapter 1: A Warning

Strange happenings are starting to plague Beacon Hills. Scott McCall and his pack have always been able to defend their hometown no matter how dangerous the threat, but they may need the help of mysterious newcomer Y/N L/N.

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The sound of voices drifts over to Scott from across the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his friends sitting on the dock of Lydia’s lake house. Stiles is arguing some point with all the passion of a trained debater, with Malia answering back in a challenging but amused tone. Lydia is doing her best not to laugh, and Kira has just turned away from the two speakers to gesture to Scott to come back to the gathering.

Scott smiles at the sight of them. It’s rare that he and his friends have a moment like this, pure and lacking in any sort of danger. As time passed, Scott has grown to realize that golden moments like these need to be treasured, because they come around rarely thanks to the troubles constantly plaguing Beacon Hills.

He puts down his glass on the kitchen counter and strolls leisurely back to his friends, plopping down next to them and letting his feet dangle over the edge of the dock. Night has fallen, bringing with it some long-awaited cool air and a light breeze. The moon is hung just beyond the clouds, large enough to light up the sky and send little reflections dancing across the waves,  but small enough that it will not draw on Scott and Malia’s abilities as only the full moon can.

Scott lets out a contented sigh, wanting to remember every last detail of this night. It’s the weekend before school starts up again, and they won’t be able to get away from everything like this for a while. Kira leans over to Scott, smiling gently. “Thinking about school?” Scott nods. “I’m just waiting for another disaster to strike. It feels like that’s all we get these days.”

Stiles rolls his eyes jokingly. “Come on, Scott. Let’s enjoy this weekend. You can worry about potential threats once we get back, but if I have to think about anything with glowing eyes and fangs I’m going to lose my mind.” Lydia raises an eyebrow. “What about spirits of death?” Stiles waves a hand dismissively. “Only if you don’t predict anything.” Everyone laughs at that, and Scott lets himself relax. This is his favorite part of his pack- the friendship, the camaraderie. It’s all so worth it.

The group dissolves into chatter once more, bringing up potential schedules and rumors of which teachers are the best, and which ones seem even more menacing than the Argents. Everyone is having a good time, until Malia frowns and sits up.

“Does anyone else see that?” Scott glances at her. “See what?” Malia points over his shoulder at the waters of the lake. “Is it just me, or does it look like the water is doing something weird?” Confused, Scott peers at the lake, and he realizes what Malia means. The water is moving, not just in the usual tides, but starting to roil, forming eddies and whirlpools despite a total absence of wind or anything else in the water.

Scott starts to stand up. “That is weird.” The water is moving faster now, and clouds of spray start to buffet the friends. “I think we should go.” Stiles shouts to be heard above the crash of the waves, and Scott nods in agreement. He watches as the waves surge and whirl with all the energy of a hurricane. Just as they all start to back away, though, the waves clash together with one last surge of water and then everything falls silent.

Lydia looks from the water to the house. “Is it over now? I didn’t see any motorboats, what just happened?” Scott slowly shakes his head. “I’m not sure.” He creeps to the edge of the dock once more, daring to look down over into the now calm waters below. His hand darts to his phone, turning on the flashlight and shining it around. He can’t see anything in the water, nothing that would have caused whatever it was that he just saw. Also, Scott’s been to the lake house often enough to know that storms like that don’t just come up out of nowhere. Despite the wildness of the water, the sky is clear as if nothing had happened.

Scott peers at the lake again, searching for something, anything, to explain the freak tempest of the waters. He pans the beam of his flashlight back and forth, across every inch of the lake. Then, he sees something bobbing along in the waves. 

“There! What’s that?” Kira is standing beside him now, and she sees the same thing in the water. “It looks like it’s coming closer to us.” It’s true- Scott kneels on the wooden slats of the dock and reaches out his hand, trying to reach it. Just a few more seconds, and he has it, grabbing the debris from the waters and holding it up to the light.

It’s a box, made from dark wood and held together with a simple metal clasp. Scott looks questioningly at his friends, who nod at him to open it. Scott jams his phone in his pocket, then flips the clasp open and lifts the lid of the box. Inside is a piece of paper, folded neatly into a small square. Stiles reaches into the box and pulls it out, unfolding it. Malia looks at him, intrigued. “What does it say?” Stiles just shakes his head, confused.

“I don’t know. It looks like it’s in some other language.” He holds up the mysterious note and sure enough, inked into the paper in thick black letters is a strange, twisting script. Scott can’t make out a word of it. “Does anyone recognize what language that is?” He looks to Lydia, expecting an answer, but she looks just as unsure as anyone else. “No idea. I can handle Classic or Archaic Latin, but I don’t know what this is.” Scott looks back at the paper, and then at the plain box it came in. “What does all of this mean?”

They don’t find an answer to his question. Even after their time at the lake house has ended, and Scott and his friends drive back to their respective homes in Beacon Hills, Scott still finds himself thinking of the mysterious message. It had to do something with the sudden disturbance in the water, of that he was certain. Why else would it have arrived so quickly after the waters calmed down? Scott spent hours poring over the box, trying to see if there were any carvings, designs, hidden compartments, anything that would help him decode the message. Yet, after every try, he can still turn up nothing. Same with the paper- how can you translate a language if you have no idea what it is?

Even more confusing is when Scott receives a call from Mason mere hours after the incident at the lake house. The second he had picked up, Scott could tell that Mason was in obvious distress. “What’s wrong?” Scott had asked, but Mason had just continued on in the same agitated tone. “Did anything weird happen to you tonight? Like, a few hours ago?”

Scott was instantly on guard. “Yeah, the lake at Lydia’s house was behaving very strangely. It seemed like we were in the middle of a hurricane without anything else happening.” Mason had seemed unsurprised by that. “See, I have these charts up on my computer all the time. They measure the amount of energy present in Beacon Hills. They were useful with some of the other dangers, so I keep them up all the time. The thing is, I checked them just now and they were way up a few hours ago.”

Intrigued, Scott had asked him for more information, and Mason had readily supplied it. “Around nine p.m., the energy levels went from average to way higher than they’ve been in a long time. It seems like there was some event that generated a ton of energy, something that happened around the same time as your lake incident. I’d bet they’re connected.”

After Mason had ended the call, Scott sat in his room, thinking. What did it all mean? The energy readings- they had to be connected to the lake, just like Mason said. Whenever there was a lot of energy in Beacon Hills, danger usually followed. What would come now, and would Scott and his friends be able to stop it?

The start of school forces Scott to focus on something other than the events of that night at Lydia’s lake house. His classes seem challenging but at least interesting, and he has captainship of the lacrosse team to raise his spirits. When Scott finds his friends at lunch and sits down at the table next to them, though, he can’t help but sense an aura of unease hanging around them.

“We’re all still thinking about what happened at the lake house, right?” Scott asks, and Stiles sighs. “Yeah, we are. I mean, what could any of that mean? Lakes don’t just do that. There has to be something bigger that caused it.” Lydia agrees. “I’ve been to the lake house a lot. I’ve never seen it do that.” Scott nods, and pulls the box out of his bag, opening it to pull out the paper. His friends all look at it once more, trying in vain to decipher the message. “I just wish I knew what it said. Don’t sell the lake house? Spend more time away from the water? I’d settle for just knowing what language it is.”

“Ancient Greek.”

Scott turns quickly to see a girl standing at their table. He looks up at her, surprised. “Ancient Greek?” The girl nods, pointing at the paper. “Yeah, you can tell because of the letters. That’s a delta, that’s a theta, it’s definitely Ancient Greek.”

The girl looks back at their stunned faces, realizing that they’re all silent. “I’m sorry to listen in- I was just passing by and I saw the paper. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” She turns to go, but Scott stands up hurriedly. “Don’t worry about it. Actually, can you tell us more about what it says? Can you read Ancient Greek?”

The girl nods slowly. “I think I can, but it might take a while.” Lydia stands up too. “Come sit down. You’ve officially joined the friend group. What’s your name, by the way?” The girl smiles happily, taking a seat next to Lydia. “My name is Y/N. Y/N L/N.” Scott nods at the girl. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Y/N pulls the piece of paper over to her, squinting at it. “This is actually a pretty simple message. It’s just a few words.” She looks at the inked swirls again, her lips moving silently as she translates the message. Once she finishes, she puts the paper back down, but still looks confused. Kira leans forward excitedly. “What does it say?” Y/N looks at her, then back down at the paper. 

“It’s some kind of warning. It says ‘Beware the naiads.’”

[himbodjarin]

LUNAR; CH10

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV. Chapter Word Count: 7373 Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use of y/n

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER TEN: THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

The Mandalorian’s calves have never felt so tender nor his feet so sizzling, but the Girl’s life is at stake and he can’t afford to slow down. He’s succeeding in not succumbing to his body’s desire for rest, but it won’t last long—there’s a sharp stabbing pain running along the back of his thigh and he administers his weight to the opposite leg to avoid stopping. Bookoo is faster than him with his legs at least a foot longer than his. It’s a good thing he spared his life, Mando decides, for if he hadn’t there’d be no hope in saving the Girl—he can’t carry both the Child and her back to the hangar, especially not from this distance.

He battles against the unwavering urge to sink to his knees and lay face first in the grit, let it bury his aching limbs where they’ll retire. The Child in his arms feels almost as heavy as the beskar on his shoulders but he ensures his clutch, his blood-stained leathers cupping his little body against his chest securely; both of his crewmates were in unfortunate conditions and there’s an unshakable concerned feeling creeping up on Mando. What’s he to do if he loses them?

Pushing it aside, he focuses on his footing; dodging jagged rocks and uneven surfaces of sandy terrain but it’s not enough, his muscles can’t maintain this pace and exertion. Bookoo notices his decreasing pace and slows to match it, eliciting a growl of a question Mando doesn’t understand. 

The Girl is limp in the Wookiee’s paws with her head pulled to the side and her abdomen pooling with red liquid that drops to the sand before them, staining the grit in a clashing hue just like he had with the snow only a day or two ago. No more than two days had passed and there’d been another injury—only so much worse than what he’d dealt with.

“Go. Go,” Mando puffs out, gesturing towards the structure. “Hangar 3-5.”

The Wookiee growls once more and continues his approach leaving the Mandalorian to catch up on his own terms. Mando permits a steadier pace to let his muscles recuperate and to examine the Child’s wellbeing. Still asleep, still unresponsive to his touches, but breathing and squirming every few minutes. He’ll wake, eventually, it’s just a matter of how long it’ll take. He’s not injured—not physically—the only positive consequence from this whole event.

Vermillion plasma clings to him like a pest and he raises a hand to rub at the smear on his heart plate with the base of his palm, the leather harsh enough to shave the blood off in dried flakes. Some of it is still wet and it only smudges with his fury, tinting the beskar in with a relentless red. The tempo of his strokes increases rapidly, desperate to rid himself of the reminder of what’s happened to her, but it’s unproductive and a complete waste of effort.

Mando sighs and inclines his helmet so he doesn’t have to see the colour contrasting against the silver that is wholly him—he’s bland and dull, a mix of blacks, whites, and greys, while the Girl is brimming with colour; she’s as vibrant as the krill ponds on Sorgan and as eye-catching as the sunset on Nevarro, but that vermillion...it’s a colour he never wants to see on her ever again.

“Oh, Thank the Force!” Peli exclaims upon Mando’s return, her arms outstretched for the Child and he happily delivers him to her, cringing at the throbbing in his biceps. “Thought you mighta-”

He interrupts, “Where? Where is...is she...she’s not…”

“She’s stable. The droids took care of her.”

Mando pauses with his eyebrows scrunched together. “Droids? No, I said no droids. Especially not with her!”

Peli shrugs, “Easy there. They’re repair droids.”

“She isn’t a vessel!”

The mechanic places an encouraging hand on his pauldron. “I taught them basic medical skills—comes in handy when you’re working a craft all on your own. Go have a look yourself.”

With a blend of scepticism of the droid’s abilities and apprehension for the Girl’s condition, he navigates through the Hangar’s halls and into the room she occupied, tracking grit in his wake. It’s dark inside, her features lit by a single candle beside the bed she’s situated on. She’s breathing, chest rising and collapsing laboriously underneath a thin scratchy blanket draped across her body, but her brow is wrinkled and her mouth taut in an agonised frown. She looks depleted of energy—drained from the inside out—it makes his heart lurch and lungs sensitive against the crisp air.

Slashes that riddle her arms had been tended to, protected from Tatooine’s harsh desert landscape with familiar ivory-coloured bindings. She’d hardly been touched by the moon’s glow before being sealed away again, so close yet so distant from his reach—Mando wishes he’d never had grabbed her with such authority back on that ship. The Girl reshapes underneath the blanket and his eyes lift to her shoulders, bare and unbound by the sizable poncho she usually dons, and the soft of her skin travels lower until the edge of the blanket meets his eyes, covering her chest.

If this had been any other time—essentially any other circumstance—he’d be struggling to control himself right about now, the appearance of such soft skin stirring something deep in his core, but those thoughts are far from his mind. Rather, he’s preoccupying himself as to not let the image of the Girl lying unconscious get to him, by reflecting on the information he’d been given back on the craft; the forced confession of the Girl’s intentions. It angers him, and it angers him that it angers him; confusing. Mando doesn’t want to be a part of it; wishes he’d never entered that cantina then perhaps he’d remain blissfully unaware—happy.

“She’ll need some medicine when she wakes,” Peli says, startling him out of his self-loathing. “Spice could be helpful too.”

“That’s addictive.”

Peli hums. “It can be if you’re not careful. Hell of an anaesthetic though. She’ll be in pain for a while without it.”

Mando inclines his visor back to the Girl. “Where can I find it?”

“Cantina’s best bet. Smugglers pass through ‘ere all day and night.”

“There weren’t many people there earlier.”

“Doesn’t get its fill until late in the night,” she explains. “They’ll be there.”

And they were—six smugglers gathered around a single cantina table in the darkest of the corners. They’re not shy about their illegal activities, placing the narcotics onto the surface displaying for all to see. It’s their business strategy, Mando believes, rope in unsuspecting victims with the alluring spice and scam them of their credits for a small dose of pleasure.

“How much for one?” 

They turn at the filtered voice, sizing up the Mandalorian and noting the remarkable steel encasing his body. One of them grasps a bag of narcotics, tauntingly fiddling with it ahead of Mando. The leader of the group—a burly older gentleman with a bush for a face—leans further into his chair and responds, “With that armour of yours why not indulge a little, aye?”

“One is plenty.”

“Come now, it’s not every day you’ll get it for these prices. Stock up while you can.”

Mando sighs to himself and places either hand on the table, tilting his helmet to match the eyes of the leader. “One.” He’s distributing his lack of patience in waves that ripple against the smugglers; they shift uncomfortably and bow their heads to sip from a glass of spotchka. 

Dull and sullen eyes tip to the Mandalorian’s hands on their table, examining the dried blood coating his leathers suspiciously. They’re unaware of the fact it’s not his enemy’s and he’s grateful for that—it benefits him, gives him the upper hand in regards to coercion. “Okay, all right,” the leader sighs. “A thousand is all it’ll cost ya.”

“That’s too much,” Mando rumbles. “I’ll do two hundred.”

The crew laughs at his claim and he scowls underneath the helmet. Mando doesn’t have the privilege of time to waste it away on a bunch of no-good narcotic smugglers. He suspends a hand over the hilt of his blaster in hopes of compliance and it, at the very least, gets them to shut their mouths. “We’re out here risking our asses for this! Do you know how difficult it is to press these into pills? It’s worth more than two hundred.”

Mando sighs aggressively. “Five.”

“Five?”

“You have two options. Take the credits and leave here richer than you came, or we take this outside.” Mando glances over their panicked faces. “It seems you’re already fixed on your supply. I’m sure you’re not capable with a blaster.” 

Sunken eyes leer at the Mandalorian with resentment and defeat. He slides a satchel across the table, the narcotics rustling inside, and Mando slips the bag into his belt pouch and retrieves a few dozen credits to toss at the group. 

“Pleasure doing business,” Mando retorts as he steps away, listening to the lackeys scowling—we need those credits!—at their leader in frustration. It’s a small win, one not worth celebrating and he doesn’t, just continues trudging through the gathering crowd of drunk patrons to the exit.

A familiar soft-spoken voice stops him from leaving, “Excuse me, sir! Please do not eat the display!” Mando twists on his feet and watches the same waiter from earlier fight against a customer attempting to shovel a cluster of flower arrangements into his mouth. “Sir, I’ll make you something. Please just-”

Slurring his words and attempting to frighten the waiter off with flailing arms in her general direction, though his coordination is all off, the man groans something neither of them can register. She’s becoming just agitated at the man and Mando huffs a sigh through his dry lips, wanting a drink of his own, and walks up to the duo to prevent any conflicts, yet again. Mando’s becoming soft��running around and assisting any damsel in distress—he’s sensed it for a while now, and he doesn’t know whether to blame it on the Girl, the kid, or his age. It doesn’t really matter, he realises, as it all seems to just blend together anyways. 

Mando’s gloves come down on the patron’s shoulder and he clasps the flesh underneath, tugging backwards until he’s stumbling on his feet and disappears within the crowd. It’ll take him a while to work his way out of that mess; Mando turns to leave.

“Mandalorian! Sir, thank you.” She smiles brightly at him and he responds with a faint nod. “Please allow me to make you something on the house.”

“That’s not-”

“Please! It’s the least I can do. What about those pancakes you ordered earlier? I can make a batch up as quick as a flash.”

The pancakes. 

The sweetness of the syrup, the softness of the cake, the excitement of his tongue exploring the Girl’s fingers—it’s all toying with his mind, tormenting it. It feels like a lifetime ago with the chain of events having followed after it. It was a moment of pure euphoria for the Mandalorian and he anxiously wishes to recreate it, wants to proceed with exploring the Girl’s body, but not like this.

“No,” he nods again as a substitute for a friendly smile. “Thank you.”

Mando files through the small of his pouch, recovering the tub of bacta gel and alongside the spice pellets and places them on the edge of the Girl’s cot. Peli advised him it’d be best if he were to administer it to her—she trusts you the most—he finds it ironic. If that were true, wouldn’t she have admitted the truth before all of this - would she have ever confessed if not for the abduction?

Despite that, he’s willing to do it - he wants to do it, he realises once he’d unravelled the first limb of its bindings. 

It’s an excuse to touch her - an excuse to avoid thinking about the hurt in his heart.

He slips his hands from their confines and retires the leather to the nightstand. Frigid air assaults his flesh immediately—the wind gusting through the ajar window sharply—and he curls his fingers into themselves, tucking the vulnerable tips into the warmth of his palms. 

The Girl’s moaning ahead of him is enough to summon the primal instinct to tend to her wounds. Mando dips two fingers into the gel and gathers a load of it on the tips, the bright blue glistening from the candlelight. It’s healing properties are strong, much more so than the cheap knock-off he usually purchases and he can feel the soothing bursts in the peaks of his digits, it was fortunate timing he’d stumbled across the vendor low in stock - and it’s well worth the credits, though the funds are beginning to run dry with all the recent payments.

Peli’s droids had done a decent job on the Girl, though he wouldn’t vocalise it, and her slashes already looked to be healing from the cauterisation, but they’re still inflamed and sensitive. Regardless of the deception aching his heart and the suppressed clump of words in his throat, her actions don’t merit insufferable torment. So, Mando gets to work; slathering thick coatings of blue on each gash, using less pressure on the newest of the bunch, particularly the one that’d been in such bad shape back on the spacecraft. His forefinger streaks along with the bumpiness of the cauterisation scarring - it’s rough and so different to her. She’s so soft - pillowy, and he’s all shattered transparisteel - sharp and risky.

She stirs beneath his hands and strains to open her eyes. “Man-do?” she croaks and grabs hold of his wrist, pausing his momentum.

“Does it hurt?”

She groans a strangled reply, “No, it’s - it doesn’t mat-ter. I need… I want… I-”

Mando carefully pries his wrist from her clutch and continues lathering gel onto the irritable lines blanketing her arm. The faintest, timid touches establish goosebumps that reach up to her shoulders, and he adopts them - brands them as his; cares for them, feeds them with additional strokes from his tips as a reward.

“Just rest - heal.” 

