#I came out of this with friends and kindness and gentleness and healthy rage. you died just as greedy and fake and paranoid as you lived.

[goldkirk]

.

[moonrisecalamityretreat]

Common Goals | Kazuo | Trial 5 | Re: Being sappy

Everyone had been saying their final words, preparing for the potential outcome that any of them could die… Yet one thing was certain, they all had a common goal to protect Yuriko in this case. As they apologized he offered his more gentle smile to them, placing his hands in his pockets as he let out a small chuckle.

“…You got us working together, didn’t you? You don’t got anything to apologize for, kid. We all want to see you live, and we’re gonna make sure you do. We’re all determined to see you get out of here in one-piece, okay?”

As everyone spoke kind words, some of them directed at him and others toward the group as a whole, it was clear Kazuo was struggling a bit. He didn’t look angered, but was more flustered to hear anything really like that. Turning his gaze away from the group for a moment as he kept quiet.

Of course that was until the voting results came into play, hearing they were right to an extent caused his eyes to go wide, realizing that it meant no one would be executed, a hopeful look for a brief moment… Until the two assholes ruined the moment of joy, stating that there would be an execution regardless. 

Whatever smile he had on his face was instantly destroyed, a furious look as he slammed his fist into his podium, raising his voice to get their attention.

“–YOU CAN’T FUCKING CHANGE THE RULES! If Mio fucking did it and we voted for it then we were right, no one needs to fucking die, we played by your goddamn rules and won it, so sit the fuck down and let us walk the hell away.”

…But even though he was yelling, he knew it wasn’t going to work out. They didn’t care in the end who lived or died, they just wanted to entertain themselves. It pissed him off even more, but Hanji’s words rang through his mind… No words left unsaid, there was no confirmation who would die, but he wanted to get his words out before it was too late.

“…Mikazuki, I understand you’ve been angry, trust me when I say I fucking get it more than you’d think… But letting your anger and rage cloud your senses won’t do jack-shit. The assholes behind this are going to fucking pay, but, revenge isn’t going to fix shit, you need to use that anger to protect the people you care about, which, I think you’ve been doing a damn good job on. Just be mindful.”

“…Tsuneo, you’re a fucking dumbass who did something stupid, your face is punchable and honestly? Almost fucking did a few times here… But you’re also someone who’s working to better himself, how the fuck can I be mad about that? You just said it yourself, you did all those things, but you learned from it. You might be fucking stupid, but, you’re a good person. Don’t lose that side of yourself, ever, okay?" 

”…Hayato, you always kept me the fuck up every goddamn night when you were healthy, talking about stupid shit I really didn’t care about and honestly I wanted to knock some goddamn sense in you for that… But when you were almost killed, I realized how much I appreciate the noise. You’re a good roommate, and a hero to a lot of people here… Continue to be that shining light that people need through the darkness here.“ 

”…Jinpachi, as you said we didn’t know each other as well as I would have liked as well. You had interest in the past shit I dealt with, but you weren’t rude about that bullshit, you didn’t pry on and on and on about it, unless I asked you if you wanted to hear shit… I respect that more than you really think, and it added a lot of respect for you. I think of you as a friend, as much as it might not fucking seem like it from how I act.“

”…Ken, you can’t give up. No matter who’s name gets called the hell out, you have to make sure you keep moving the fuck forward, and, if it’s you? Give them hell on the way out, make sure the bastards behind this feel the full force of what you can do. If we both make it out of here let’s train together, alright? ’s nice having a friend who can throw a fucking good punch.“ 

”…Futaba, when that whole reveal of you came out I didn’t understand it, I’m shit with technology in the long run, and, was more worried I’d somehow fuck up and break you or some shit. I didn’t care that you weren't human outside of that though. At the end of the day you’re your own goddamn person, and, a fucking good one at that. I’m happy to have met you, and, if we both make it out of here let’s keep in touch, okay?“

”…Loic, if I’m going to be honest? I’m happy I got to punch your stupid fucking face, it felt good at the moment… Especially since it let out the majority of the anger I felt in the last case, our talk afterwards helped me understand. You care about the people you love so much, you will do everything to ensure that the people you love are safe. If you’re the one who gets chosen, I’ll help figure out the shit we talked about, okay? If it’s me, then at least visit my grave to tell me about the progress, okay?“

Kazuo was starting to get a little emotional now, turning his gaze further away from the group. There were two more to go, then, one final message… He could do this, but emotions were always hard, especially when the next two were this important to him.

”…Hanji, it’s… Fucking funny how we avoided talking all the time, right? Scared to talk about the past, scared to think about the shit that happened… But then when we did, and we both cried our fucking eyes out, I realized that I needed that just as much as you did. We both… Bottled up so fucking much. Yet after we had that moment, I trusted you more by the second. You’re one of the few people who’ve seen me cry my goddamn eyes out, that should say how much I respect you. Thank you for everything, you’re a goddamn good friend.