“I can’t. I-I won’t,” she chokes out and the rawness in her voice causes him to stop on his own accord, his visor finally lifting to look at her and he wishes he hadn’t - wishes he didn’t see the Girl in so much pain; physical and emotional. There’s not a single tear in sight—she wouldn’t allow herself to shed one—but her eyes are glassy and red, her bottom lip sucked in between her teeth where it’s being relentlessly chewed on. “Why are you still here?”

“The Crest isn’t fixed,” he lies and it pains him to do so, not because the Crest was repaired—Peli had informed him of this earlier—but because he knows why he’s here. Mando knows exactly why he hasn’t just upped and left - why he hasn’t just continued his life on the run with the kid. 

It hurts, even more, to hear the Girl utter, “Oh.”

He succumbs to his pitiful emotions, “I won’t abandon you. I can’t.”

She places a shaky hand on his vambrace and shifts to sit up some, cringing at the discomfort in her limbs and abdomen at the change of position. “I’m so sorry, Mando. I-I wanted to tell you—so many times—but then- I didn’t want to - to ruin all of...this.”

He listens intently, silent but listening.

She reaches higher, her hand looming in the intimates of his neck but she pulls away sharply, clasping her adjacent hand over a pulsing and cracked cauterised mark. It causes the gel to smear across her forearm messily, coating the palm of her hands and dropping clumps onto the cot below. Mando delicately peels her hand away and wipes the caked-on clots away with her tattered poncho which lays draped over his knee. It feels so private—personal—tending to the Girl in her times of need just like she had with him, as though he was returning a favour - only hers came with an additional payoff; his cheeks redden at the thought of reimbursing her here and now.

“Mando.” She slips her hand into his mid-scrubbing and interlocks their fingers together. Residual gel transfers to his palms, squelching between each other’s grip, but he can only focus on the pounding against his ribs and the pressure on the back of his hand as her fingernails dig into the flesh - testing the boundaries she can push. There aren’t any. The Girl could push and push until he’s stumbling over his own feet and there’d be no boundaries; there will never be enough of her - never enough.

“Please, ask me anything,” she whispers, glancing up at the visor. “I’ll tell you everything.” 

“That’s not necessary.” 

“I don’t - don’t know what else I have to offer. I-I don’t know how to...to show you I’m sorry. Please,” she more or less huffs out the sentence, the pain starting to catch up with her.

Mando observes the small satchel on the edge of the cot and rolls it around in his free palm, feeling the individual pellets through the thin material. “I’ll make you a deal,” he complies. “I’ll fix up your other arm and ask anything I need to, but you need to take one of these.”

The Girl’s eyes dart to the sack and Mando opens it, retrieving a tablet and holding it up to show her. It’s small, almost too small to look like it’d be a mild pain relief let alone enough for one to get high off; no bigger than a third of his fingernails and a deep maroon colour that just screams narcotics.

“Spice,” he answers her unexpressed question. “It’ll help with the pain but it could be addicting. I won’t force you to take one if that’s what you wish.”

The decision is in her hands - it’s her life, after all. 

“You’ll ask me anything?” she asks and he nods. “Pass it over.”

Mando should be appreciative of her unsuspected complying—it’s not often she’s so easily won over like this—and it’s for her benefit, but he can’t help but wish she had rejected the pill. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to see her in that disoriented state, plagued with feral hallucinations vandalising the inside of her head and grinding her basic cognitive functions into tiny particles. Or maybe it’s because he’s scared of what he may discover without her possessing the ability to stop herself from oversharing. Mando’s had his run-ins with spice before and while he’s not entirely fluent with the substance, he’s aware of its susceptible capabilities. 

The Girl places a hand on his and he stiffens underneath it. She’s so cold, so desensitised, it’s so unlike her. She’s usually warm; intense flames constructed with passion and tenderheartedness. It’s as though it’s evaporated from her flesh entirely. She strokes his knuckles with her thumb, committing the peaks and ridges to memory and he wallows in the sensation of the pads of her fingers on his skin. It’s the most physical contact he’s been granted ever since he’d swore to the Creed. Even when he allowed himself moments of weakness with others, it's always been rushed—never about anything more than a hasty relief—and under no circumstances would he withdraw from his armour; it’s one of many unspoken promises to himself he’s broken for the Girl.

She twists his hand around and slides the pill from out between his thumb and forefinger, plopping it in her mouth and swallowing harshly. It goes down without a struggle, the pill being so minuscule it didn’t require water for a smooth entrance, and she eases back into the pillow with a weak smile in his direction.

“What do you want to know?” she asks. 

Mando sighs softly - where does he begin? His tongue darts out to lick a slow stripe across his cracked lips and collects a drop of blood from the slit he’d bit earlier, leaving a stale metallic taste on the tip of his tongue.

“How much did you see back on Arvala-7?”

“Everything from when you took down the encampment with that droid. We followed you back to your ship and watched you get electrocuted by the Jawas—that didn’t look pleasant—Kur wanted to head down there after that, figured you’d be out of it from the impact. I told them to wait, let you get your supplies back for us to loot, and it convinced them.”

Mando tilts his head. “They didn’t seem like the negotiating type.”

She nods. “They didn’t have much of a choice with me in command.”

That shocks him. “You were their leader?”

“No!” she scoffs as though he’d said the funniest joke. “No, no, but I was the only one who could use long-range rifles. I told you, I thought you were the bounty; they informed me it didn’t matter whether you were brought in dead or alive—they opted for a long-range advantage. They’d heard stories of Mandalorians and didn’t want to test their luck.”

Makes sense, he figures, that the group would prefer to deal with their targets swiftly—leaving no room for errors or loopholes, except one of their own violated their ruling, possibly the biggest error they’ve ever made - now they lay dead on their dormant spacecraft on the outskirts of the town. Nevertheless, the information surprises Mando. There was no underlying notion that somebody—no less five people—were stalking him on the ridges of Arvala-7’s desert. Perhaps he should retouch some of his stealthing capabilities.

The Girl waits for his next question, her hands fiddling among themselves in her lap uncertain if she should—could—reach out for him, and he doesn’t trust himself not to soothe her nerves; choosing to settle on the opposite side of the cot to care for her other arm. Stripping the bandages away, he asks, “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“I already told you that.” 

Mando’s brow crinkles in thought, his hands operating on their own accord now that he’s trying to remember; it dawns on him. “Because ‘you didn’t want to’?” he mimics her words back on the ridge—so, so long ago. 

“Mmhmm,” she hums. “I’m not sure what else it could be. I saw you, Mando, with the kid. He’d only known you for, what, like half a day and he was protecting you—used his abilities to prevent that mudhorn from killing you. And you...you were so gentle with him - so cautious around him. It was mesmerising watching a Mandalorian—a legend—covered in sharp edges and cold steel be so meek towards a bounty. I didn’t want to rip that away from the galaxy; it requires your compassion.”

She’d been watching him closely. Even Mando hadn’t noticed his change of demeanour at that point—it wasn’t until Nevarro that it crossed his mind that, perhaps, he’d fallen soft for that little womp rat.

Mando tips his helmet down to tear away from her eyes, feeling too seen - too examined. “What happened to you?” She gives him a confused eyebrow twitch and he elaborates by running a fingertip across a scar.

She sharply inhales and shakes her head. “I don’t want you to pity me, Mando, you’re entitled to be mad at me. You should hate me, should want me dead. You haven’t had time to reflect on everything you’ve been told back there.”

She isn’t entirely wrong. He hadn’t been granted the luxury of time to consider the circumstances, but he’s not certain whether he wants to. If he takes all of this into account, there’s no telling how he’ll react—he’s never had to deal with a situation where the Girl who makes him so hot and bothered had deceived him. Mando dips his fingers back into the container of gel and collects a small load, rubbing it into the tips of his digits with his thumb. He sighs. “I’m reflecting in my own way.”

The Girl scoffs mockingly. “By tending to my wounds?”

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No,” she answers quickly, too quickly, and nibbles on her lip anxiously. “I just… It’s - it’s nice—you touching me.”

Mando freezes, his fingers suspended above a mound of scar tissue below her collarbone. What’s he supposed to make of that confession? He drags his forefinger across the scar to transfer the remaining bacta on the padding and retracts, quietly complaining when the softness of her skin is replaced with a breeze of frigid air. “Seems like the spice is working,” he deflects.

“It’s not the spice,” she claims. “I mean - it’s helping say it, but…”

She lays her hand on his vambrace and he’s thankful for the reinforced steel suppressing the tension that travels the muscles underneath, but his uncovered hand is a traitor to himself as he grabs a fistful of bedsheets to stop climbing on the bed here and now—stopping him from pursuing something he sought like a medication to a chronic illness. Her fingers run down his beskar and rest atop his tendons, calming the flex in his hand until the fingers splay out underneath hers. This confession overrules her previous one by a longshot and swallows sternly, the saliva in his mouth increasingly by the second—if the tension persists he’ll be drowning in his drool.

The Girl fiddles with his fingers by twisting and forming them around her own; she’s exploring unveiled land, he ascertains. Mando inclines his helmet to watch them at work, eyes following the slender digits as they test the indentations of lines etched into his palm. She sighs and finally answers his question, “Tika did most of it; retribution for letting their bounty escape. The group came to an agreement to banish me to Arvala-7 since it receives low traffic. They hoped I’d die there.”

Mando’s visor returns to her face and, underneath the slab of transparisteel, his eyes lessen in stiffness. He can’t envision how she must see him—a leering, emotionless vessel of beskar wholly fixated on her features whilst she recounts her trauma and he hardly returns a nod in her direction. When her eyes meet him, he can’t see his own in the reflection. It’s only what he doesn’t want to see; a perfectly sculpted Mandalorian helmet made of the finest Beskar. He hates it, despises it. He aspires to rid himself of the obstructing constraint to gaze into her eyes; search for his reflection in them.

“I’m-”

She stops him, placing a finger on his helmet where his lips should be. “Don’t. Don’t pity me.”

Pity isn’t the word he would use—it doesn’t seem genuine enough. 

Perhaps there is no word to describe what he’s feeling. Magma is filling his veins yet again, thick and suffocating, but it’s not hot; rather icy cold that makes the tips of his fingers numb. The Girl’s eyes are interchangeable to the Child’s—big, soft, pure. Mando finds himself wanting to protect her from any potential threats—not that she needs his protection, she’s more than capable—to just seal her within the confines of his arms where she’ll be safe - where he won’t let anybody within a klicks distance of her.

She sinks her finger to the edge of his helm and drags him in close, disregarding the rumble his vocoder produces and snakes her other hand through the loop of his belt. “Come here,” she whispers.

Mando inches closer until her breath bounces off his steel and it’s not until he’s at such an intimate distance—where she’s warm and soft against his beskar, but also fuzzy and cloudy—that he recalls the narcotics in her system and that's plenty motivation for him to pull away. She whines and attempts to keep him steady but he’s too solid in contrast to her. “You’re intoxicated.”

“Didn’t take you as one to complain,” she jests lightheartedly.

Mando’s really starting to regret buying that spice. She’s initiating something she’s probably not even aware of and, if he hadn’t supplied her with those blasted pills he’d be under those sheets alongside her right about now—or maybe he wouldn’t; maybe it’s the spice making her confused and forcing her hand on him.

Mando needs to know - needs to hear her say those words.

Nerves wrack his muscles, twitching and shaking violently that he’s forced to rest his hands on the cot to ground himself. Mouth dry like the desert outside, Mando clears his throat awkwardly and curses at himself upon hearing the tremble in his voice, “It’s not how I want it to happen.”

The Girl is rendered like a malfunctioning droid, her eyes flickering to-and-fro from his visor to his hands—hunting his stance for any implication that he’s just screwing with her and her cheeks deepen with crimson when she finds none. One wouldn’t know she was intoxicated by her swiftness as she slings her legs out from beneath the blankets, leaning over the edge of the cot to place either of her hands on the curve of his helmet. “I want you, Mando.”

There it is—what he’s been waiting for all this time and he can’t act on his desires; it’s pure fucking torture. Mando places his hands atop of hers and leans into her touch, his eyes falling shut behind the helmet. Tardily, he withdraws from her clutch. “Get some rest.”

She pouts at him. “You can’t just tell me that and not-”

“Not now, not yet.”

The Girl hums as if contemplating his words and Lord it’s a beautiful tune—her pondering about him in more than just platonic. She remains still, half-on-half-off the cot with the blanket draped across her lap, her torso bare besides the undergarment protecting the privates of her chest. Mando rakes in the scars surfacing her body, ranging from little lacerations no smaller than a third of his fingers length to corked holes of a blaster’s laser. This wasn’t her first rodeo, the fresh wound simply another trophy of survival, but can’t tear his eyes away from the blemishes; they’re nearly identical to his own, in all of the same places and sizes but different contributors - she’s all slashes and lines of bumpy tissue and he’s drillings, his body simply a burrow for his foe’s lasers to retire.

He resists to reach out and touch them - feel the scarred trauma that mirrors his own. He can’t; won’t. Mando abruptly raises to his feet and fragilely strides across the room, collects his gloves, and murmurs, “Get some rest. Sleep off the spice.”

The Girl watches as he slips on his gloves before her, her eyes catching the flaky dried blood—her blood—on the tips of the fingers. “Don’t you have more questions?”

“They can wait,” he says matter-of-factly and manoeuvres his way to the exit, stopping with his hand on the doorknob. One couldn’t; no matter how terrified he is of the answer, he needs to ask it and if it’s not now he’ll never muster up the courage to ask. “Did you feel guilty?” 

“Guilty?”

“Back when I was shot—you took...care of me. Was it because you felt guilty?”

The Girl wants to say something snarky—tell him he’s an idiot for thinking that way, but his voice is quiet, soft; filled with uncertainty and anxiety. He’s concerned with the thought of that act—the one he let himself be so vulnerable during—was nothing more than a simple chip for her to cash in for self-redemption; to lift the weight on her shoulders for her intentions back on Arvala-7. 

“No,” she answers, her voice tranquil to match his. “No, it wasn’t guilt.”

The Mandalorian faintly nods, glances at her one last time, and exits the room with his shoulders light but his head heavy; the dreaded question finally put to rest but when one dies another rises from its ashes. If not guilt, what was it? She had confessed that she ‘wants him’ but could that have actually been true—could she genuinely want him the way he wants her? Mando tells himself that’s absurd—it’s just the spice suffocating her thought process like a sticky pool of uj’ayl. It had to be.

Mando makes an attempt to preoccupy his mind with the Crest, testing the durability of Peli’s maintenance with pointless button pressing and readying the craft for launch the moment the Child and the Girl are back on their feet, but his mind doesn’t stay busy for long before he’s thinking unwanted thoughts; the cockpit is where it all began and he can’t deal sitting in the pilot’s chair without the cooing of a child in his lap and the snarky remarks of a girl behind him. It’s a foreign concept to him—funny how time works; it wasn’t so long ago that he did everything on his lonesome from sleeping to fighting, he was his only companion, but not anymore. He’d spent nights rocking a ball of green to sleep in his hammock and battling alongside a reliable partner.

A partner—that’s what she is to him and so much more—he’s never had a partner before. Sure, a group here and there but never an individual he’s willing to put his faith into; his trust. Trust that the Girl had severed; or had she? If she had, surely he wouldn’t think of her this way—he’d just up and ditch her without a moment’s notice. So why does his heart ache and his lungs struggle to expand?

When he’s with the Girl it’s like he completely forgets about the deceitfulness, the lies, but when he’s distanced himself from her they return—unrelenting waves of anguish and frustration that leaves his head heavy and sore—until all he can think about is the threads connecting the two of them, knotted, frayed, tearing. 

Peli makes her presence known with a gentle knock on the durasteel besides the cockpit door. “I dunno what’s gotten between you two but I’m here if ya want to talk. I ain’t practised but I’ve been told I’m good for this.”

He doesn’t want to talk.

But he does, nonetheless, “She’s been lying to me.”

Peli tilts her head and examines the sulking Mandalorian with a cocked eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

“She was going to kill me.” Mando swivels in his chair and crosses his arms.

Peli shrugs and gestures to him. “Obviously she didn’t, did she? Listen, I’ve seen how you act ‘round her—you’re soft for her, just like your kid. She might’ve been at ya, but she’s certainly not anymore. In your line of work, is that really a dealbreaker?” 

Mando’s rendered silent, staring at empty space above Peli’s head in hopes he can wrap his own around this. It’s so fucking tiring thinking about it—it’s all that’s on his mind and he wishes for nothing more than to crush it between his hands, free him of the burden.

“Do you forgive her?”

Yes, of course, Mando will always forgive her - will always be there for her, but no; he doesn’t, can’t...can’t he?

“I don’t know.”

“Well,” Peli clicks her tongue and shifts on her feet. “The two of you should figure that out. It’s only when you’ve forgiven her that you’ll truly move forward - or something like that, I read it somewhere. I ain’t saying you gotta forget about all that, but just think about it this way: you never woulda met her if she hadn’t been there to shoot ya.”

That’s definitely a unique way to look at it. It’s true though if the Girl’s group hadn’t taken the same commission as he had and hadn’t abandoned it halfway through he never would have met her; never would have the pleasure of being around such a winsome girl. 

Mando wants to forgive her and pretend this never occurred so they can continue where they left off but he’s unsure if that’s possible with the kid comatose; injured because Mando let his guard down, let them be captured by the enemy. The enemy he swore to protect him against but she’s not one of them—not a threat. The Child’s life is in his hands and it’s hot and heavy, identical to the volcanic rocks of Mustafar, but it’s tethered to his palms, scorching permanent burns as a reminder of his undertaking. 

Peli notices his silence and changes the subject, “Kid really did a number on those wires, ya know, took longer to repair than expected.”

He pivots on the chair again, returning to face the viewport. “How is he doing?”

“Still sleepin’.” Mando doesn’t reply and Peli continues, “He stirred for a bit there, but ended up falling asleep again. Don’t get your gears clogged, I’m sure he’ll wake the moment he’s hungry.”

Mando scoffs. “Kid is always hungry.”

“Well, he’s up in my cabin. I can bring him down to you and the Girl if ya like.”

“No, let him rest. I’ll check in on him in the morning.”

Peli hums and nods behind him, turning her attention to the Wookiee communicating with her droids below the Crest. “What’s his deal?”

Mando sighs. “Not sure—another lifeform I’m stuck with I suppose. I’ll ask her about him and let you know.”

“If he destroys my droids, you’re paying for ‘em!” Peli grumbles as she descends the ladder, leaving him to watch the Wookiee alone. Bookoo hadn’t approached Mando since his arrival to the Hangar, which was fortunate as he’s not proficient in Shyriiwook and he didn’t want to test the waters with a being he had in a chokehold. 

Mando deposits one of his spare sleeping shirts at the foot on the Girl’s cot, running a—freshly cleaned—gloved finger across her cheek and the curve of her jaw greedily. She doesn’t wake from his touches but he tears away nonetheless, allowing her space to rest, and saunters to the agape window overlooking the emptiness of the street outside and the glowing silver sphere above him—mocking him with it’s glowing. It’s so bright, so shiny, and it reflects off his beskar only amplifying it; Mando’s so dull, bleak, in contrast.

It’s a competition between him and the moon. There’s always been a rivalry—always something there to fight against, something to strive to defeat, to become bolder and brighter. It hangs above him out of his reach - always out of his reach. 

Behind him, the Girl stirs and the cot squeaks beneath her movements. “What’re you doing?” she croaks, slurred with sleep.

“It’s back.”

She cranes her neck to look over his shoulder from the bed. “The moon? Yeah, it does that. Comes and goes every night actually.”

He sighs and tilts his helmet down to watch the sand blow along with the gusts of wind. “Why did you shoot at me?” he asks. “When I returned.”

The Girl groans and clasps a hand to her head, attempting to rub the brewing headache away. “I was trying to scare you off. I hoped getting shot at would keep you astray, should’ve figured a Mandalorian wouldn’t’ve taken it too kindly. I just -- didn’t want them coming back and finding you there. It was better if you were far away from that planet.”

She was looking out for him - she’s always looking out for him.

Mando’s shoulder stiffens underneath the weight of her hand on his pauldron, but he daren’t turn to look at her. Instead, he crosses his arms against his chest and inclines his helmet upwards, isolating his vision to the reflective sphere on his visor. There’s three in fact, but the largest one is the one he focuses on; eyes boring holes into the undetectable craters on the surface. It’s nonsensical how luring it is, like a magnet dragging him in from his steel platings—no, it’s stronger and straining. Almost as though he was submerged in a tidal wave, incapable of fighting against the onslaught, and all he’s to do is frantically struggle while he gradually sinks to the bottom of the riverbed. Because he would sink. There’s no denying that.

“Waxing Gibbous,” she drags him out of his grim thoughts.

“What?”

She points to the moons. “That’s the phase they’re in. Waxing Gibbous. Don’t ask me what that means, I have no idea.” He twists his helmet to her and cocks an eyebrow underneath the visor. She seems to acknowledge his confusion and explains, “You look at the moon a lot. It reminds me of you in a way, you know.”

He scoffs. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you’re the same colour as it for starters.” He mockingly rolls his eyes. “But… the moon is the greatest companion there is. In times of light it waits behind the clouds, but when we need it the most—in our darkest moments—it distributes its glow to keep us in the light; safe and alive. It’s loyal,” She places a hand on the curve of his helmet where his cheek belongs, “selfless.”

Mando’s breathing slows when she looks at him with those eyes—those eyes that could bend him over backwards with a simple blink. Subconsciously, he leans into the weight of her hand and relishes as best he can with a helmet. She’s wearing his shirt and it’s a few sizes too big on her but fuck if she doesn’t make it look good; the hem brushing against her thighs—where he belongs—and the sleeves rolled up to unmask her hands. 

“I prefer the sun,” Mando hums.

“Sun, huh? I hate the sun. Arvala-7’s fucked up my hands.”

A hand inches underneath the material of his shirt to situate on the curve of her bare hip, harsh leather stroking circles into the smooth skin but she doesn’t stop him - doesn’t seem to care that the leather isn’t as pleasant as his hands. “It’s not all bad. Even the strongest flora cannot bloom without it.” He tugs her closer until her chest is against his, erupting her into a hazy cluster of blushes. “It keeps me warm—so fucking warm.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting burnt?”

“It’s stubborn and strong-willed but no. I’m not afraid.” Mando swipes a thumb across her lips, noting how her tongue pokes out to catch a taste of stale leather but she pulls away before he can reciprocate. 

She twists the sleeves of his shirt around her wrists and sighs softly. “I’m not a good person, Mando. It’s not the lying—not that that’s not important. It is. It’s just- I’ve broken the Guild’s code multiple times and I-”

Mando shushes her once more by providing a calming hand on the back of her neck, tilting her head to look into his visor. “You’re rambling,” he informs. 

“I’m sorry.” She bites her cheek and tears her eyes away. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. I never should have persisted about the stupid rifle—never should have stepped foot on the Crest.”

He’s doubtful on what to say but he knows he doesn’t want that; doesn’t want the Girl to wish she’d never come along with him and the kid. “Do you regret staying?”

“No. I don’t regret staying but-”

“Cin vhetin,” he whispers.

“Ci-what?”

“Cin vhetin. A fresh start.” Mando tilts his helmet in question. “Would you like that?”

The Girl stops breathing, he can feel it in her neck muscles and he strokes a finger into the base until she continues, her eyes flickering side-to-side along the top of the T-shaped visor and she sucks in a shallow breath. “You’re willing to - to - yes. Yes.”

Concealed behind the helmet and armour, Mando’s lips curl into a smile and his heart leaps over a crack in the surface. He nods in agreement and sweeps his fingers across her neck to cup her jaw, his thumbs stroking across her cheekbones. This feels right—finally correcting something that’s been pressing at the back of his brain non-stop. The Child is still the priority, he knows this, but he’s allowing himself a weakness; an indulgence that’s been taunting him for far too long. “Mesh’la.” 

She leans into the touch, placing one of her hands atop his. “What’s that?”

“I think I’ll hold onto that one.”

She pouts. “Come on, what’s it mean?”

Mando chuckles and responds by pressing the bottom of his helmet to her forehead in a mock kiss and murmurs, “Ner mesh’la. Ner.”

_____________

“uj’ayl” - a sticky scented syrup “cin vhetin” - a fresh start or clean slate “mesh’la” - beautiful “ver” - my/mine

taglist: @ohhersheybars​, @greatcircle79​, @northernpunk​

[owillofthewisps]

beckoning light - part one

notes: i saw the witcher once and immediately couldn’t leave this alone. i know nothing about anything save for the netflix show and even then, who knows. but i am nothing if not self-indulgent. this will be two to three parts. it was supposed to be one but i’m incapable of shutting the hell up.

rating: teen on the edge of mature, i suppose.

pairing: geralt of rivia/female reader

word count: 4,309

the wisps have never lead you astray, but you did not expect them to lead you to him.

There is a light in the forest.

It is not a torch beyond the branches, you know. The light doesn’t flicker and undulate the way a consuming fire would, and it’s soft at the edges, like gleam of the moon streaming through the clouds. It is a familiar sight.

Dusk has not yet fully descended; there is a glow to the sky still, a kiss of orange and pink against the encroaching night.

The light in the forest moves, an odd sort of bobbing motion, and you heave a sigh. “No,” you tell the wisp, as though it can hear you from inside your home. The wisps have spent many an eve dancing at the edge of the clearing, just peeking out from behind the trees and beckoning, but you have no qualms with letting them be lonely sometimes.

The wisp - one of the bigger ones, heavy with light, like the rounded belly of the full moon - pulsates. You pause. It pulsates again, more rapidly this time.

“Fuck,” you say, and scramble for the trousers you’d left draped over the bed when you’d changed for the night. You pull them on as quick as you can, not bothering with a real shirt, just haphazardly tucking in the nightshirt you’re wearing. You make fast work of your boots as well, tugging the well-worn leather up over your bare feet, knowing it may well rub your skin raw.

Your cloak, your dagger, they fall into place in a whirlwind of movement, and then you are out in the chill of the settling night. Asha plunges out of the small garden by your home - half-wild, the sighthound is loathe to come inside while there is still light in the sky and you suspect she’s been harrying the partridges nesting in the back of the clearing - her powerful haunches making quick work of catching up to you.

Together, the two of you hurtle into the forest’s edge, dipping around saplings and tangles of old, old roots. The wisp flitters in front of you, darting along the path that only it knows, and you follow as best you can. The forest floor is slippery still, though the last rain was a few days ago, but you have long learned to keep your balance. Here and there, as you draw close to it, the wisp drops out of sight, and your stomach always drops with it as the forest goes dark around you, barely lit by what dying light filters through the canopy. Then the wisp flashes to life ahead of you once more, marking the path.

You are panting by the time you break into the clearing that the wisp is hovering in. You take in the horse, docile now, but with hoof prints all around it that indicate she had been wildly frightened earlier, and see no rider. The wisp flutters beyond the clearing, weaving and wavering.

“Stay,” you tell Asha. You do not need to tell her to guard; she settles near the horse, her muscles rippling with barely contained energy. You slip out of the clearing.

It is not long before you find the rider. His white hair shines almost silver beneath the light of the wisp, marking his place even though he is tucked into a small hollow between the roots of one of the large trees. He has managed to drag his large frame partially upright, but his eyes are closed, and there is a great gash across his chest, blood flowing from it in small pulses. From the pale sheen of him, he has been losing blood steadily.

“Shit,” you mutter. “Shit.” In your flurry, you had neglected to take even the most basic medical supplies. You are an idiot twice over, you suppose, but nothing can be done now.

You settle onto the roots he is propped against, and as you reach for him, you register the brute power of his form. He is built formidably. Formidable, however, has never deterred you, and there is often softness to be found beneath it, no matter how slight. You are intent on gauging his wound - this close, you can see that it is nastily edged, flesh torn ragged instead of cleanly cleaved from a sword’s edge, and you hope that he has left a corpse in another part of the forest, because you could not defend against something able to do this - and just before your fingers rest against his skin, he moves.

He catches your wrist. His large hand encircles your wrist entirely. The grip is strong, just on the edge of bruising. In spite of the situation, you flash upon what it would be like to have that large hand between your legs, prising your thighs apart - because, as Hadrian often tells you, you are shameless - before you glance up to meet his gaze.

Ah, you think. Hello, Witcher.

“Live or die?” you say, your voice mild.

His brow - gleaming with sweat, with patches of blood and dirt rubbed into his skin - furrows. His grip tightens.

“I cannot help you without my hand,” you tell him. You wiggle your fingers at him, the very tip of your middle finger brushing against his leather armor.

He considers you for a moment, those amber eyes keenly picking you apart, and then drops your wrist.

You shrug off your cloak. It’s a poor replacement for supplies, but it is all you have. You fold it until it is a decently thick square, and press it against the gash. The Witcher’s chest heaves, but only a small hiss of breath indicates the pain. You wrap your hand around his. Gently, you press it to his chest, to the rudimentary bandage you’ve created. “Hold it as tightly as you can,” you say, even though he has done so from the moment you placed his hand there.

For a moment, you think you see a gleam of something cross his handsome, stoic face. It might be irritation, and you cannot help the smile that flickers to life across your lips.

“Asha,” you call quietly.

The hound breaks through the brush with a bound. The Witcher tenses at the noise, but you lean to the side just enough that he can see her. Once he knows what has made the sound, his golden gaze returns to you. This evaluation is different. You pay it little mind as Asha noses against you, her blocky head pressing against your side, the warmth of her seeping through your thin shirt.

“Get Hadrian,” you murmur. She perks up, her tail wagging. You click your fingers twice, and she slinks into a predator’s pose once more. “Go.”

Asha takes off like an arrow flying from a bow. You return your attention to the Witcher and place your hand over his, adding your own strength to the pressure against the wound. He grunts. It’s a gravelly sound, reverberating through his chest. His hand is warm underneath yours, but he shifts his hand lower after a moment, out from under your touch. You do not comment, only push your own hand higher to give him more space from your skin.

“Can you stand, Witcher?” you ask. You are not sure what you will do if he cannot; you are not strong enough to get him to the horse alone, let alone on top of it.

He takes a moment. “Maybe,” he grates. His voice reminds you of river rocks tumbling against each other.

You pull back from him. “We’ll try.” True night is coming, settling over the forest like a blanket, and you know that you are running low on time.

If the Witcher has thoughts about your use of we, he doesn’t indicate it. You’re not sure he indicates much. Still, he does not protest when you slide deeper into the hollow with him, shuffling against his side and lifting his arm so that it drapes over your shoulder. He’s chilled against you. The blood loss, you think. You aren’t sure how he’s survived this long.

“Fuck,” he says as you push to your feet, his fingers tightening on your shoulder. He’s heavy. Despite his wound, he carries a good bit of his own weight. You can feel his powerful thigh flexing against you. You brace him with everything you’ve got, winding one arm around his waist, careful to avoid the tail end of his laceration. The movement seems to open the wound again, blood blooming in crimson patches through your cloak. He presses harder against the fabric. You think you hear another curse tumble from his lips.

Between the two of you, you manage to stagger back to the clearing. His horse nuzzles against him as you draw close. The Witcher’s fingers flex on your shoulder. You pat at the mare’s neck with one hand.

Getting him up on the horse is a struggle. By the end of it, your nightshirt is sticking to your skin, wet with sweat. You shiver in the night air. The Witcher looks worse for the wear. You suck at your teeth, trying to decide how best to ride with him. He’s broad enough that you would have difficulty peering around him, but his fingers had been clumsy as you had tried to get him on the horse. He may not be able to keep a good grip on you. Still, it seems the better option. You keep a hand on him as you mount up, wary of the slight sway of him.

“Hold tight,” you warn him. “And do not dare fall asleep on me.”

He grunts an acknowledgement. His arms wrap around you - you think you hear a hiss of pain - and if the strength of him is diminished by the wound, you cannot tell. The band of his arms is steel around you, his fingers biting into the flesh of your hips. It should perhaps hurt, but it does not bother you.

The wisp flits back into view as you gather the reins. The Witcher is leaning heavily against you now, his chest flat against your back, a solid wall against you. You can feel the wet of his blood starting to soak through. His breath stirs against you, warm and slow. You can just see a few strands of white hair flowing over your shoulder.

The wisp bounces forward, and you guide the horse after it. She’s a nimble thing, placid and unbothered by your inexperienced guidance as you try to learn the rhythm of her. The wisp floats near, just beyond you in the distance. Always guiding. The light stirs the Witcher into straightening in the saddle.

“A wisp?” he rasps. One hand comes free from around your waist. He reaches for the reins, but you evade him as best you can. He can’t quite manage to get the reins. That large hand envelopes your wrist instead. A weaker grip than earlier. Something you might even be able to shake off if you tried hard enough. “You cannot mean to follow.”

“I can and I do,” you say.

“If you wanted me dead,” he says dryly, “you should have just left me back there.”

“The wisps have never lead me astray.”

He grunts, reaching for the reins once more. “They never lead to anything good.”

“They lead me to you,” you say.

That gives him pause, you think. His grip on your wrist loosens. You are more and more aware of the spreading damp against your back. You spur on the mare. The wisp picks up its pace as well.

He is leaning heavily against you once more. You try to glance back at him, but with his form draped over you, it’s hard to make out his face. To see if his eyes are open or shut.

“Do not sleep,” you say.

He grunts.

“I mean it.”

He does not make another noise. You jostle him as gently as you can, and are rewarded with another grunt.

“If you’re going to sleep, Witcher,” you say, “you had best give me your name so I know what to put on your tomb.”

He shifts against you. “Geralt of Rivia,” he finally says.

You blink. Oh, you think. Even you know that name.

“I’d say it’s a pleasure,” you murmur, after giving him your own name. “But I do hate to lie.”

He huffs against your back.

You talk at him over the pound of the mare’s hooves. He is quiet the whole time, save for a few gravelly hums, but he shifts behind you when you speak to him, and you use that to your advantage. If he sleeps, you know, even Hadrian might not be able to save him. You talk at him until the horse breaks through to the forest’s edge. The wisp burns out once you can see the gaps in the trees. It has done more than its part, you know, had flared bright enough to hurt at a few points along the path, something you have long thought might be an odd form of protection for something lurking beyond your sight.

Getting Geralt off the horse is as much of a trial as getting him on was. Still, you manage it and stumble through the door with him. You settle him upright, so you can look at his wound in the light shed by the fireplace. He grunts. He’s wan in the firelight, sweat beading on his brow. You loosen his armor as best you can around the cloak before you have to peel it away. He winces when you do, but only a bit of blood wells in the gash.

Geralt’s chest is as broad as the rest of him. In another setting, you think, you would be glad to map it out with questing fingers. Instead, you scoop water from the bucket by the hearth with a wooden cup and kneel before him. You flush the wound out carefully, sending rivulets of watery blood running down his chest.

“Fuck,” he grits out.

You pay him little mind, using cup after cup of water until the wound is clear of dirt and debris. The water runs pink down your arms, dripping from your elbows to dampen your trousers as well.

Your touch is careful but firm. You can feel those eyes on you - golden and molten in the dancing firelight - as you do not shy away from him. You keep your fingers off the raised shine of his scars, focus only on the sundered flesh.

There is little you can do beyond rinsing the wound. Healing is not your strength, and not for the first time, you consider that you should learn more. You have salves that Hadrian has gifted you throughout the years, but you often forget which is what, and you know that some of them have more poisonous aspects that you would not want on an open wound. You gather a clean nightshirt and fold it. Like your cloak, you lose it to Geralt’s wound, as you press it into place over the cleaned gash. The blood is less now, but with the amount he might have lost, you would like there to be none.

This time, you do not bother to tell him to hold it in place. He presses it hard against the wound. His chest rises and falls more heavily now, and you wonder at how much pain he is enduring.

“Here,” you tell Geralt, handing him a wooden cup, this water scooped from the cauldron by the fire. “Drink.”

He drinks deeply. You retrieve the cup when he’s done and fill it once more, this time with ale. It will help with the pain, you hope.

“You chose an unusual way to get a woman out of her clothes,” you tell him. Honestly, it’s a miracle that you hadn’t needed to peel off your nightshirt in the woods. He pauses mid-swallow before gulping the mouthful down. Still, you think he is amused, think it shows in the softening of his tight fist, think there might have been the slightest tilt to his lips. You wonder what it would take to make him laugh.

Asha bays outside. You get to your feet and stride to the door. The hound comes barreling in when you open it, her tongue lolling. She stops at the sight of Geralt, but her hackles stay down, so you turn your attention to Hadrian.

“Your hound,” he says to you, stepping through the door, “is a menace.”

He pauses, then, likely because Geralt’s blood has crept around to the front of your nightshirt on the ride, staining the fabric crimson.

“Shit,” he says, taking you by the forearm, already pulling at your shirt to get to the wounds.

“Stop,” you tell him. You manage to catch your shirt just as he starts to slide it off your shoulders.

“How much blood have you lost?”

“Hadrian. It’s not my blood.”

His hands go still against you. He lets out a breath that sounds perilously close to a whimper. “Good,” he says. “Good.”

“Hadrian.” You nod towards Geralt. The Witcher has his eyes closed, his head back against the side of your bed.

“Hell,” Hadrian says, his quick eyes already measuring the length of the cut and the shallow breaths of his patient. “Alright.”

Geralt’s eyes flicker open as Hadrian takes your place in front of him. The other man recoils, just slightly, at the sight of those amber eyes. From the way Geralt’s mouth pulls, it is a familiar reaction.

You pay little attention as Hadrian sets to work. Asha presses against you. She is dirtier than usual, dust collecting in her deep brown fur. You sigh and nudge her to come outside with you. You glance up at the doorway, and Geralt’s eyes are on you. Hadrian swipes a salve over the cut and the Witcher’s jaw tightens. His head tilts back once more. His neck is a thick column, and you consider what it would be like to set your teeth against it with his hands firm on your hips, holding you down on his lap.

Asha whines and you step through the door. You leave it cracked despite the chill of the night air. The fire warms your small house quickly enough. “Come here,” you tell Asha. You brush your hands through her coat, shaking as much of the dust loose as you can.

It takes longer than you expect. Hadrian is a careful healer, you know, and the wound had been severe, but you find yourself biting your lip as the moon climbs higher in the night sky. You busy yourself by taking care of the horse, who shies away for only an instant before letting you care for her. When you see Asha circling, ready to curl up on the dirt, you return inside.

There’s a little more color in Geralt’s face now. He is still wan and has a sheen of sweat covering him where he is not swathed with bandages, but Hadrian’s brow has smoothed out of the pinch it had gathered into when he’d laid eyes on the Witcher.

Though you are almost silent as you enter, the Witcher’s eyes open, his head rising. His eyes flicker down for a moment, and you realize that in the chill night air, your nipples have tightened into peaks, just visible under the thin nightshirt. He meets your gaze steadily when his eyes return to yours.

Hadrian’s grey eyes dart to your chest too, but that is much more commonplace. You cross the small room to peer down at Geralt. Even seated, it feels like he towers over you, but you have lived too long at the edge of the forest, where the trees dwarf even some of the largest of creatures. “Live it is, then, I suppose?” you ask him.

“So it appears,” he says, the slightest tilt at the corner of his lips. You wonder if the blood loss is why he seems to find you amusing.

“You’ll take him back to town then?” you ask Hadrian.

The healer shakes his head, picking at his long black braid with nervous fingers. “He can’t ride yet.”

Geralt makes a noise that expresses his clear disagreement with that assessment.

Hadrian quails a bit in the face of Geralt’s thunderous brow, but he rarely backs down when it comes to recovery. “The wound will open again. You need to limit movement. In the very least for the night, if not longer.”

“I can ride.”

You heave a sigh. “I did not drag you out of the forest so you could manage to kill yourself in a quest to return to a small town.”

The tendons in Geralt’s jaw flex.

“Do you need to stay?” you ask Hadrian. It could be foolish, you know, to stay alone with this strange man, but the wisps would not steer you wrong. You think. You hope.

His eyes flicker between you and the Witcher. When Asha shifts in her place by the hearth - even curled up, she is a solid, barrel-chested beast and wounded as he is, you do not think Geralt could stand long against her - drawing his eyes, he huffs out a breath.

“No,” he says. “The bandages should hold. But I will come first thing in the morning.”

Geralt, you notice, has leaned his head back again. His eyes are closed, his white hair spilling over the coverlet like a fresh snowfall. Except not quite, since the forest hollows are not the cleanest, and there is grime streaked throughout his locks.

“Up,” you say with a sigh, bending down to levy him to his feet. Hadrian bends with you, thankfully, as you’ll likely need his strength as well. “Let’s at least get off the top layer of grime.”