“Yuriko. I’m glad you get to live, it’s as you said, we’ve been a team since the first goddamn day we got here. I’m just… Glad I got to help protect someone I care about for once. I’ve seen so many people who I cared about die over the years, and I was reaching a breaking point. But you helped me through that, your joy and care you gave was enough to help me work past that… I know you’ve lost so much, but, keep strong, okay? And no matter who dies just remember to keep moving forward, don’t give up on that shit okay, and, if it’s me go find Ritsuka, okay? She’ll help you move forward past all of this shit.”

There was a pause, scratching behind the back of his neck as he realized another thing, something he would have to trust in everyone to do for him.

“Speaking of her, uh…Tell Ritsuka I love her, I… Really struggle to get that shit out sometimes, due to how I am.. I think she knows but, at least make it clear okay? If we’re being sappy assholes I couldn’t leave her out of that. She means the world to me and I want her to know that much.” 

Taking in a deep breath, Kazuo nodded to the group once more, a determined look on his face.

“–I’m shit at this whole sappy-shit, so, sorry if that was terrible. No matter who goes I mean what I said though, I’m glad to have met you assholes.”

[tenebrius-excellium]

17 reasons why we love Douxie

Right, who knew I’d ever turn into a full-time Douxie blog? I didn’t know I loved him so much. It came very naturally. He’s the personality I’d want to marry, if I’m honest. There’s nothing boring or off-turning about him. He’s charming, caring, quick on his feet, and imaginative. Judging from fandom content, I’m not the only one who loves our bean. So here’s a few reasons why Douxie is so great! ♥

................................................................................................................

1. He has a vision.

He has big goals and a clear intent of where he wants to go in life. It speaks of determination and a broad, open mind. That’s super attractive.

2. He is hard-working and committed to bettering himself.

He disciplines himself and is serious about his eagerness to learn. “And what sort of life would that be?” Those words really stuck with him.

3. He is humble.

He doesn’t think himself above correction. He listens to wisdom and applies it.

4. He’s a natural charmer.

He’s smooth and juuust a tiny bit of a show-off.

5. He’s confident about his capabilities.

He trusts in himself and does not overestimate himself when it counts. What he lacks in skill, he knows he will be able to make up for in spontaneity (and luck).

6. He doesn’t shy away from danger.

He is brave and loyal to his cause and to the people who are important to him. He will stand up for his loved ones and defend them. He’s stubborn like that.

7. He learns on the go.

He is not a book smart, but learns things fast by putting them into practice. He is a quick thinker who knows to use his surroundings to his advantage, which makes him a flexible, versatile fighter.

8. He’s a pure, innocent soul.

He doesn’t have any nasty thoughts or gross habits. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and he has sentiment for what he loves. He couldn’t harm a bug. You guys, that was all just in the first episode.

9. He is polite, diplomatic, and stays collected in precarious situations.

He doesn’t blindly take charge, but instead listens, observes, mediates and delegates.

10. He is kind and considerate of others. And he cares so, so much.

He is gentle, sensible and sensitive. He is an empath who identifies a lot with other people’s emotions. He can understand their problems easily and reacts with great care. He is comforting, helpful, optimistic, encouraging and hopeful. He is not dismissive, raging, or loud, but a great listener who cares a lot.

11. He loves unconditionally. 

He doesn’t repay evil with more evil, or is unkind to others just because his own day isn’t going great. Instead, he always pays kindness forward, so much that others are impressed by it.

12. He is generous.

He goes out of his way to do nice things he doesn’t have to. Heck, he’d never tell Steve to his face how annoying he finds him, but is totally supportive of his Knight career instead. Douxie makes friends easily and everywhere he goes. This also makes him a great teacher who it’s fun to learn with.

13. Although spontaneous, he is well-prepared for unexpected turns of events.

He is not gullible, naive or foolish, but makes plans whenever possible and has his bracelet equipped with all necessary functions that come in handy in close combat. He isn’t afraid to take matters in his own hands and present a good idea.

14. He loves what he does and is actually amazing at it. He loves life.

The freedom we see him gain when he learns to unashamedly be himself is absolutely beautiful to watch.

15. He is honest about facing facts, but he doesn’t give up on people.

He won’t lie to people about inconvenient truths, but he is also passionate about helping them. Any people for that matter. Be it family, or strangers, or friends. He’d go to any length to assist them, and that’s something he promises. In fact, it’s something he says over and over: “Trust me.” And trust he earns. 

16. He is shattered by the unfairness and grief in the world.

He lets those things touch him. He’s not emotionally distant, but lets these things affect him as raw and deeply as they come. He works through them, and gathers strength through his close relationships. That’s super healthy. He’s conscious of his flaws and weaknesses, and in tune with the knowledge that processing loss takes time. He’s okay with crying, and sitting with the weight of the hurt. That’s not a thing many men are able do, if you ask me. 

17. He’s at peace with himself.

He’s ready to die for his friends. And he’s completely okay with that. He may be afraid in the moment, but he stands bold and tall and doesn’t fear what’s to come.

He’s amazing. ♥

[chaozsilhouette]

A Father’s Love

Another piece for @winterpower98's Swap Au.