Geralt comes to his feet with a grunt of pain, and then you have to press against him as he sways. Hadrian braces him from the other side. “‘I can ride,’” you scoff under your breath - from the look you get, Geralt hears you just fine - before handing off most of Geralt’s weight to Hadrian.

You strip off the rest of the Witcher’s armor methodically, undoing the ties nimbly as you find them, sliding the studded leather free. He watches you steadily as you work, his gaze unwavering as you touch him here and there. Much of the grime is contained to the leather, luckily, so you leave his trousers in place.

Geralt takes the dampened rag from you when you offer it. As he wipes some of the sweat and dirt from his neck and face - Hadrian keeps him balanced with a healer’s detachment, only sharpening his gaze when a noise that could be pained issues from Geralt - you finish a few of your nightly chores.

The Witcher settles onto your bed. The frame creaks under his weight, but it’s big enough for him with some room left over.

“If you’re leaving, you should go,” you say to Hadrian. “It’ll soon be too late to even travel the main road safely.”

He glances between you and Geralt, those nimble fingers plucking at his braid once more, but nods. You bid him farewell at the door.

Geralt watches as you take the rag he’d used and dip it back into one of the buckets. You wring it out a few times, until the water is clear again, and then sling it over your shoulder.

“I would ask if you’re always this quiet,” you say to him, “but I think I already know the answer.”

“I would ask if you always talk this freely,” he says, “but I hardly think you need a question to keep talking.”

“The price of my inn is that you must hear me chatter as I would if you were not here.”

He grunts. You bite down on your smile.

You strip off your nightshirt - it’s gone stiff with blood now, crackling unpleasantly as you pull it over your head - without a care, though you’re turned just enough that he cannot see the entirety of you. You run the rag over yourself, wiping away the remnants of the forest and of his blood, the water soothing against your skin. Gooseflesh prickles at your skin as the air brushes across your damp skin, cooling you.

The bed creaks. “Do not bleed on my bed,” you warn, glancing over your shoulder at him. Geralt has turned to better face you, propping himself up on his side. You can see the bandages straining across his muscular chest.

“You cannot expect me to not turn towards such a sight.”

You pull on your shift before padding over to the bed. It is your bed, and you will sleep in it, whether he is there or not. “You have a neck,” you remind him. “I hear they turn. Without the risk of opening a dire wound.”

He grunts. It’s clearly his most fluent language. He turns onto his back when you push lightly at his shoulder. The bed creaks under you as you put a knee up on it. You consider swinging your other leg over him, to straddle his thick thighs, but there’s little point in tormenting yourself. Instead, you peer down at the expanse of bandages.

There’s no blood blossoming, so you assume the wound has not opened once more. Geralt is pallid in the dying firelight, the embers’ soft glow doing little to hide the effect of the blood loss. His eyelids keep fluttering open and closed, long, sooty lashes dark against his skin.

Still, he drags a finger over the crease of your hip as you climb over him to get to the remaining bedspace. Through the thicker material of your shift, his touch is almost ghostly. You sink into place between him and the wall.

“Sleep, Geralt of Rivia,” you say. “And let us see what the morning brings.”

[petri808]

From The Shadows

Inukag AU drabble

There it is again. I know I’m not hallucinating because I’ve seen the white blur running into the forest whenever I try to catch sight of it. Since I live next to the woods, the occasional animal comes by, rutting in my garden or digging through the compost heap. But this one is strange. There’s never any real evidence come morning. Well, except for the bits of white fur.

I find them in the shed so I surmise it’s using it for shelter. My instincts tell me it’s a wolf or dog based on the fur type. They could be a problem, but it’s never made an attempt to attack... just hides. As long as it doesn’t bother me, I guess it’s not such a bad thing. Perhaps it’s very presence will scare off other animals looking to turn over my garden.

So I go about my daily life as if this creature doesn’t exist. It wants nothing of me, so I shall return the favor. Then again... the strangest feelings have begun to creep over me in those moments between wake and sleep. It started just a couple days ago, two weeks into this new arrangement. The feeling of being watched makes my witch senses tingle.

It’s probably just the New Moon’s approach in two days that has me on edge. It’s a time for new beginnings, but also when the shadow world gains strength. The waning energy stirs both the magical and non-magical worlds. Ruffians use its darkened skies to do evil deeds. But I should be fine. My barriers will hold if any try to get through.

The next day was a still one. No winds or even birds chirping. It puts me on edge, but so far I sense nothing around me. The blue skies were clear, so I push down my concerns and set about in my routine. My vegetables won’t tend to themselves and the chickens need to be fed.

I pick what I need for dinner and fill my basket, then grab what I can of wood for my hearth. With such a clear night ahead, it shall be a chilly one. Suddenly, as I turn away from my shed I’m grabbed from behind.

“Don’t fight me woman,” the deep low voice speaks close to my ear. “I’ll take my fill of you and leave you alive as long as you don’t fight back.”

Oh no! Someone must have been hiding in the shadows of the shed! I try to scream, but he covers my mouth. I try to struggle, dropping my belongings in the process, but he’s just too strong and I’m over powered quickly.

“Someone as pretty as you tis a fool to live alone.”

He drags me into my cottage and shoves me to the ground. I claw at him, uncaring if he kills me; I’d rather go down fighting! But he’s using his legs to pin mine and his hands are so large they bind my wrists with one hand.

“I told you woman! Fight, you die!”

I spit back. “I’ll never submit!”

The man reaches back a fist ready to swing, when out of nowhere a flash of white invades my vision. A large dog pounces on his back, digging its claws into the man. Screams and blood thirsty growls fill the air. I’m released and scramble away, watching with wide eyes at the scene unfolding in my home.

A weapon is pulled out by the man as they stare each other down. It was surreal and happening so quickly! The man lunges forward with the dagger raised high to strike while the dog swipes with its extended claws. I hear a guttural scream as the man’s legs are knocked out from under him, blood splattering the earthen ground from being hit by the claws. A yelp also pierces the room. Oh no! The dog was hit too!

I use this advantage to scramble to my feet and race over to my bows. “Get out of here!” I scream at the man. When he sees my arrow nocked and trained at his head, he struggles, limping as fast as he can out of my home.

“Oh my are you okay?!” I toss my bow to the ground and rush over, kneeling next to the animal. It looked bad. The knife had hit it close to its back near the haunches. It growls and tries to get up, but collapses. I see blood flowing, staining it’s white fur.

Tears pool in my eyes. “D-dont move!” I rush to my supplies and rifle through them, pulling out herbs and bandages to quickly make a poultice. The dog was fading in and out of consciousness from the loss of blood.

This was surely the creature that’s been hanging around, but I have no idea why it decided to intervene. I’m grateful, it saved my life, and I’ll do everything in my power to do the same.

I manage to stop the blood flow and stitch up the wound. Then I cover it with medicines and wrap the area tight. I pull out a heavy blanket that I use for winter and roll the animal onto it, and drag it near the hearth. That was a struggle in itself. This dog was a lot heavier than it looked. By now it was completely unconscious, but it’s breathing and heart beat was strong. If it makes it through the night, it has a chance.

That was all I could do for now. With the last remaining daylight, I quickly gather my discarded belongings outside and prepare the fire to keep us warm along with my dinner. Just as I finish the meal and finally sit down to take a break, those tingling sensations return.

What’s going on?! A warm light covers the animal and as I watch in shock, the dog is transforming into a human male! I gasp, “a shapeshifter?!” My eyes widen. He’s naked!

I rush to pull the blanket over the man’s body, wrapping him in the heavy fabric. He needed to stay warm and I needed to save my vision. Well, at least now I know why my senses were picking up on something.

This was such a crazy day! Attacked and now I have a naked injured man in my home. Once I calm down, I sit beside him, taking in all the details. As a dog he was completely white, but in it’s human form, it had long black hair. It certainly looked human. All the features were there.

Oh this is too much, I think, as a yawn lets me know how tired I was becoming. I’d spent all night fussing and checking the wound and cleaning the blood off the ground. It would be smarter to stay awake in case he wakes up, but my eyes have a different idea in mind. So I stoke the fire to make sure it doesn’t go out, then curl up on my own bedding a few feet away.

Good night I say to the creature and close my eyes, ready to end this harrowing day.

Bright and early the next morning, the sounds of a rooster crowing wakes me. I look over and see the blanket empty, the dog/man was gone. So I sit up and scan the room. It was empty save me.

It was impossible, the wounds were too grave. How was it able to move so soon? That’s when a shadow falls over me from behind. I turn quickly and scramble back. “W-Who are you?!”

“The guy you saved.”

He stood before me in a pair of pants, no shirt, and no shoes. The expression on his face was stone-faced with no hints of emotion to tell me what he was thinking. But what struck me, was this is no mere human. The long black hair was now white with canine ears perched on top his head, and it’s nails were sharper and fingers more claw like.

I’ve heard of hybrids before. Could that be what this creature was?

“O-Oh. Um, I should be the one thanking you for saving me.”

“It works both ways.” That was true.

“Do you have a name?” I ask, my voice a bit trembling but sincere.

“Do you?”

Okay this was getting frustrating.

“My name is Kagome.”

“Inuyasha.”

“May I ask, how is the wound? I’m surprised you’re up so soon.”

He turns around and a let out a gasp. I can see the mark where the knife hit him, but the wound was fully closed up. “H-How?!”

“I heal quickly. Would have healed immediately if it hadn’t been a damn New Moon.”

“But you turned human last night.”

“Yeah, I turn human on one night of the month and lose all my abilities.” He turns away as if to leave.

“You’re leaving already?”

“I have no reason to stay.”

“Then why have you been hanging around my home for a few weeks?”

He stops dead in his tracks. “You knew?”

“Yes,” I smile. “I sensed something around, but knew not what. You’re welcome to stay... I don’t mind.”

“Humans don’t like my kind.”

“Well I’m no ordinary human.”

[docholligay]

A THING YOU MUST AT SOME POINT DO: Michiru and Zoisite encountering each other in high society.

There was something rather annoying in the fact that the bulk of her class was exactly as oblivious as she had ever assumed. Play the correct notes, in a semblance of order, and above all else, assure that one is properly dressed for the stage, and not a one among them questions the instrument. 

To know that those who shared genetic material could fall for such a farce was all at once appalling and completely expected. 

“Zoi, such an unusual name, do you not find?” She pointedly looked across the small limousine at her siblings. 

Ryuji looked up at her and arched an eyebrow in a way that resembled Michiru’s own so closely it turned her stomach. 

“Our second names are unusual in Tokyo.” he looked back down at his notepad, “Kaioh Michiru Adrienne du Cayard.” 

“Yes,” she smiled, “and for all the use it gets outside of a French government form, it is allowed to be so, Ryuji Léonard du Cayard Kaioh.” 

“I think Zoi is Greek!” Naoko leaned forward, ever attempted to play peacemaker between the two of them, with nothing more than a pair of sneers to show for it. 

“There you are Michiru, you should know this, being so enamored of the continent.” Ryuji chuckled. 

“Well, we cannot both be the self-styled emperor of Japan, and I am afraid I must take the world that is left to me.” She turned to Naoko, “In any case, Zoi is a Greek girl’s name, you silly thing. And additionally, Zoi Sato, to have such an unusual name against such a plain one?”

Ryuji sighed. “To what point and purpose is this line of inquiry, my darling sister?” 

“I was only considering, my dearest brother, that perhaps we are greater fools all to question nothing about his sudden appearance and seeming generosity.” She inclined her head, “A man comes out of nowhere, has seemingly endless resources and yet, it seems, little free cash, knows the finer points and graces of our class, but has no pedigree we can name. The man is a parvenu at best.” She gave a chuckle. “It seems I am the only proper aristocrat in Tokyo.” 

Ryuji considered a moment. He and his youngest sister thought little of each other, but there was a shrewdness in her that he was careful never to deny or discount. 

“It is odd that we do not know his people, I suppose.” The car stopped. “Michiru, I leave you to your suspicions, but I will also leave Sato Zoi to his affairs as well.” 

“Michiru,” Naoko asked cautiously as Ryuji straightened his suit and went to the door, “What do you think Mr. Sato wants?” 

“Of this I have no earthly idea,” she took the hand of the driver and delicately stepped out, “But I shall make it my business to discover it.”

The gala was richly decorated, and it might have been impressive to Michiru if she had not lived all her life in such a gilded cage. Crystal chandeliers sparkled, the finest array of hors d'oeuvres from both Japan and the larger world were served from waiters bearing silver trays,  champagne flowed into cut and polished glassware. None of this so much as piqued the interest or impress of Michiru Kaioh, whose eyes swept around the room looking for someone in particular. 

It was blessing, then, that Haruka had been unable to attend. She was eager and loving and so very brave, but one this Haruka was not, was canny. She had been built for many things, and absolutely none of the were subterfuge. If she had let spill her suspicions about Zoi to Haruka, Haruka would have him cornered in an instant, interrogated hi8m, and been swiftly thrown out of the gala altogether, while learning nothing and giving up her advantage. 

Later, Rei would say something along the lines of sensing an evil energy coming from Zoi, and perhaps that would be true, but Michiru had not needed any sort of Sight to tell that the man was up to no good. It was true, perhaps, that the Sight later tipped her to the idea that it could be Usagi he was after, but on the other hand, Michiru might reason there was no other cause to speak to Mamoru Chiba. 

But Zoi was, of course. Mamoru had been in his sights for the last few gatherings, a man with more money than sense. The only saving grace that might be have been given to him was that the majority of his money was held in trust, still, and Mamoru would not gain access to it until he graduated college. Michiru had always wondered how long the Chiba money would hold out, after that occasion. It was perhaps ungenerous to blame Mamoru’s parents for dying, leaving him with no one who seemed to teach the boy a good bit of sense or how best to manage his investments, and so he had grown into an awkward thing, accepted mostly on the quality of his name and the shine of his coin, but Michiru blamed them nonetheless. It seemed careless. 

“Chiba,” she gave a delicate bow, “How lovely to see you, as always.” 

He responded immediately, and it gave Michiru a slight thrill of pleasure to see his own bow was deeper than her own. He knew his place, at the least. Michiru was imposing, she admitted, in her way, a queenly bearing her mother had taught her from birth. She could bow and look as if she had the upper hand, and the draped-back gown in green satin only accentuated the nobility of her. 

“An honor to have you, grace us, Michiru.” Mamoru had never quite figured out the line between his role as Sailor Moon’s paramour and Mamoru Chiba. In a Moon sense, he outranked Michiru or was at least her equal. In a life sense, he would never dare. “Kaioh Michiru, may I please present Mr. Sato.” 

“Zoi to you, I would hope, madame.” He bowed and kissed her hand. ‘Or mademoiselle, if I should be so hopeful?” 

“Do you often hope of mademoiselles? I had not considered it your manner, but I often find that life is all the more exciting for the things upon which my intuition misleads me.” 

He raised and smiled coyly, still holding on to her hand. “I hope of nothing but a rich life and a happy ending.” 

“It was been my experience that people often mistake that for a life with riches in it, leading their end to be the happiest for others most of all.” 

They stood there a moment, simply looking at each other. Something passed between them in that moment, something Michiru experienced little in her life, and last remembered the first time she met Minako Aino. There is an electricity, when one finds a rival whose skill meets one’s own. 

“You are clever.” He laughed, finally “Not the first to say so, I’m certain.” 

“Michiru is known for her wit, in these circles.” Mamoru nodded, too deeply. He was making himself look obsequious, and Michiru refused to pity him with a glance. 

“Razor sharp, I am sure.” His eyes still locked hers. 

“Careful my dagger, Zoi,” she smiled her small smile, “for it may yet kill again.” 

“Oh! Michiru!” 

It was, there turned out, a worse companion than Haruka in this effort, and Mcihiru could hear her voice echoing off the stone, the click of her too-anxious heels on the marble, the woosh of her dress selected for the way it made her feel a princess and not its seasonable fashion. Michiru clenched her teeth beneath her smile. 

“You look so beautiful!!” Usagi was next to her in an instant, a giggling cream puff swatched in an off the shoulder pink gown with too large a skirt and too many ruffles. “But you always look beautiful, of course, is Haruka here? I have extra snacks! I bet she looks beautiful too. ” 

Usagi offered the plate, containing an indelicate amount of blinis with caviar and lobster toasts. 

“I’m afraid she is not, Usagi, but she will be so pleased to know you asked after her.” She looked to the two of them, “Perhaps you and Mamoru should dance, I know not how long the music will going. The night is waning fast.” 

“Oh, but we’ve only just begun!” Zoi stepped forward, a look in his eyes lean and hungry as he looked to Usagi. “And who might this captivating woman be?” 

At that moment, Michiru could not have told you that Zoi was going to attempt to take Usagi’s silver crystal. She might have felt a prickling of his malice toward the senshi, if she had concentrated, but in this moment she had not. Michiru did not know that there would be quite the battle between ehr and Zoi, in the end. 

But what she did know, was that he sensed something in Usagi, and that he desired her not in the way a man desires a woman, but in the way a starved dog desires a steak. He would consume her bones and all, and she knew that intensely in this moment. 

“This is my...my significant other,” Mamoru tripped, “Tsukino Usagi.” 

“Hi!!” Usagi gave a graceless bow, still smiling brightly, “I see you met Michiru! She’s like a real princess, I think, but she’s nice too!” 

Michiru nearly laughed. She had never been nice a day in her life. Pleasant perhaps, and cordial most certainly, but it was an overabundance of grace in Usagi’s own nature that would cause her to ever call Michiru nice. Chiba was either a perfect idiot or a perfect weakling, and Michiru was not certain wich answer she wished to supply. How could he fail to see the way he looked at her? He was a wolf to a lamb, and he was none the wiser. 

It was another facet of Michiru’s personal tragedy, that she had clever foes and foolish allies. 

“Oh,” Zoi lowered his voice, “But look at you, so like a princess. A perfect mouthful of cotton candy. Don’t you simply melt with sweetness?” 

“Usagi,” Michiru grasped her hand, “I am missing Haruka terribly, and I am so very fond of this piece. WOuld you be so kind as to dance with me? It is a waltz, and very simple, I assure you, so there is no need for shyness.”

Zoi glared at her. “I was hoping--” 

“Yes,” she looked at him. “You were.” 

She swept Usagi off to the dance floor, putting herself in the perfect position, soldier leading her queen. It was very nearly pointless to warn Usagi off of someone she thought to be kind, and to be flirtatious. She would assume only the best of him, and she would witness the gold of his tongue, the jewels of his cleverness, and never suspect them to be so much gilt and paste. It was foolishness, to attempt to warn her. 

But, as she took Usagi into the dance, she knew she had to try.

[pocket-luv101]

Across Time || Chapter 26

Fandom: Servamp Ships: KuroMahi (main), LawLicht (side) Characters: Kuro, Mahiru, Hyde, Licht

Summary: Mahiru falls into a well and is taken to a new, fantasy world. He comes across a half-blooded cat demon trapped in a tree. After he frees Kuro, he helps him collect the shards of the sacred jewel. (KuroMahi, InuYasha AU)

Ch.1 || Ch.2 || Ch.3 || Ch.4 || Ch.5 || Ch.6 || Ch.7 || Ch.8 || Ch.9 || Ch.10 || Ch.11 || Ch.12 || Ch.13 || Ch.14 || Ch.15 || Ch.16 || Ch.17 || Ch.18 || Ch.19 || Ch.20 || Ch.21 || Ch.22 || Ch.23 || Ch.24 || Ch.25 || (Ch.26) ||

“You’ve created this large web but you can’t catch a single cat. This plan of yours is more trouble than it’s worth.” Touma ignored the sharp words from Mikuni and looked over the castle’s ground. Demons littered the courtyard. A metal fan slid down Mikuni’s arm and he gracefully caught it in his hand. He flicked the fan open and then he casually waved it in front of his face.

Touma didn’t respond to him and Mikuni wasn’t able to read the man’s thoughts. His eyes narrowed as he watched him and a part of him wished that he had his brother’s mirror. They would be able to trap and defeat Touma together. At the same time, he knew that it was better for him to be as far from the spider as possible. Mikuni turned his attention to the dead demons at his feet and then flipped a body over.

“A wolf. Last week, ravens tried to storm the castle. You have accumulated quite a collection of demons.” Touma had given him a jewel shard to lure demons to an empty castle. Mikuni would defeat anyone who approached his web. “These wolves are too weak for me to use to taint a jewel shard. I doubt that’s your goal though. I don’t know what your intentions are though. You revived me to help you but you won’t tell me what you’re planning.”

“There will be a full moon tomorrow night.” Touma ignored him once again. He tilted his head back to stare at the night sky and Mikuni’s fingers twitched over his fan. His neck was vulnerable and he was tempted to attack him to finally free himself and his brother from the man. Mikuni forced his hand into a tight fist to stop himself. A snake slid down his arm and its presence calmed him. He reminded himself that it was best to gather more information about the man before he tried to confront him.

Touma lit a pipe and took a long drag. Smoke drifted through the dark sky and blocked the stars before they faded. “The shards are in close clusters compared to when they were first scattered throughout Japan. There are Shirota and his friends, the Southern Wolf Tribe, the Band of Seven and other powerful demons. I have a larger army than them so they do not pose a threat to me.”

“You have a fickle group of weak demons who are only motivated with the promise of a jewel shard. I would hardly call that an army. Numbers are important but not everything. A thousand wolves were defeated by one wave of my fan. Your army can fall as easily.” Mikuni said and snapped his fan close. “The rumours you spread of a jewel shard being housed in this castle is a transparent trap. The groups with a lot of shards won’t be tricked by it and I’ve been wasting my time with reckless demons.”

“I have use for these bodies.” Touma waved his hand and tendrils emerged from the ground to collect the bodies. The wolf remained and he said, “A demon from the Northern Wolf Tribe. This one can be used as bait for the wolves led by Yumikage. I will lead them here and we can recover six of the sacred jewels. Prepare for the fight.”

“You enjoy weaving a web without dirtying your hands. Most would call you a coward but I can respect your choice. I would do the same for self preservation. Without your tricks, I can kill you where you stand.” Mikuni turned away from him and ascended the stairs to the castle. “I will be here to collect the shards from the wolves but I shall fight them in my own way.”

Mahiru sat next to a creek and he carefully washed the dirt from herbs. Then, he placed them on a cutting board to dry. Their supply of medicinal ointments was almost depleted so he decided to make more. They would need to return to his uncle’s village for supplies soon and that would give him a chance to visit his home. He hoped they wouldn’t have to fight a strong demon before they could travel to the village.

A warmth blanketed his back and he looked over his shoulder to see Kuro. He was sleeping against him and he looked so relaxed that Mahiru didn’t want to wake him. He moved slowly and tentatively as he prepared the herbs. Kuro said he would help him sort the herbs but he fell asleep part way through. Mahiru didn’t mind and he savoured his warmth.

He measured the time of day with the shadow of a tree and he reasoned that Licht would return with food soon. He slid the herbs off the cutting board and into a bag for storage. His eyes fell onto the watch on his wrist and touched the cold metal. The feudal era didn’t have the convenience of technology but he had adjusted to their simpler lifestyle.

Mahiru felt Kuro’s weight lighten on his back and his warm breath brushed over his neck. “Did I fall asleep? Sorry. I don’t have your skill with herbs and medicine.”

“You can help me carry everything back to camp. I managed to make enough for a few battles.” He said and placed the medicine bag into his backpack. He didn’t stand and continued to sit with Kuro. “We haven’t faced a dangerous demon in a few days. I hope this will continue so we can go through the well and stay in my time for an afternoon. We can’t stay longer than that though.”

“It has been peaceful. Let’s take advantage of this break and stay the night.” Kuro suggested. They visited his home a few times and he saw how close he was to his family. While Mahiru never told him that he missed his home, he could sense his feelings. They needed to collect the shards but Kuro thought Mahiru’s happiness was more important.

He wrapped his arms around Mahiru and held him against his chest as he leaned backwards. Kuro laid on the ground with Mahiru on top of him and watched the clouds pass in the blue sky. “We should also take advantage of our time alone now. Hyde and Licht will return in a few minutes but that’s enough time to soak our feet and relax.”

“That’s going to be hard when you’re holding me like this, Kuro.” He chuckled. Mahiru pushed himself up slightly and leaned over him. His hair fell forward and Kuro brushed the strands aside to tuck them behind his ear. His fingers lingered and his skin. “I have a fun idea. After lunch, let’s train together and— The sacred jewel is nearby. It’s coming towards us.”

Mahiru rushed to his feet and grabbed his bow resting next to them. He nocked his arrow and walked along the river with his arrow pointed at the water. Kuro couldn’t sense a demon nearby but he trusted Mahiru’s instincts so he followed him. The demon was likely hiding in the water to mask its scent. He summoned his claws and walked ahead of him slightly to protect him.

They noticed blood tainting the water and Kuro cursed when he saw the body. He grabbed Mahiru’s wrist and turned him around so he wouldn’t see it. He knew that it was too late after he frantically pushed him away. Mahiru dropped his weapon and jumped into the shallow water. He fought against the current to reach the injured wolf floating in the river.

He was almost afraid to approach the body and find that it was Takuto or another person from the wolf tribe. The demon had the form of a wolf so he couldn’t recognize who it could be. He wrapped his arms around the wolf to take it back to the shore but he wasn’t strong enough. “Takuto? Tsurugi? Please, answer me if you can. Just hang in there and I’ll heal you.”

“Mahiru, calm down. You can’t use your powers like this.” His panic subsided the moment he heard Kuro’s voice. He stood in front of him and lifted the wolf out of his arms. Mahiru was grateful for his strength and reassuring voice. He walked closely beside Kuro so he could project his spiritual energy over them and heal the wolf’s wounds. “I can hear him breathing.”

“There’s a chance we can save him.” Mahiru wanted to cling onto the hope he gave him. He laid the wolf on the riverbank and he immediately started to search for his wound. “I don’t recognize these wounds. They’re not made from claws or a weapon. Licht will know what kind of demon did this. What do you think happened, Kuro? Maybe Tsurugi and the others are in danger.”

“The water washed away this person’s scent but I don’t think this is Tsurugi or another of your wolf pack. This wolf’s fur pattern is more similar to someone from the Noth. Your brothers are safe.” He told him and Mahiru’s shoulders relaxed.  Tsurugi and the others were likely joking when they said he was a part of their family after saving Takuto but they had become close friends.

Mahiru continued to heal the wolf and his hand lingered over the jewel shard in its wound. His brows furrowed when he saw that its light was tainted. He wasn’t able to question it before the wolf struggled to its feet. Mahiru tried to stop him before it could open its wounds further. “Please lay back down, Sir. I will stop the bleeding and then I’ll patch up your wounds. I need you to stay still for that.”

“You must be the priestess Shirota. The only reason a person would save this wolf is if they knew that I hid a jewel shard within its body. Very few people can sense the shard like you can.” At the wolf’s words, Kuro pulled Mahiru away from it. He pushed him behind his back to keep him a safe distance from the demon. He knew that he would want to heal the demon but it could be dangerous. It knew far too much about Mahiru and his powers.

“What do you want with Mahiru?” Kuro asked and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“The wolf tribe’s sacred jewel shards. They hold six, I believe.” The wolf said and Mahiru became more confused with its intention. “I am controlling several wolves like this one so I can find them. It’s a lucky coincidence that I found you, Shirota. You have made an alliance with them so you should know that they are already on the way to my castle. It’s an ambush.”

The wolf turned around and ran away, leaving them to follow. Mahiru bit his lower lip and gripped Kuro’s sleeve in his hand. He knew that the wolf could be leading him into a trap but there was a chance Tsurugi and his family were in danger. He wanted to go after him and he looked to Kuro for his thoughts. “What should we do?”

Kuro knelt on the ground and patted his shoulder. “You already decided that, haven’t you? I can sense that you want to go. Knowing you, you would worry about Tsurugi and the others if we ignore that wolf. Climb onto my back.”

“Thank you, Kuro.” He wrapped his arms around his neck. He lifted him onto his back and he began to run after the wolf. Mahiru took out an origami bird from his pocket and enchanted it with his spiritual energy. The paper bird lifted itself out his hand. “I sent a message to Hyde and Licht. They’ll be able to come help if this is a trap.”

“I’ll protect you, Mahiru.”

The wolf led them to a castle and the aura surrounding the building caused a chill to run through Mahiru. While he couldn’t sense a demonic presence inside, there was something eerie about the castle. He slid off Kuro’s back but he stayed close to his side. The castle was silent and it was likely abandoned. “There are no guards. Can you smell Tsurugi and the others?”

“Don’t leave my side, Mahiru.” Kuro said instead of answering him and that worried Mahiru more. He nodded and tightened his hands around his bow. He pushed the doors open and they cautiously passed through the gate. Mahiru knew that he would be safe as long as he had Kuro but he was more concerned for the wolf tribe.

Mahiru almost forgot Kuro’s warning the moment he saw the bloodshed within the castle. He couldn’t count the number of wolves that lied over the ground. He instinctively covered his mouth against the need to throw up. The only relief he had was the sight of Tsurugi, Yumikage and Jun safe and unhurt. He set his bow aside and then ran to them.

“Tsurugi! Yumikage! Jun! We were told that you were being lured into a trap so we came to help you. I’m glad that you were able to deal with it on your own.” Mahiru called to them as he ran forward. They turned to him and he was confused by the menace in their eyes. At first, he thought they were only tired and exhausted from fighting.

Then, Yumikage took out his hair pin and his jewel shards shone with a black aura. Mahiru realized that he had summoned an attack only a moment before a beam of light appeared above him. He felt himself being tackled away from the attack and he knew that Kuro had saved him. He carried him in his arms and slid to a stop in front of the three wolves.

Mahiru glanced over Kuro’s shoulder and saw how the beam had torn through the dirt. If he hadn’t saved him, the attack would’ve killed him. He felt Kuro’s anger in his tense shoulders even before he spoke. “Troublesome. I thought wolf packs protected their own but you almost hurt Mahiru.”

“You did this to our tribe, Touma. We won’t forgive you.” Jun snarled at them and Mahiru sensed their power grow. Dread filled him after he heard their words and a part of him prayed that he misheard them. The way they glared at him made it clear that they thought he was Touma and he had killed the wolves around them.

“This is a misunderstanding, Jun! I’m not Touma and we didn’t hurt your wolves.” He tried to explain but their anger made them ignore his voice. Kuro felt the ground rumble beneath him and he followed his instinct to jump. A black spike erupted from the ground and it almost stabbed his foot. As he dodged the spikes, beams of light rained on him.

“It looks like the trap was for us. Touma must be behind this.” Kuro held Mahiru tighter against his body as he ducked beneath a kick Tsurugi aimed at them. He knew it would be difficult for Mahiru to fight the wolves while they wouldn’t hesitate to attack him. They were outnumbered so it would be impossible to stop them without fighting. He hoped that Hyde and Licht would arrive to help fight soon.

“This is the same trap Touma used to first make Licht fight us. He created an illusion and then framed us with an illusion. We have to break that illusion and then they’ll realize that we’re not Touma!” Mahiru didn’t want to fight them but he couldn’t let Kuro be hurt either. He summoned a shield above them to block the beams of light. He thought of what else he could do. “The light of their jewel shards is strange. If it’s a tainted shard, it could be making them more violent. I can purify them.”

“You need to be close to the jewel shard to purify it but that will be difficult. Can’t deal.” Even though Mahiru’s barrier kept Yumikage and Jun’s attack at bay, Kuro didn’t know how long he could evade three powerful demons. “I can’t smell Touma in the castle so he isn’t here to create the illusion. Do you know what he could be using to project the illusion?”

“A demon doll or a spell tag can’t change our appearance like this. I think I have an idea to stop them but I need the three to be close together.” He told him and Kuro nodded. He didn’t know what he had planned but he trusted his judgement. Kuro drew his sword in one hand and collected ashes around him. He couldn’t draw out his full power with only one hand but he was scared to let go of Mahiru.

He swung the tessaiga to release blades of ashes but he aimed his attack at the ground. When Tsurugi dodged the blades, he moved closer to Yumikage and Jun. Mahiru quickly raised a circular barrier around the three to trap them within. “That should keep them from attacking us. I can purify their jewel shards and that should return them to normal, hopefully.”

“We should find what caused the illusion that made them think you’re Touma before you lower the barrier.” Kuro said and Mahiru nodded in agreement. “You’re better with these things than me so—”

A loud gust of wind overpowered Kuro’s voice but he thought he heard Mahiru call his name. He felt as if a thousand needles entered his back and he stumbled forward into the barrier. He hadn’t sensed someone approach them but he turned around to defend Mahiru. Kuro couldn’t keep his footing when another powerful wind struck him.

“Who’s there?” Mahiru wanted to heal Kuro but he needed to maintain his barrier around the wolf demons. He took an arrow from his quiver and aimed it at the direction he heard the voice. He couldn’t enchant his arrow but he would protect Kuro. “Are you the one who made this trap? Stop this illusion you put on my friends or I’ll shoot!”

“Your arrows are useless when I control the wind in this castle. Your cat’s sword won’t be able to cut through it either so tell him to stay down. I want to talk with you, Shirota.” A blond man stepped out of the castle. He held a steel fan in his hand and casually waved it over his cold smile. “So, you’re the famous Shirota whom Touma detest. I had expected more from you with your famous name and legacy.”

“My name is Mahiru. I don’t know why Touma dislikes my family but I will stop him!” He didn’t lower his bow even though he knew that he could easily deflect it with his wind. The man appeared familiar to him and Mahiru searched his memory for where he saw him before. The pattern on his fan was similar to the flowers on Misono’s mirror. “Is your name Mikuni? I’ve met your brother and he—”

He wanted to tell Mikuni that he had spoken with Misono and he wanted to help free him from Touma’s control. He wasn’t able to speak after Mikuni waved his fan and summoned another powerful wind. Mahiru was lifted off his feet and he saw Kuro stretch out his hand to him so they wouldn’t be separated. Their fingers barely touched before he was thrown backwards into the castle’s wall.

Mahiru’s breath was knocked from his chest and he struggled against the pain to stay conscious. He felt a little dizzy as he pulled himself to his feet. Mikuni was strong and he couldn’t fight him well. If he released the barrier to defend himself, the situation could become more complicated. His heart stopped as he saw Mikuni prepare for another attack. “Don’t speak that name when he could be listening.”

“Touma is holding my brother, Lily, hostage in his web too. Shouldn’t you want to work with us instead of that spider?” Kuro said to distract Mikuni from Mahiru. He struggled to his feet and he leaned heavily on his sword. The force of Mikuni’s wind was enough to break his arm when it threw him into the barrier. He could only imagine how painful it would be for a human like Mahiru.

“I choose my enemies more carefully than I do my allies. Especially, when it can cost my brother’s life.” Mikuni flicked his fan and the metal blades grew longer. In response, Kuro pulled the tessaiga from the ground to face him. He could easily redirect his attack so he needed to close the distance between them.

Mahiru watched them fight behind the barrier he had created to trap the others. He couldn’t see them clearly through the pink hue but he knew that Kuro couldn’t fight someone so strong alone. A plan came to him and he gripped his bow in his hand. He could purify the castle to nullify Mikuni’s demonic wind and break the illusion over his friends.

To purify a large area with only one arrow, it would require a lot of spiritual energy. He didn’t know if he had enough spiritual energy but he needed to try. He gathered his strength and ignored the pain that made his body stiff to position himself to shoot. Mahiru drew his bow string back and aimed the arrow at Mikuni’s fan. He took a deep breath and collected his spiritual energy into his arrow.

He allowed the barrier to weaken so he would be able to use more of his power. His arrow glowed and its brightness was almost blinding. Mahiru refused to close his eyes and kept his gaze on the fight. He didn’t want to hit Kuro or his friends on accident. Once he summoned as much spiritual energy as he could, he let go of the string.

His arrow left his fingers and broke through his barrier to embed itself in Mikuni’s hand. Spiritual energy followed the path his arrow took and spread throughout the castle. The barrier shattered and spread out his spiritual energy further. Mahiru felt drained after the attack and he sank to the ground. He prayed that it would be enough to purify the area. His vision was blurry and he knew that he would lose consciousness soon. “… Kuro.”

The world became dark around him but he hadn’t passed out yet. Mahiru saw a shadow lean over him and he couldn’t see who it was. Kuro would’ve responded to his name and Mahiru became fearful that the person before him was Mikuni. He reached into his belt to grab the knife Kuro gave him. He barely had the strength to hold the hilt, let alone use it to defend himself.

“You look just like your mother.” Mahiru’s mind started to scream after he recognized Touma’s voice. He wanted to call to Kuro but his voice was trapped in his throat. “I don’t understand why you were brought to this era when you don’t belong here. Your weakness and ignorance is the same as your mother and it’ll only burden those around you.”

He felt a hand around his neck and he closed his eyes in fear. “But she looks as if she will kill me for doing so. I haven’t seen your face for years, Hanako.”

“You are still blinded by the promise of the sacred jewel. If only you could realize the truth, Touma.” Mahiru opened his eyes to see Touma rip the jewel shards from his neck. His focus wasn’t on the man but the faint figure behind him. For a moment, he thought he saw his mother but she quickly faded away.

Moonlight broke through the darkness around him and he found himself in the castle again. Kuro ran to him and hugged him. Mahiru was still trying to process what he saw and he didn’t hear his words at first. “Are you okay, Mahiru? A wall of webs suddenly appeared and we couldn’t reach you. How did you free yourself?”

“A web?” Mahiru touched his neck and his heart sank when he couldn’t feel his jewel shards. “Touma took my jewel shards.”

[random-mha-thoughts]

Sick (Todoroki x Reader) Birthday Special!

Pairing: Todoroki x Reader 

Genre: Fluff (fluffed myself into devastation again)

Summary: It’s your boyfriend’s birthday, but unfortunately you’re feeling less enthusiastic about it because you’re sick as a dog.  So what happens when the birthday boy finds out you’re in less than top condition?

Inspo: Me, myself, and I bc I was sick this past week (and I’m still not over it), and this Tik Tok bc I’m a loser.

Word count: 1,698

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ @bunnythepipsqueak​

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE ONLY ICYHOT THAT MATTERS TODOROKI!!

I decided to combine a birthday special with an idea I had about a sick reader that I was going to write anyway because softboy Todo is the best Todo (besides the ones where he’s flirty but that’s different)

Don’t judge me for being on Tiktok, my cousin was showing me all the cosplayers and I was sold, the cosplayers are so talented, I’m really jealous T.T.  Not to mention there’s actually some really great fanfic fodder floating around there, so don’t be shocked if I post some others inspired by Tiktoks.  Anyway, enjoy the story!

I feel like I've been run over.

Every muscle in my body is either aching or stiff, my nose is stuffed, my throat hurts, and my body is cold and hot at the same time despite wearing flannel pajamas.  At random times last night, I woke up between whatever snipets of random dreams I can remember.

In short, I feel miserable and I've only been awake for 10 seconds.

I was hoping it wouldn't get to this point.  Two days ago, I started taking vitamin C supplements because I felt the tickling scratchiness starting up in my throat, and yesterday I was out with the Deku squad in the cold because Uraraka wanted to go to some wings place in the city in the freezing cold.  Never did I think it would escalate to this.

I blame Denki.  The idiot was coughing like a dog all over the place.

At first, I'm happy it's a Saturday and I can probably just lay in bed and sleep all day.  When I finally gather enough energy to roll over and look at my phone, I feel infinitely worse.

Fuck. It's January 11.

Today's Todoroki's birthday.  And I'm sick.  What kind of twist of fate is this?  I wanted to take him out to eat or go to an arcade or something just to spend the day with him, but it takes too much energy to get up.

I huff, guilt eating at me.  I have to do this, for my baby.  Kicking the covers off, I slowly roll up to sit at the edge of my bed, wrapping myself in my blanket and trudging to the bathroom.  The soreness in my limbs beg me to go back to bed, but I repeat the mantra, "For Shouto, it's for Shouto " to keep me going.

As soon as I see myself in the bathroom mirror I whine.  My face is so pale that my dark circles are more prominent, emphasizing my obvious lack of good sleep.  After I complete the strenuous task of brushing my teeth, I shuffle back to my bed and faceplant down at the foot side since I'm too tuckered out to get in properly.  I'll wait for Shouto to come after breakfast.  I'll just go back to sleep, I persuade myself as I drift off.  Maybe I can ask him to only spend half a day so I can come back and sleep, I'm sure he'll understand...

After some time, I'm startled out of my half slumber by a soft knock at the door.  "Love?  Are you awake?  It's me."

I smile at my precious angel's manners.  "Coming, just give me a sec."  I gather all my strength and try not to make it look like I'm dying on the inside as I open the door.

There Todoroki stands in his casual clothes, his endearing, ever-neutral face present as usual.  "Good morning.  You weren't down for breakfast, did you eat already?"

"No, not yet, I just woke up," I answer, my voice slightly hoarse.

His brows furrow.  "Did you drink any water yet at least?  They say it's good for starting your metabolism in the morning."

I shake my head.

He studies me, his heterochromatic eyes scanning me up and down in my blanket-clad state before scrutinizing my face.  "Did you sleep well last night?"

"Not really..."

He crosses his arms over his chest and steps towards me, making me take another one back.  "You know I don't like it when you don't take care of yourself.  You know what that means."  A dark aura washes over his face.

I cling to my blanket and screw my eyes shut, somewhat afraid of him when he gets like this.

A warm hand comes down on my head.  "You feel warmer than you're supposed to, the heat's radiating off of you.  Not to mention you're pale," he comments.  He removes his hand.  "Get back to bed, you're not going anywhere today."

"But it's your birthday, I wanted to spend the day with you," I cough at the end.  The muffled noise and the pain in my ears that follows males me realize my hearing is shot along with everything else wrong with me.

"We can spend the day in bed together," he argues, pushing me gently down to recline.

I groan at how stubborn he is.  "Can't we go out for half a day?  I promise I'll rest later."

"No," Todoroki dismisses tersely, refitting the blanket across my sheets.  "We can save that for tomorrow, you need rest."  He places a gentle kiss on my forehead and pauses.  "That's definitely a low to mid grade fever.  Can I trust you to stay here while I gather some supplies?"

I blink.  What.  "Yes, I'll stay put," I surrender.

After almost half an hour, Todoroki returns, awakening me from my slumber with arms full.

"What the-"  I eye the huge pot in his hands and a tote bag hanging off his arm.

He set the pot down on the floor.  "I took the liberty of making you chicken soup with some ginger for your throat.  I also brought some medicine for your fever, a box of tissues, a humidifier, some nose spray for the congestion, a bag of cough drops, a thermos of water, a carton of orange juice-"

I whine out loud like a child, feeling a huge rock of guilt on my chest.

"Is something wrong?  Are you in pain?"  His affectionate gaze flickers to me in worry.

"You're killing me, Shouto!"

He sits next to me on the bed, brushing my face with his fingertips.  "Did I do something wrong?  I'm sorry-"

"No, it's not you," I sigh.  "I just feel so bad.  Today's your birthday, and here you are taking care of me because I got sick instead of doing something fun.  I'm terrible."

His fingers brush my hair off my forehead.  "Love, it's not your fault that you're sick on my birthday-"

"Yeah, it's Kaminari's," I interject with a pout.

Todoroki chuckles.  "I'll fix him later.  I don't need anything special, I just want to spend time with you.  Besides, you being ill gives me the perfect excuse to stay by your side all day."

Warmth blooms in my chest at his loving words.  I sniff, "You're too good to me."

He kisses my forehead again.  "I'm fully expecting the same treatment if I ever get sick as repayment."

"Huh?!"

A heart-melting smile cracks across his face.  "Kidding, Love.  Just finish your soup and let me take care of you.  That's more than enough repayment."

The rest of the day passed in a comfortable blur.  Todoroki fed me soup by the bowl every few hours for my meals, made sure I drank water throughout the day, and gave me orange juice to drink.  "You need the Vitamin C to help your immune system work," he says.  All day, he wrapped us in blankets as we binge-watched shows and movies on my laptop while regulating my temperature with his quirk.  He catered to every need I had from my stuffy nose to my muffled hearing.  He even started massaging my sore muscles to ease the dull pain.  My heart couldn't feel fuller knowing he willingly nursed me back to health when he could've been doing something more fun or at least productive.

"Shouto, don't you want to at least go train today?" I ask.  "You don't have to sit here with me the whole day."

His hand around my body squeezes tighter.  "I'd rather be here with you than train."

I weakly hit his chest.  "You sound slightly obsessive."

Todoroki's cool fingers absently play with my hair, brushing my cheeks.  "If you fall asleep, I'll step out for a little so I don't bother you."

After a moment, I tilt my head up at him.  "I want to give you your gift at least.  It's in the top drawer."

Quirking an eyebrow, he gets out of bed and opens my chest of drawers.  "You didn't need to get me anything."  He pulls out a thin, black cardboard box on top.

"I'm warning you now, it's kind of stupid, but I didn't know what to get for a boy who already has everything," I admit, nervously watching him sit back next to me and open it.

Inside is a simple string bracelet with two silver balls flanking a golden Sun symbol.  Todoroki takes it out and immediately puts it on his right wrist to admire it, though his expression is blank as ever.

"I know you don't wear jewelry, but I wanted to keep it simple.  Besides, it's actually a couples set," I nod over to my bedside table.  "Mine is over there."

He surveys the mess and locks eyes with a bracelet of similar design except a silver crescent moon is in the middle.

"You get the Sun one because you're my precious sunshine boy," I chuckle before coughing to clear my throat.  "Sorry, that was really cheesy-"

Todoroki cups my face and seals my lips before I can finish.  I almost kiss him back instinctively, but I pull his hands away.  "Shouto, I'm sick-"

"Thank you."  A soft smile appears across his features and his eyes glint in affection, washing me over in warmth.  "I'll wear it every day, when I'm not training so it won't break."

Before I can respond, he tackles me in another kiss, sending my heart into a frenzy of irregular beats.  His kisses are sweet yet searing, pouring all of his love as he moves against me, clinging to my body like a lifeline.

When Todoroki finally pulls away, my head spins, but I can't miss the grin on his face as he caresses my cheek.  "I love you," he whispers.

And just like that, my heart feels squeezed again.  "You're gonna get sick."

He pecks my nose.  "At least it's from you."

I bury my face in his chest, heat rushing to my cheeks and ears.  "I love you too, you big dork."

The rise and fall of his chest and his soft touch in my hair lulls me to sleep in his arms, a smile on both of our faces.

[lilith-of-rivia]

II

The Whisper in the Stars 

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia X Elf OC 

Word count: 3,746

Warnings: Cursing, violence? 

Thank you all so much for the support on my first chapter. Ive had 3 chapters posted to Wattpad since March and have had 3 likes on it It means the word the support on not only this story but all my imagines. You are all amazing humans and make my day. Much love  ~Apha 

The morning air was crisp on my face as Legolas and I walked threw the dim lilt woods, the sun barely peeking up in the east. The forest was calm and quiet, something I adored back home. This early morning walk threw the woods to check the snares we had set the night before reminded me so much of my younger days when I was little, and my energy was too much for my mother to handle so she would send me out with my much older brother. 

"So what's your plan?" I whispered to Legolas as we walked over to the first snare and saw a rabbit in it. I walked over to the lifeless body, and gently took the piece of string off its head and slid it into the bag I had borrowed from Jaskier. 

"Well, I don't really have one. I don't think there is any way to get home if were being honest. We never even knew this place excited, I doubt even Gandalf did, or he would've said something at some point about a land full of new people and creatures. Our kin, that we never knew about. I think right now, we stay on the Witcher's good side, and hope he lets us tag along with him until we can figure out where to go and live on our own." As he spoke we continued to move deeper into the forest. 

"What about father?" I asked and he stopped bending down, grabbing another rabbit, handing it back to me. 

"Maybe they have some form of magic that could help us contact him, but if not. He'll just have to mourn." I just nodded, knowing he was right. No matter how much it pained me to think about our father thinking we were dead and blaming himself.

"Common Apha, we have two more snares to check." He said calmly, standing up again. we walked in a calm silence to the next two snares and both were empty. 

A loud snap of a twig caused both our heads to snap, the distant footsteps making my ears prickle and tingle. We quickly and as quietly as possible stood behind a tree, listing carefully as the steps got closer. Legolas looked at me, as I held my dagger tightly in. My hand, his sword tight in his own. The steps moving closer and closer. With a quick nod of the head we both swiftly moved from behind the tree, my dagger pointed out in front of me sharply, his sword behind his head. 

I let out a huge sigh of relief as I saw Geralt in front of us, an amused smile on his face. 

"Sorry to frighten you, princess. You were both missing thoughts one of the many monsters had claimed you." He said to me. 

"We actually were just looking for food and came into some luck. Not enough but some. I'd be better if I had my bow." I said walking past him, Legolas next to me. 

"I know you think we are defenseless Master Witcher, but my sister and I fought off the worst wars anyone in our home had ever seen. We traveled for about 4 months with a group of others to defeat this evil. My sister was one of the most feared women warriors of our people. You may have monsters Witcher, and you may think we need to be babysat, but just give us a chance, and we will show you how much help we could be to you and your own. But I will warn you-" Legolas had turned to completely face Geralt now, and my heart quickened, feeling the gross amount of testosterone in the air as the two Alpha males stared each other down. "You hurt, or touch a hair on my sister's head, it will be the last thing you do. Even if it kills me. She's all I have left. I will not let anything happen to her." The two men came eye to eye, Geralt's jaw was clenched and his arms folded over his chest. They were barely two feet apart. I quickly stepped in between the two, pushing Legolas back a few steps, my back to Geralt. 

"I understand, my-" he waved his hand towards the camp, "whatever they are, are I all have. They are my responsibility. So I will respect you and your sister if it mutually understood that I will do whatever I have to to keep them safe." Geralt said calmly. Legolas nodded in agreement, walking back towards the camp a few feet ahead of us. 

"That was the most I've ever heard you speak Witcher," I said with a small smile looking at him as we walked. He nodded softly before looking down at me. 

"Its time to get you a bow, Little Elf." 

*** 

The village was in view as we all walked towards it. Jaskier was in the back, strumming on his lute and humming soft tunes here and there. Every now and then getting a glair from Geralt for his singing. Their relationship was quite amusing to watch. 

"You know we have no money. Or anything of value to trade to these people right?" I asked Geralt as we walked side by side up the road to the village. 

"I helped clear a very vicious heard of werewolves that had been killing their cattle and chickens. And even a few of their kids. They-" 

"Practically warship the grounds he walks on." Jaskier cut in earning an aggravated grunt from Geralt. I couldn't help but laugh softly. 

"We've been on our way here for supplies, and also so I can make sure there are no new monsters causing them any troubles." I laughed softly after he finished, making him cock an eyebrow at me. 

"You helped? I don't take you as a man who goes into an adventure of werewolf killing with a companion." I said with a hint of amusement. He smirked softly and looked forward. 

"I guess, if you put it that way, I single-handedly took out over 4 werewolves near a full moon." I laughed freely this time and looked at him. 

"I see why they worship you then," I said with a smile as we approached the village. Once we started walking down the Main Street meany people started to crowd around us. I subconsciously grabbed Ciri's hand and pulled her behind me. 

"Geralt of Riviera has returned!!!" A town elder announced as they all cheered. Geralt looked beyond unamused as he just shook his head. 

"What do we owe this honor?" The elder said coming and pushing past me and stranding as close as he could to Geralt. 

"I have two new companions traveling with me, and they need weapons, and we're also like a place to stay for a few nights and a bath." I nodded in agreement. Manley at the bathing part. The elder turned towards Legolas and I and looked past him stretching his head like an idiot. 

"I only see one companion, good sir." The elder said with a laugh.

"You looked past me," I said annoyed, my voice very monotoned. He looked at me and began laughing. 

"A woman. traveling with a witcher. What are you his whore?" In an instant, my brother was on him. His hands-on wrapped around his shirt, pushing him as hard as he could into the building behind him. 

"You do not speak such fallacies of my sister." He hissed in the man's face. 

"My sister is a better warrior than any man you have in this village. Do not speak such dishonor on her when you haven't even given the chance to know her name." He was seething. Geralt's hand gently came and pulled him back away from the elder who was laughing obnoxiously. 

"Then prove it Elf!" He yelled at me. And waved his hand, a man a few inches smaller than Legolas and Geralt stepped forward. His chest puffed out. 

"This is Lennon, the best archer we have. Can hit a bullseye at 100 yards!!" The man yelled laughing loudly as some other men cheered and patted Lennon. 

"I'll tell you what elf if your sister can beat him, you can have whatever two horses you'd like from our stables, and any pick from our weaponry." I chuckled lowly. Knowing this shot I could hit in my sleep. 

"But, if she loses, she stays here, works in our brothel. We need a new whore." Once again Legolas lunged but was blocked by Geralt's arm. Geralt stepped out in front of me, placing himself between the elder and I. 

"Even if she loses, she will be coming with me. You do not lay claim over a woman. Especially not a woman who travels with me." Geralt's voice was low and cold. The man just nodded. 

"What do we get if she looses then?" 

"That's the thing dear man, I don't miss." I hissed at him and he just stared in my eyes. 

"Geralt can take you to the armory to pick a bow. We will all meet in the lower field in 20 minutes." The elder said and walked away the other men following. And soon the crowd had disbursed. 

Geralt walked us all to the armory. I walked in and quickly my eyes landed on a hand-carved bow that reminded me of my own that I had lost on the boat wreck. I held it in my hands feeling the way the wood arched perfectly under my touch and the way the string pulled at my fingers. I hooked my fingers on the string-pulling it back to me and sighed a breath of relief. 

"I hope you are all ready for a good night's sleep and a bath," I said with a smirk and glanced at Geralt who looked pleasantly amused. 

We walked down to the field where the crowd was gathered. A quiver full of new arrows on my back. The man Lennon was standing in front of a large log and waiting for me. I approached him and he smirked at me.

"Lennon will shoot first." The elder said sitting in a chair as Lennon took an arrow out of his quiver and quickly cocked his arm back before releasing the arrow. If flew with a quick swoosh and shot deep into the target placed out in the field. I didn't need the judge to tell me. I could see. A perfect bullseye. 

"You see elf, you filthy sister will need better than a bullseye to get her share of the deal and me-" 

"I'd suggest you shut your mouth." Geralt said not even looking at him. 

Lennon moved to the side and I stepped up to my mark. Taking a string from my pocket I tied my hair back loosely to keep it from my face. My hand reached behind me, my fingers grazing the feathers of the arrows until they landed on the one that spoke. My brother's training had done well for me. I pulled it from my quiver. My handheld my bow up and the cool metal of the tip of the arrow landed on my index finger, as I pulled the string back to my face. My breathing was steady. My eyes narrowing at the target. The arrow of my appoints sticking out ever so slightly. Taking a deep breath in, the arrow and string released and the arrow went flying threw the air. I watched it fly gracefully until the perfect splitting noise made my ears raise. My arrow had split his. I gracefully let my hand and bow fall to my side and turned towards the elder. I new a very cocky smirk was on my face. 

"See, I told you. I do not miss. Now along with those new horses and the weaponry of my brother's choice. I'd like some new clothes. And a new pair of shoes for the children." My eyes we set in a narrow glare. The man just stood and nodded. 

"Very well, you indeed have won. And I will keep to my word. You know where everything is Geralt. Unfortunately, we only have two rooms available tho. And only one has a bath." He quickly walked away, followed by most of the men. I turned around and looked to see the eyes of my fellow campaigns on me. My brother's face held pride and admiration, knowing very well he can shoot better than I but, he taught me all I know. 

"Can you teach me how to do that!" Ciri cheered as she smiled brightly.

"Of course, it'll take a lot of practice and dedication tho. You have to be ready." I said with a smile.

"Shall we go bathe then," I suggested looking at Geralt who was just looking at me, his eyes boring into my own. He nodded his head softly. We walked back to the town, Ciri being the first to bathe after Geralt had filled the tub with hot water for her. 

"I can show you where you can get some new clothes." He said nodding to me and Legolas, we both stood from our perch on the steps up towards the two rooms we were given. We followed behind him to a small shop, inside a small elderly lady. She smiled as we walked in and came over to me grabbing my hand and pulling me on top of a small step before she began measuring my waist and arms. Geralt and Legolas taking a seat on a small bench, both sets of arms crossing over their chests. 

"You sure showed Barron. Serves him right for underestimating the power some women hold." She said with a small smile up at me as she finished her measuring. 

"Thank you, ma'am. I just prefer to prove myself rather than yell." I said with a soft smile. 

"I'm guessing you would prefer a few pairs of trousers instead of some dress?" I laughed softly and nodded in thanks. She walked away and to the back of the room, before entering with three pairs of black trousers and two grey shirts. 

"I have a cloak that will fit well after you bathe come back and I'll give it to you along with some new nickers." She said with a soft wink making my cheeks blush softly as the two men behind her sifted uncomfortable. 

"Thank you, ma'am. I really appreciate it." I took them from her and walked over to the seat next to Geralt as Legolas stood up and she measured and found him clothes. 

"I truly did underestimate you, little elf." Geralt whispered making me smile as I watched the woman hand Legolas his stuff as she whispered to him. 

"I told you, I'm a force to be reckoned with. I could truly become an asset to you Geralt of Rivera." I said with a smile and he hummed softly, I could see the small smile out of the corner of my eye. Legolas walked back over to us and we all left the shop, me promising to come back later. We reached the inn and I placed my stuff on the porch and sat back on the stairs watching the sun go down. The horizon being something I've never seen before. A completely new place, with new adventures and new opportunities for myself and brother. 

"It's your turn to bath princess." Geralt said as he stepped out of the room, his hair damp. Everyone had bathed but me, wanting to give everyone else a chance. 

"I cleaned and refilled the bath with water for you, there's a bucket of cold water by it if its to hot." He said with a smile as I stood grabbing my new clothes and looking at him. 

"What are sleeping arrangements, Geralt?" Jaskier asked as he strummed on his lute. 

"There are three beds in that other room," I said pointing to the room Dara and Ciri were already asleep in. The other only had a single bed. 

"You should take the room with the bath Geralt," I said as I walked to the door. 

"No, I don't sleep much. I definitely don't need a whole bed to myself. You take it Apha, then Legolas and Jaskier can have a bed to themselves. If I find myself needing sleep, I'll sleep on the floor." he said not taking his eyes from the sunset. I glanced and Legolas and he nodded, no doubt not wanting to share a bed with me. 

"Okay if you say so, I'm going to bathe now. If any of you come in ill plant an arrow in your dick." I said before closing the door to the room and locking it. 

The bath was made, I could see the steam rolling off the water, which just made my body ace more. I quickly peeled off my old smelly clothes before completely submerging myself into the steaming water. The sigh that left my mouth was near orgasmic. The water warmed every cold spot on my body and soothed every aching pain I had. There was a tiny dish next to the bath that held a small bar of soap. I wasted no time in taking it and lettering my hands before standing up. the cool air nipping at my sensitive skin making it prickle up with goosebumps. My hands wandered all over my body scrubbing every inch. Once I was satisfied I sat back down and watched as the suds and the dirt washed away. With a quick breath in I submerged my head and ran my fingers threw my hair before coming up for more air. Soon the water was a dark brown, but my hair and skin were cleaner than it had been then the day we left our homelands. 

I quickly dressed in my new clothes before stepping out onto the porch, comb in hand; to see Geralt perched on the steps, looking out over into the distance. Almost as if he was waiting for something to come out of the forest. 

"How was your bath, little elf." He truly liked that nickname. He didn't even look back at me as he spoke.  I took a seat next to him and began combing out my hair. 

"Wonderful. I don't think my muscles have felt that relaxed in a long while. I constantly feel like my body is trying to give out on me." I said with a huff as I neatly braided my hair as I watched the night stars. 

"I understand that pain all too well." He said glancing at me. 

"I doubt a witcher of your status has time to relax, let alone work out knots and kinks in his own back," I said with a small chuckle and he nodded. 

"My shoulders been killing me awfully the past couple weeks, I can feel the knot that's formed under the bone." He said moving his right shoulder uncomfortably. I softly moved my hand and placed it on his upper arm. He flinched away and looked at me, making me roll my eyes. 

"You can pretend to be a scary witcher to others, but I see threw it. Just relax. I would normally just subside the pain with my magic, but your immune. So let me work the knot out for you. As a thank you." His eyes flicked all over my face, his jaw clenched. With a small nod of his head, he turned back to the sky. I smiled softly. 

"Move it the step below me," I whispered. He did as I said, my legs on either side of him. 

I softly move his hair from his shoulder and gently ran my fingers down his spine and up and around his shoulder blades. I soon felt the knot under my thumb, and softly started to roll my thumb over it. Applying more pressure I could feel it moving slightly. He was so tense it was making my hands cramp. He let out a soft grunt that made my stomach spin and fills with butterflies. I closed my eyes and continued to roll my knuckles over the spot repeatedly. I could feel my hands heating as I tried my best to let the heat enter his skin in order to help destress him. But it was to no avail. I continued on the spot for a while until the knot was much smaller, and slowly stopped my movements. His head was no longer up but dropped down. His breathing was calm and steady. 

"Don't stop." He grunted and I smiled softly. I stroked my hands over his back and shoulders. 

"Common." I stood up holding my hand out, he looked at it hesitantly and grabbed it as he stood. I walked into the room and closed the door behind him. 

"Take off your shirt and lay on the bed," I said not willing to take no for an answer. He looked at me for a second and then walked over to the bed. 

I walked over to the lantern and blew it out before placing a log on the fire in the other corner of the room. Looking over at him my heartbeat quickened as he took off his shirt. His body was made by the gods themselves. He was probably one of the most beautiful creatures I had ever seen. 

"You're staring, little elf." He said with a smirk. 

"Yeah well, do you blame me?" I asked and he chuckled softly. The sound was melodic. 

"Lay down witcher," I said and he did as I said. I move to the bed and softly straddled his hips. Placing my hands on his back. His arms went under his head and he took in a deep breath. I slowly started to kneed my hands and knuckles into every part of his back and shoulders. His body slowly relaxed under my touch. Not completely but some. 

I continued my moves for a while, zoning out of my own thoughts and just watching his muscles move with my hands. His soft snores broke me out of my trance, making me smile. I gently moved from him, and grabbed the blankets and pulled them over himself and myself. I gently stroked a stray hair from his face and couldn't help but feel those butterflies fill my stomach again. 

"Goodnight, Geralt," I whispered rolling over, my back to him closing my eyes.

[tails89]

Bad Moon Rising

AO3

“’lo?”

“Sorry kid, did I wake you?”

Rolling onto his back, Stiles stares up at the ceiling, ignoring the dull ache behind his eyes. “It’s fine. What’s up?”

“Someone called in a body this morning. It looks like some kind of sacrifice-“

With a long sigh, Stiles sits up, leaning back against the headboard while his dad talks.

“Great,” he mumbles into the phone, once his dad is done. “So, you’re thinking it could be supernatural then?”

“I think it’s definitely worth checking out.”

Stiles groans and rolls out of bed. “Yeah, okay. We’ll come take a look.” He disconnects the phone call and drops his cell on the bed. Resisting the temptation to flop back under the covers, he stands slowly moving to gather up a clean change of clothes before heading to the bathroom. He takes his time in the shower—the warm steam helps to loosen some of the congestion that’s beginning to build in his chest, and by the time he’s dressed Stiles is feeling almost human.

He shuffles out to the kitchen, turning on the kettle and rummaging through the medicine cabinet thinking maybe he can dose himself up enough to get through the morning. If he’s lucky, this whole sacrifice thing will just be some twisted, but completely human, occurrence and he’ll be home by midday to sleep off the cold that’s brewing.

Tablets in hand, Stiles sets about making coffee. He’s just finishing up when the front door opens and Derek enters, kicking off his sneakers and dropping his headphones onto the hall table. He wanders over to stand behind Stiles, wrapping his arms around him boyfriend and hooking his chin over his boyfriend’s shoulders

“I wasn’t expecting you to be up yet.” Derek takes the coffee Stiles offers him setting it down on the bench. “It looked like maybe you were coming down with something.”

“Oh, it came down alright.” Stiles leans back into the warm weight and sips his own hot drink. “I’m eighty-percent sure I’m dying right now,” he complains. “But Dad called. He wants us to check out a crime scene.”

“I could probably check it out on my own,” Derek offers once Stiles has filled him in. He backs off to refill his drink bottle. “If magic’s been cast, I’ll probably be able to scent it.”

Stiles slumps forward against the counter. “Yeah, if it’s been cast. But it depends on the ritual. Ugh.” He downs the last of his coffee. “It’ll be easier of we can both get a look at the place. We can rule a lot of things out together.”

“You sure?”

Stiles shrugs. “Yeah, let’s just get this over with.”

They take Derek’s car—it handles the winding, bouncing track out to the crime scene much easier than the Jeep would. It takes about half an hour to arrive and with each bump in the road Stiles regrets his decision to leave his bed. By the time they spot the flashing red and blue lights of the police cars through the trees, the pounding behind his eyes is back with a vengeance.

Sheriff John Stilinski stands beside his cruiser as the Toyota pulls up. He turns to wave at his boys as they walk over, his mouth twisting down once he gets a good look at Stiles.  

“Jesus kid, you look like death warmed over.” John tucks his notepad into his pocket. “You should have said something.”

“Thanks Dad,” Stiles drawls. “Good to see you too.” He stifles a cough in his elbow, ignoring the looks from Derek and his father.

“Stiles-“

“It’s fine,” Stiles promises, waving them both off. “Just a cold. Look, the sooner we do this, the sooner I can go home.”

Sighing, John leads the way over to the crime scene. “The body was called in just after six am by a jogger-“

The acrid scent of magic hangs heavy in the air and Stiles groans at the sight before him. He recognises two of the symbols carved into the tree, the others… he’s not sure. He goes to take a step forward for a better look but is stopped by Derek’s low growl. Turning, Stiles realises that Derek can’t get any closer, blocked by an invisible wall.

“Mountain ash.”

Stiles crouches and brushes his fingers through the short grass. The barrier falls allowing Derek to pass.

“Well this is just awesome.” Stiles straightens too quickly-- his vision going grey and spotty for a second before clearing. “There was definitely magic involved, but I don’t recognise these symbols.” He steps away from the tree to take a couple of photos with his phone. “I guess I’ll go give Deaton a call,” he says, patting away Derek’s hand on his shoulder. “I’ll meet you guys back at the car.”

*

Stiles is sitting in the passenger seat of the car when Derek and his father return. He massages his temples, trying to will away the headache hammering behind his eyes.

He jerks up at the metallic squeal of the door opening, fumbling with his phone.

“I really hate talking to Deaton,” he complains. “It’s hard enough to get a straight answer from him normally. I don’t understand his need to explain things in the most convoluted ways.”

“Did you get anything?” Derek asks, leaning against the door.

“I explained the symbols and I’m thinking druid. Deaton said something about the energies of a blue moon…” Stiles trails off at his Dad’s confused expression.

“It’s when there are two full moons in the same month,” Derek supplies. “The second one’s called a blue moon.”

Stiles nods along. “Anyway, it’s something to do with gaining power.”

“Okay, but last night wasn’t a full moon,” John points out.

“No, it’s in, uh-” Stiles looks to Derek for help.

“Tonight.”

“Well, shit. Yeah, so it escalates,” Stiles explains. “The druid killed one person last night. They’ll kill two more tonight to finish the ritual. They may already have their next victims.”

“How do we stop him?” John asks, his mouth set in a frown.

“Honestly?” Stiles shrugs. “No idea. I think we need to get the pack together and Dad-” He breaks off, the tickle in his throat bursting out in a long coughing fit. “-Can you check and see if anyone’s been reported missing in the last few days?” he croaks when he’s done.

“In the meantime, I’m taking Stiles home,” Derek cuts in. “It’s going to take a few hours to organise everyone and figure out how to stop the druid.” He turns to Stiles. “You should probably get some rest while we wait.”

“I knew there was I reason I loved you,” Stiles says grinning. “I’ll start calling the pack.” He’s reaching for the seatbelt when the phone in his hands starts ringing.

“Scott? Wait, slow down. What?” His eyes go wide. “When? Shit. Okay. Where are you? Stay there okay, we’re on our way.” Stiles ends the call and turns to his Dad. “Melissa didn’t come home last night.”

John pales. “You think the druid has her?”

“Given the timing, I think it’s too big of a coincidence. Ugh.” Tipping his head back against the seat he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I guess that’s a raincheck on naptime.”

His dad gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “I think you’ve got bigger problems,” he says, looking back to the crime scene. “I’ve got some things to finish up here,” John says. “Keep me updated. Let me know when you find her.”

“Will do.”

Derek climbs in behind the steering wheel and they head straight to Scott’s place.

“Mom worked yesterday.” Scott explains, pacing the living room once they arrive. “She was supposed to be home last night, but she didn’t, she-“

Kira stands, resting a hand on his arm and Scott looks across at her gratefully. After taking a breath, he continues.

“I called the hospital this morning. I thought maybe she picked up another shift. She wasn’t there though. And they said she didn’t turn up for her shift yesterday either. That’s not like her.”

“We’ll find her.” Stiles is quick to reassure his friend. “Hey, we will. We always do.”

It’s still early, almost ten am, which means they still have the whole day to find Melissa. Knowing one of the druid’s victims will make it easier to find all of them. With a personal belonging, Stiles can use a spell to track Melissa’s location.

“Okay,” he says, starting to form a plan in his head. “Scotty, you go talk to Deaton. He tends to open up to you more than he does the rest of us. Show him the photos I took and get as much information as you can— I want to know what each symbol means.” He swings his leg against the coffee table, tapping out a staccato rhythm as he thinks. “We’ll get the rest of the pack together at our place in a couple of hours and head out before it gets dark.”

With the very beginnings of the plan set into motion, Scott and Kira leave to talk to the veterinarian and Derek drives Stiles home.

As soon as he walks through the front door, Stiles starts pulling books off the shelves and spends the rest of the morning reclined on the couch, up to his eyeballs in research.

Derek disappears into the kitchen around midday, returning ten minutes later with a sandwich.

“You should eat something,” he says, placing a plate down on the coffee table, pushing aside the books and papers spread out across the surface.

“I’m not hungry,” Stiles mumbles. He puts down his notebook and rubs at his eyes. His head aches, everything aches, and he wants nothing more than to curl into a ball and sleep for the next week, but with a druid running around sacrificing people for power, sleep will have to wait.

“I know.” Derek hands over a glass of water and two small white tablets. “But you haven’t eaten anything today— coffee doesn’t count as food. You need to eat.”

Stiles eyes the medication, coughing into his sleeve. “Can’t you just use your werewolf pain-sucky magic?” He makes a grabby motion, but Derek shakes his head and places the pills in his palm.

“My ‘werewolf pain-sucky magic’ won’t help your fever,” he points out. “Or that cough.”

Stiles takes the medication with a resigned sigh, swallowing down the pills and grimacing as the water hits his rolling stomach. Once the feeling subsides, he holds out his hands for the plate.

Derek hands over the sandwich and watches Stiles take a few tentative bites. Satisfied, he goes and collects his own lunch before returning to the living room.

“I don’t like this,” Derek says, breaking the silence. He sits down on the couch next to Stiles, lifting his boyfriend’s feet to make room and dropping them in his lap. “Surely there’s someone else who can do this?”

“Who?” Stiles croaks. “None of the ‘wolves can activate the tracking spell. I don’t-” He breaks off to cough into his elbow. “Deaton won’t help us unless it benefits him directly. Dad’s busy trying to keep the rest of the department distracted while we go tramping across the crime scene.” He raises the sandwich halfway to his mouth then seems to change his mind, setting the plate back down on the table. “Melissa is missing. If we don’t do this, if I don’t do this tonight, we might never get her back.”

“I still don’t like it,” Derek grumbles. “It’s dangerous enough without you being sick.”

“I’ll be fine big guy.” Stiles slips a foot out of Derek’s lap to nudge him in the thigh. “I’ll be in and out in the blink of an eye and once the druid turns up, I’m more than happy to leave the fighting up to the werewolves. We’ve got a plan— it’s going to work out.”

Two hours later most of the pack are sitting around the coffee table, while Derek goes over that same plan.

“Are we sure this is going to work?” Scott asks, his face is drawn with worry. Melissa has been missing for almost twenty-four hours and everyone can feel Scott’s fear creeping down the pack bonds—and an unsettled Alpha makes rest of the pack restless.

“Stiles is the best at last minute plans,” Kira says, glancing over at Stiles as she speaks.

“Yeah, but Stiles looks like shit.” Malia is as blunt as ever, sitting with her feet hanging over the arm of the chair. “What?” She shrugs when Stiles complains. “You reek of sweat and sickness. You have magic, can’t you just heal yourself?”

“My magic doesn’t work like that.” Stiles reminds her. “I can sense other people’s magic, do a couple of spells, but healing is beyond what I can do.”

“We can’t put this off any longer,” Derek continues, bringing them back to the plan. “We need Stiles to find Melissa, but then it’s up to us.” He looks to each of the ‘weres in the room. “You all know what you need to do?” Six heads nod back at him. “Okay, we head out in an hour.”

*

It’s cold.

Fucking freezing.

Intellectually Stiles knows it’s not that bad and that his fever is probably just making it seem worse than it really is. That doesn’t stop Stiles from cursing and shivering in his jacket. He presses in closer to Derek’s side, more thankful than ever that werewolves run hot.

It’s not even that late. The sun has only just disappeared behind the trees and little kids across Beacon Hills are probably out trick-or-treating innocently oblivious to the danger that is lurking in the preserve. Stiles can’t remember if he turned the lights off at the house. He hopes no one comes knocking on their door.

It’s a crappy way to spend Halloween. Stiles could be eating candy re-watching The Nightmare Before Christmas and trying to convince Derek to answer the door in his beta shift.  

He forces his focus back to the task at hand. Moonrise is only moments away. Closing his eyes, Stiles re-activates the spell that is leading them to Melissa and the other victim. Focusing on the pull, he walks with Derek, listening hard for the rest of the pack—they’ve melted into the trees ready and watching in case they run into the druid. He clears his throat and resists the urge to cough. His eyes are watering and he can feel a tickle deep in his chest and he does his best to ignore it.

Beside him, Derek tenses.

Stiles looks up at him.

“Moonrise,” Derek explains softly, his eyes glowing golden.

They break into a run.

“They should be right up ahead,” Stiles pants, pointing through the trees. Derek shifts fully, snarling and snapping his jaws. He crashes through the undergrowth, followed closely by Malia and Erica who have materialised from the darkness.

They’re gone by the time Stiles reaches the clearing, but he can still hear them, growling and snarling as they chase the druid.

“Stiles!” Kira is standing off to Stiles’ left with Scott and Boyd. Behind her is Melissa and… Chris Argent?

“We can’t get to them.” Kira gestures to the dark ash the ground.

Stiles pulls his jacket closer around himself, turning towards her.

“Okay.” He casts a glance back towards the direction Derek had gone. “I’m coming.” He jogs over towards the tree, his breath burning in his chest, and kicks his foot through the line of mountain ash.

Scott and Boyd rush in to free Melissa and Chris. They make quick work of the knotted rope and soon they’re ready to go.

Stiles stands to the side, covering his mouth to cough harshly into his sleeve. He wants nothing more than to get Derek and go home.

“Mama McCall.” Stiles’ voice grates in his throat. “Good to have you back.”

Melissa has one arm flung around her son’s waist, and she wraps the other around Stiles. “I’m beginning to wonder if there’s some sort of card I can get stamped each time I’m kidnapped.” Her tone is light, but there’s a tremble to it she can’t hide.

“Next one’s free,” Stiles jokes, letting Scott lead them back towards the cars.

Derek is waiting there in his wolf form when they get back. Stiles pulls away from Melissa to go to his wolf, tangling his fingers in Derek’s fur.

There’s a spare change of clothes in the car. Stiles reluctantly lets go of Derek and follows him around the car so the wolf can shift back into his human form.

“You’re okay? What happened?” he asks, scanning Derek for any sign of injury.

“I’m okay.” Derek says. He opens the front passenger door and pulls on a pair of sweatpants. “But the druid got away.”

Stiles lets Derek tug him in to scent him. “We were able to stop the sacrifice. Maybe he’ll leave.” The words are mumbled into Derek’s bare chest. “Let’s go home. We can sort this out tomorrow.

They’d driven two cars out to the preserve, so they split back into them.

Scott and Kira volunteer to take Chris and Melissa home and Malia goes with them. Derek offers Erica and Boyd a lift before climbing in on the driver’s side. Stiles hops up beside him cranking the heater.

He stares out the window as they drive. The glass is cool against his forehead as the Toyota winds along the bumpy road back to town and Derek’s hand is a comforting presence on Stiles’ thigh— vibrating.

“Oh!” Stiles sits up quickly, ignoring Erica’s giggle from the backseat. The vibration comes again from his pocket. Stiles digs out his phone and answers the call. “Hey Dad.”

“Stiles, how’d it go?”

“We didn’t catch him, but we were able to rescue Melissa and Chris Argent. We’re on our way home.” Stiles rests his head back against the window.

“Do you think he’ll be back?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says honestly. “I hope not.”

John sighs down the line. “Well, the important thing is everyone’s okay. We can sort the rest out later. Get some rest Stiles. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

The line disconnects and Stiles lets his hand drop to his lap. Outside the window, the brightly lit houses with their Halloween decorations blur together.

*

“Wha-?” Stiles stirs when Derek shakes his shoulder gently. He squints against the lights of the residential complex. “We’re back?”

Erica and Boyd are gone. Stiles hadn’t even noticed the brief pit stop to drop them home.

Derek nods, stepping aside so Stiles can climb down from the car. It’s only a short walk up the path to their house, but it feels endless, so Stile just focuses on putting one foot in front of the other until he makes it to the front porch.

He leans against Derek while the werewolf unlocks the door and turns on the lights. The living room is a mess, but that is a problem for future-Stiles. He ignores it in favour of walking straight through to the bedroom.

“Do you want first shower?”

Stiles shakes his head; he’s been longing for this moment all day. “Jus’ want to sleep.”

He sits on the bed and kicks off his shoes. He can hear Derek moving around in the bathroom as he shrugs off his jacket and lets it fall to the floor. His jeans are the last to go, falling in a heap on top of the rest of his discarded clothing. Stiles contemplates pulling on a pair of sweatpants but walking to the closet just seems like too much effort, so he settles for crawling under the covers in his shirt and boxers.

A few minutes later, the bed dips and a warm body climbs in beside him. Stiles rolls towards Derek, tucking himself up against his werewolf hot water bottle before drifting off.

Derek doesn’t sleep very well that night.

Stiles kicks him awake twice, mumbling and coughing in his sleep. Wrapping an arm around his partner, Derek pulls Stiles in close, hoping to stifle some of the movement.

Snaking his hand up under Stiles’ shirt, Derek splays his fingers across the bare skin of his stomach. It feels warmer than normal, but Derek doesn’t have much experience with human illnesses. He doesn’t think it’s too bad.

Stiles rolls over, mashing his face into Derek’s collarbone. The werewolf cards his fingers though his sick boyfriend’s hair and tries to fall back to sleep.

He gives up some time around five am.

Stiles stopped mumbling at some point during the night, but his temperature has gone up and he’s throwing off enough heat that even Derek feels sticky and uncomfortable lying beside him.

He pushes away the sheets and rises from the bed. Stepping into the kitchen, Derek takes a long drink of water then goes and rummages around in one of the cupboards. He finds an old packet of paracetamol that somehow isn’t expired and inspects the back of the package to check it can be taken on an empty stomach. Before returning to the bedroom Derek refills his glass with water.

Stiles doesn’t even stir when Derek sits on the edge of the bed and switches on the lamp on the nightstand. Setting down the glass, Derek reaches for Stiles’ shoulder, waking him gently.

The younger man groans, one arm coming up to smack away the hand trying to wake him.

“Le’ me sleep,” he whines, curling in on himself.

“You can go back to sleep in a minute,” Derek promises. “I need you to take these first.” He presses the meds into Stiles’ hand.

The younger man glares blearily at the clock on the table and then at the tablets in his hands. “Der, it’s the asscrack of dawn,” he complains, voice rasping. “This could have waited.”

“You’re running hotter than I am right now,” Derek points out patiently. “Trust me. Take these now, you’ll feel better when you wake up later.”

Stiles groans again with the effort of sitting up. He sits back against the headboard, reaching out to take the glass Derek hands him and swallows the pills. “Can I go back to sleep now? Wait. Where are you going?” He asks when Derek stands.

“I spent the night lying beside the human equivalent of a space heater.” Derek twists to look back towards the bed. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Don’t go.” Stiles makes grabby hands towards his boyfriend until Derek reluctantly climbs back onto the bed.

“You’re so gross,” the werewolf grumbles, running his fingers through Stiles’ sweaty locks.

Stiles snuggles into his chest. “You love me.”

Derek rumbles his agreement, wrapping his arms around Stiles despite the clammy heat coming off him. He manages to doze for another hour and when he wakes Stiles does feels cooler.

The sky outside their window is beginning to lighten, so Derek carefully untangles himself from his human-octopus boyfriend and gets up to fetch a pair of running shorts. He contemplates showering quickly before changing—he is feeling pretty grimy after sleeping beside Stiles. Making up his mind, he ducks into the bathroom.

At the end of his morning jog, Derek detours through town to stop at the pharmacy. He picks up some more medicine for Stiles as well as a thermometer. They’ve never needed one before, but Derek has spent the last twenty-four hours guessing Stiles’ temperature based on comparing it to his own. He knows that werewolves generally run two to three degrees warmer than a human and based on that Stiles had had a pretty high fever that morning, but it would be useful to know exactly what his temperature was.

He’s expecting Stiles to still be asleep when he gets home, but when he pushes open the front door Stiles is sprawled across the couch in the living room, wrapped up in a blanket. His laptop’s sitting open on his knees and Stiles is staring blearily at the screen.

“What are you doing?” Derek moves Stiles’ legs, so he can sit on the couch, then lets the human drop his feet into his lap.

Stiles coughs into his elbow and slumps further into the cushions.  “That druid is still out there,” he says. “We bought some time last night, but this isn’t over.”

“We’ve got another month before the next full moon,” Derek points out. “A regular full moon. There won’t be another blue moon until-“

“August,” Stiles supplies. “2023, but-“

“That’s two years away.” Derek cuts back in. “Take a break. Just a couple of days until you feel better. You’re allowed to take a sick day Stiles.”

“The bad guys don’t take sick days Derek,” Stiles argues. “Besides-“ he’s cut off by another cough. “The ritual was for gaining power. Why? What’s the druid planning on doing with this power? How much does he have already? Maybe he doesn’t need to finish the ritual!”

“Let someone else figure that out.” Derek reaches across to shut the laptop. “I’ll call Deaton again; he might have some ideas. Lydia will be back in a couple of days; she can help too. You’re not the only one who knows how to do research.”

“Yeah, but I do it the best,” Stiles grumbles but he lets Derek take away his computer.

“I know you do,” Derek agrees. “But you can do it later.” He places the laptop down on the coffee table. “I’m going to make some breakfast. It’s still early, why don’t you go back to bed for a bit? I’ll bring you something to drink.”

“Nah, I think I’m just going to stay here.” Stiles tugs the blanket closer around his body. “We could watch a movie.”

Derek passes over the remote for the television before heading to the kitchen. He potters around, taking his time with breakfast.

When he finally returns to the loungeroom, Stiles is fast asleep on the couch. Derek lets his hand brush against Stiles’ forehead. He’s feeling a bit warm again, but his fever is nowhere near as high as it had been when he’d woken that morning, so Derek lets him sleep.

It’s a Sunday morning, and they’ve both got the day off. Derek had been planning on heading into the garage for a bit to work on his car, but he doesn’t trust Stiles not to get sucked into another research binge if he leaves him alone. Instead, he goes to take a proper shower and throws their sheets into the washing machine before remaking the bed. He spends the rest of the morning quietly tidying the house while Stiles sleeps before returning to the kitchen to make some lunch.

Derek digs around in the freeze, finding some leftover soup—soup is supposed to be good for colds. He sticks the container in the microwave to heat while he makes himself a sandwich. He’s mindful of the fact that Stiles probably won’t be very hungry, still, he needs to eat so Derek carries their lunch out to the living room and places it on the coffee table. It feels like Stiles’ temperature is back up, so Derek ducks back to the kitchen for his paper bag of pharmacy supplies.

“’m not hungry,” is the first thing Stiles says when he spots the food.

“I know,” Derek replies, “but the pharmacist said you shouldn’t take these with an empty stomach.” He’s got the new box of cold and flu tablets in one hand and the thermometer in the other.

Stiles sits up gingerly, clearing his throat of the congestion building back up. His chest aches from coughing all morning and he’s desperately trying to avoid setting it back off. He pulls his legs up, crossing them to make room for Derek to sit beside him and watches the werewolf fidget with the thermometer.

“Here.” He holds out his hand to take it. It’s digital and turns on at the press of a button. Stiles sticks it in his mouth under his tongue and waits for the beep. When it comes, Stiles doesn’t even look at it, just hands the thing back over and lets Derek frown over the blinking number.

“What’s the damage?” He asks as he accepts the bowl of soup that had been cooling on the table.

“I think you have the flu,” Derek responds.

“Pretty sure I could have told you that.” Stiles huffs fondly. He would roll his eyes if his head didn’t hurt so bad. He lifts his spoon to eat, pausing after a few small mouthfuls when his stomach begins to churn unpleasantly. When he’s feeling confident his lunch is going to stay put, he takes the offered medicine, but he can’t bring himself to eat any more after that.

Derek starts his own lunch once he realises Stiles isn’t going finish his soup. He flicks on the TV, starting up a new episode of the TV show he’s been watching.

“Oh, yeah, I like this one.” Stiles shuffles around on the couch so that he’s half draped over Derek as the title credits begin to play. He lies like that for a few minutes when suddenly he scrambles out from under the blanket to rush towards the hallway.

The sound of retching hits Derek’s ears a moment later. He follows the sound towards the bathroom.

Inside Stiles sits, slumped on the floor, his head tipped back to rest against the cool porcelain tiles that line the bathroom wall.

“Feeling any better?” Derek asks as he moves to crouch beside his boyfriend.

Stiles goes to nod but then he’s reaching for the toilet again, shoulders heaving. They sit there on the floor together for a few minutes afterwards. Stiles is afraid that if he moves it’ll start up again.

“You think you could drink something?”

Stiles shakes his head carefully.

“Just a little bit, you need to stay hydrated.”

“You’ve been googling,” Stiles manages to say without setting off another round of vomiting.

He hears Derek’s low chuckle and the rustle of clothing as the werewolf gets up from the floor, followed by the sound of footsteps receding. Derek’s back soon enough and there’s a damp wash cloth being pressed into his hands.

Stiles runs the towel over his face and down his neck, it’s a welcome relief against his burning skin.

Taking the towel back, Derek swaps it for a glass of water. Stiles takes a tentative sip to wash his mouth out, but any more than that makes is stomach roll again, so he set the glass down on the tiles.

“I think I’m going to go back to bed,” he mumbles, standing slowly with one hand braced against wall. Once upright, he lets Derek steer him towards the bedroom and climbs into the fresh sheets.

“Roll over,” Derek says. “Facing the window.”

Brows creasing with confusion, Stiles rolls over.

A warm, calloused hand comes to rest at the base of his neck, kneading small circles into his skin. It drags up into his hair and Stiles feels the tension in his back and shoulders melting away along with the pounding in his head.

“You mojo’d me.” The words are almost lost in the pillow. “Thanks Der.”

Derek lets Stiles sleep and heads out to find a large bowl or bucket— just in case. By the time he returns, Stiles has already thrown the covers off and is lying sprawled in the middle of the bed. His skin still feels so hot to the touch and Derek realises that he’d probably thrown up before the pills had really had a chance to work. He’s not sure if he can give Stiles more medicine so soon and debates whether he should call Melissa to ask.

In the end he chooses the middle ground and sends a text. The reply comes through a few minutes later.

Melissa McCall (13:09PM): How long after taking the medication was he sick?

He’s not sure, but it hadn’t been long.

Derek (13:09PM): Maybe 20 minutes?

Melissa McCall (13:10PM): What’s his temp now?

Derek returns to the living room to retrieve the thermometer. He’s reluctant to wake Stiles again, but does it anyway, ignoring the grumble in favour of getting a temperature reading.

Derek (13:14PM): 102.1

Melissa McCall (13:16PM): Just make sure he keeps drinking water and let him rest. You can try again in a few hours. Text me if his temp goes over 103.

“You’re like a mother hen,” Stiles mumbles, blinking up at Derek. “I’ll be fine. Us fragile humans get sick all the time.”

“You’ve never been sick in the two years we’ve been dating,” Derek points out, setting down his phone. “And werewolves don’t get sick. I have no frame of reference for this.”

“You had humans in your pack.”

“I never had to take care of any of them. I was sixteen remember.” The memories are easier to talk about with the distance of time. “Anyway, Melissa said you need to stay hydrated. I’ll get you some water.”

Stiles nods wearily and but doesn’t sit up.

Derek returns with a glass, setting it down beside the bed.

“You good?”

The concern in Derek’s voice is endearing and Stiles finds himself smiling. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. Stiles spends most of it sleeping, occasionally woken by either Derek trying to get him to drink, or the cough that rattles in his chest. His temperature hovers around 102 for the rest of the evening, not going any higher, but not coming down much either.

Around dinner time, Derek gets another text from Melissa asking how Stiles is doing. Stiles has migrated back to the couch and is curled up under a blanket. He steals Derek’s phone to reply to Melissa that he’s fine and Derek is being a worrywart and ignores the dinner Derek has placed in front of him.

“Do you need to call in sick for tomorrow?” Derek asks.

“No work tomorrow.” Stiles puts the phone down. “And I can afford to miss a day of classes. I was going to give Scott a lift in though—I’ll text him later.”

Nodding, Derek queues up another movie and they watch TV until Stiles falls asleep on the couch. Derek wakes him just before nine pm for one last dose of medicine and sends him to bed.

Read the chapter 2 on AO3

[cecilspeaks]

161 - The Space Race

Space, the final frontier. The womb, the first frontier. Somewhere between those two, the ocean. Welcome to Night Vale.

I’m excited today for the annual Night Vale Children’s Fun Fact Science Presentation. Yess, that’s right! As we’ve done every year on this day, we will be devoting our entire episode to a scientific narrative that is sure to delight both the young and the young at heart. And also those who have stolen young hearts and incorporated them into your flesh sacks. For this year’s Children’s Fun Fact Science Presentations, we will be looking into the history of – the Space Race. Mmm! My husband Carlos has been helping me research this. Thanks, honey! And so it should be airtight and without error.

Now, the Space Race truly began in 1792, at a garden party hosted by the first Duke of Luftnarp one lazy July weekend. A bored group of noble people were sitting out in the garden in all their ruffles and wigs, looking absolutely fashionable for the time, and absolutely ridiculous to modern eyes. And soon the conversation turned, as it often does in parties, to how much they all hated the moon. “Stupid moon!” said one. “Lousy orb!” added another. “Why, I loathe that sky rock!” said a third. Then they started to throw things at the moon to demonstrate how much they hated it. But none of the objects they threw, not the champagne glasses, nor the decorative party masks, nor the dangerous knives, came anywhere near the moon. Most of the hurled items followed the tedious arch of gravity back into the party with mixed results for the attendees, some of whom required immediate medical attention. “This won’t do,” said the first Duke of Luftnarp. “We must hit the moon square on with our objects of derision. “Let us endeavour,” said the Prince of  York, “to build an object that can make it all the way to the moon, and smack that awful rock right across its ugly surface. The first one to do so will show that they indeed hate the moon the most.” There was general cheering to that remark, along with some moaning from those who had been struck by the falling objects. And thus, the Space Race was born.

And now the news. As I’m sure we’ve all been following, there is a presidential race going on. Yes, Night Vale may be a small town, mostly preoccupied with the banal goings on of our day to day life, but we are not unaware of national stories. Just like any other town, we have our own opinions on the presidential race. And spirited debates are held weekly in the Compressed Spine amateur boxing gym. Winner is generally by knockout, although occasionally a winner has to be chosen by points. I myself am a strong supporter of Spotless Tony, who I think has the best positions including banning guns, legalizing writing utensils, and Medicare for Spotless Tony. A-a program that would provide comprehensive health care to himself. Others may support Heartbreak Maggie, and I do see the arguments for her. She has the most number of arms, the most number of eyes, and her singing voice literally kills. In any case, I think we can all get together on one thing: Old Towel Leonard has got to go. Get him out of here, ugh! Old Towel Leonard! This has been the news.

And now traffic. Lift your eyes, pilgrims. See above you, another world awaits. This world has grown so tired. This world has grown restless. This world has less color and more dust. Lift your eyes, pilgrims. See above you, another world awaits. Get to that other world by any means, pilgrims. For what are pilgrims without their pilgrimage? What is anyone without a destination? You must lift yourself up to that other place. Gather your supplies, pilgrims. Strip this world bare in order to raise yourself up. Take every scrap around you and put it toward that other world. This is all that matters. It’s all that matters to you, and so it is all that matters. Aloft, pilgrims. You have done it. from here, the sweep of the universe presents itself. Cast down your eyes, pilgrims. See below you the world you left behind, the world you stripped bare to make this journey. There was found all the conditions of life. Up here is only a cold, lonely hollow. Why did you ever feel you needed to leave? But oh well, ooooh well. For what are pilgrims without their pilgrimage? This has been traffic.

Let us know continue with our Children’s Fun Fact Science Presentation. The history of the Space Race. The Space Race went on through the 18th and 19th centuries, with the rich and poor alike trying to be the first to successfully throw something at that horrible moon. The most obvious methods were quickly tried and discarded. Catapults only managed to cause collateral damage to neighboring homes, gunpowder only backfired on the scientists involved, often quite literally. One woman, the Arch Dutchess of the Motley Meadows, believed that she could reach the moon through dreaming. Every night, she performed a series of meditations that allowed her to have lucid control of her dreams. In those dreams, she would fly upward, each time getting a little closer to the dumb old moon. It was her belief that when she reached the moon in her dream, she would attain the same goal in real life. But the moment she finally touched the moon in her dream, she awoke to find herself in the stifling darkness of a coffin. It seems she had died several decades before, but still she dreamed. Having ascertained that there was no way back from the grave, she performed the meditations and fell into one final endless lucid dream. And that basically sums up the Space Race until 1953.

Now a word from our sponsors. Today’s show is brought to you by Borders Books and Music. Remember the old days when your legs were shorter, but your life stretched longer? When the shadows were less dark and the lights less bleary. When the internet was a secret club and not a poisoned chalice. When energy was a bottomless thing, not a quickly siphoned tank. We are what once was. Look on our works, both books and music, ye mighty, and peruse. Borders Books and Music. What you are now, we used to be. What we are now, you will be. This has been a word from our sponsors.

The lawsuit in the case of the estate of Franklin Chen versus the city of Night Vale continues apace. The suit is currently in the discovery phase, which has been made difficult by the fact that the apparent murderer of Franklin Chen, Hiram McDaniels, has not been seen in Night Vale for years. Not since… the incident. And all records in Night Vale are top secret. So every time the lawyers for the Chen family try to see one, they have to dodge the laser grid and tank darts that surround every filing cabinet in City Hall. Those lawyers have filed an injunction against the city to try to force them to turn the laser grids off, but as the official Night Vale motto, written by the town founders hundreds of years ago clearly states: “Laser grids or death”. More news on this lawsuit as news is made by this lawsuit.

Back to the Space Race. Affairs continued with little success until 1953, when the United States, descendants of the Prince of York, decided that enough was enough and established the North American Slap the Moon Agency, or NASA, dedicated to developing the skills and technology needed to give that horrible orbiter what for. Meanwhile, the Russians, descendants of the Duke of Luftnarp, started their own agency designed to kick the moon in the you know what. And so a bet between two bored aristocrats became a global race, as they both tried to be the first to aim missiles at that sad little planetoid. To represent us, we chose Neil Armstrong. He was a test pilot, and he reportedly hated the moon more than anyone. Above his bed, he kept a National Geographic picture of the moon. The caption: “Can this celestial trash ever be put in its place?”, which he had drawn a huge red X through. Below that, he wrote: “Darn you, moon!” Which was the strongest language that existed in the 1950’s.

Finally, all was prepared. Neil Armstrong and his fellow astronauts boarded the rocket. All was quiet. Then, all was loud. More soon, but now for this week’s word jumble.

The following nonsense words will, when the letters are rearranged, produce a simple phrase we all know well. Here we go. Before I went into the cave, the prospect of the cave became so monstrous in my head that I dreamt about it for weeks. In my dreams I was just outside of the cave and I knew that the moment I stepped into the cave, my life would be over. But I also knew I could not delay my journey into the cave. I shook and shook with fear, and in my shaking awoke myself. This happened night after night. Then came the day of our expedition and to my horror, as I stood outside the cave, the same dread certainty came to me as soon as I stepped one foot into the crevice before me, my life would be over. I shook and shook, but I did not awaken, for I was not asleep but in the terrible dream we call life. So there it is. Just take those nonsense words apart and rearrange them into the phrase we’re looking for. If you think you have the answer, you probably do. Great job! Uh, before we go, the answer to last week’s jumble was: “Hop! The window shakes slyly, look here!” Which is, of course, the title to Dave Edgar’s new book of essays about block chains. This has been this week’s word jumble.

We near the end of our story on the Space Race. Neil Armstrong and his comrades hunched in this tiny capsule that absurdity of absurdities was about to be launched through void to lifeless rock. Sweat on his nose, sweat on his lips. Then sweat in his mouth. This was all unnecessary, the-the history of humanity did not require us to physically touch everything there is, but. Some drive made him willing to risk his life, the only life he would ever get, in order to go far away and then come back again. There was a sound. There was a fire! There was pressure! And then, there was an absence of pressure. And they were at the moon. The lander careened its way to the surface. Neil, sweat still on his face, placed one foot on the moon. “I have a small foot,” he said. “But humanity metaphorically has big feet. Biiiig huuuge metaphoric feet.” History would record and repeat these poetic words. Neil looked about him. He had done it. He had been the first one to smack into this disgusting space rock. All around was grey, and above that black. And within that, unnervingly distant blue and green. And then, Neil saw.

What Neil saw in a moment. But we really should, and we really must Go to the weather.

[“Have a Smoke” by Head Portals https://headportals.bandcamp.com]

Neil’s breath made shapes on the inside of his helmet. Some part of him felt that it was not even him on the moon, but that he was merely watching someone else’s body through a little window. That other him stepped forward and saw something truly odd. It was a house. Solidly built, two floors, a front door and gable windows. As he looked at it in disbelief, he realized that it was one of many. An entire town all cleverly camouflaged from above with grey and black mesh, so that it would appear through telescopes to be merely the awful boring surface of the awful boring moon. He was not the first one on the moon after all. Who had come before? He walked through the town, tho it appeared abandoned. He stood in the middle of the main square and he said, tho he would not be able to be heard through his helmet and the thin atmosphere: “Hello?” In every window appeared an animal. Dogs, cats, snakes, hamsters, and parrots. So many animals all watching him silently, regarding him from the windows of their little town. One cat, grey as the moon itself, hopped from her ledge and came over to him. “I am Barbara Emmeline Gwendolyn Sauss,” said the cat. “But you may call me Barb-E-Q –Sauss.” Neil said: “You can talk?” And then he said, “Well, apparently you can, I don’t know why I asked. The cat continued as though he had not spoken. “This is our city. We are the lost pets of your world. We are lost, because that is what we choose to be. We came here so we could be lost forever. Tell no one.” Neil didn’t know what to say. All of his training had been about zero-G maneuvering and the best way to hit the stupid moon when he got there. Nothing about how to interact with a cat that wanted him to keep a secret. “Please,” the cat repeated, and Neil nodded. Not knowing what else to do, he went back to the lander, climbed in, and looked at the other man who had made this journey with him. Lee Marvin looked back at him with gentle eyes. “Lee,” Neil said, “You’re not going to believe this!” “A secret lost pet city on the moon?” Lee said. “Well…” Neil said, “Uh… yes!” Lee nodded thoughtfully. “Better leave them to it then,” he said. “Probably better we keep this between us.” Lee did not look surprised. It seemed to Neil that maybe Lee was there precisely to ensure that this secret was kept. And so again Neil only nodded, and they made their preparations and left. As they launched, out of the tiny window, Neil could just barely see thousands of animal eyes looking up at him. “I’ll keep your secret,” he whispered, “I’ll keep your secret. And he did. He never told anyone. Neither did Lee. No one knows this story. No one has ever heard it.

This has been the Children’s Fun Fact Science Presentation.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Correct placement from right to left: salad fork, soup spoon, salad spoon, bread knife, bowie knife, meat thermometer, entrée fork, and finally, the dessert claws.