I don’t really have a time frame for this scene, but with all the horror MK has had to endure in this AU I couldn’t help myself. I just needed a bit of fluff to break up my writing. Plus, I am all for Tang showing just how much he loves MK and being a protective father figure.

The poor boy needs a break, but we all know it won’t last.

_____________________________

“Well now, aren’t you a stubborn human.” Sun Wukong mused as he took in the one who dared to separate him from his creation.

The ground was split in a dozen directions. Craters dotted the landscape. The scent of volatile magic soaked the air. Yet, in the center of all this was a small circle of undisturbed land where his boy and the human stood unharmed.

The human didn’t look particularly impressive. If he had to guess, somewhere in his early to late thirties. He was obviously healthy but still suffered from the weaknesses all humans share. No, what truly caught his attention was the strangest sensation he knew this human. Almost as if the golden fillet was readying itself by his mere presence.

The human’s talent in magic was nothing to scoff at. Admittedly, it was nothing he couldn’t brush off, but seeing a human wielding so much raw power was supposed to be nearly impossible in this modern age. However, defying the odds here one stood before him trying to keep him from one of his treasures.

He was not alone in his curiosity. The Monkey King watched as MK stared at the bespeckled man in utter surprise.

“Since when could you do that?!” The newly revealed monkie demon all but screeched.

“Not too long.” The scholar cryptically stated.

His annoyance at the lack of an answer freed Mk of his fear. Just enough to swallow his need to be supported during this horrible moment and say what needed to be said. “You’ve got to run! Forget about me and get the others to safety!”

“I’d listen to my son if I were you, human.” The tyrant stated with a cocky smirk. “Since he’s started to learn his lesson about where he belongs I can be generous. You can take all your friends back home to rest up and we can continue another day.”

With a trembling hand, MK desperately gripped Tang’s pant leg. Praying that his love would be translated behind his pathetic display. “Please. I can’t see you get hurt because of me.” They were the kindest people he ever had the pleasure of knowing. He couldn’t bear knowing they got hurt trying to save him. The only reason they were in this crisis was because of him. If he hadn’t been so weak...

If he didn’t allow himself to be used, Wukong would still be trapped.

“Mk, you know I can’t leave anyone behind to suffer this tyrant’s hospitality.” The word was hissed out with more venom than a viper pit. “Especially not after learning of Macaque’s past.” Tang adjusted his stance so his side now supported the youth. His fingers twitched randomly, his eyes remained locked onto the armored demon. “Besides, we both know Mei would gut the two of us if we even think of considering it.”

It made no sense. They were in the presence of a being that filled the nightmares of all, from the lowliest human to celestial kings, yet young simian couldn’t help but smile. “Good point.” Compared to the Monkey Tyrant the young dragon was an insect, but she had earned the fear that accompanied her ire.

“Such a touching display. But do you really think you will be able to give him what he needs? That others will accept who he really is? You can say you love him until the sun blows up, but it will never change the fact he is me.” The Monkey King’s smile showed nothing but cruel amusement, but his tail betrayed his fraying patience.

“Do you take me for a fool? It doesn’t matter what he looks like, where he came from, or how he started out. He is my Son! And I refuse to let anyone abuse his kind heart ever again!”

Two hands slammed into the ground with unnatural force. Mystic runes and circles filled the air as the battlefield was bathed in a gentle yellow light. Golden ropes wrapped around the Tyrant as the earth formed a five-sided fortress around him. Symbols were burned into each side, somehow not concealing the burning rage from Sun Wukong’s enraged expression.

With that done, Tang grabbed MK’s hand and ran knowing full well both their lives depended on it. “Come on! That won’t distract him for long.”

Or at all. They hadn’t cleared five meters before they started to rocks crumble and mystic bindings viciously snap.

Somehow the two of them were able to reunite with Macaque and Mei in order to get some much-needed distance without any major obstacles. It was silently agreed that the Moneky Tyrant had let them leave. Why? They didn’t want to think about it. All they could do was patch themselves up and think of a new plan.

_____________________________

Pigsy treated them all to a delicious meal, after yelling at the four of them for tangling with the Monkey King. About how they could have gotten killed and berating them for thinking about leaving them behind. Tang was certain Pigsy’s volume was the only reason Macaque looked uncomfortable.

That night they all stayed with Sandy. It was agreed that they should stick together until the heat dies down. Mei stepped out to call her parents to warn them about ... everything. While Macaque had essentially taken over as her father figure it didn’t mean her birth parents were no longer a target. Macaque aided Sandy in setting up the spare rooms. Piggy was just cleaning up dinner and preparing a few things for breakfast.

Leaving Tang to begin creating wards to hang around the boat and MK to uncomfortably sit as he stared at the scholar.

“Why did you do that?”

Tang pushed up his glasses, looking more grave than the teen ever recalled seeing.

“I was preparing that spell the moment I opened my mouth. I figured after that outburst it was only a matter of time before he got bored playing nice and when for the kill. Despite what movies would make you believe, talking is not a free action.” His precious disciples learned that lesson the hard way.

“No. I mean...when you said all that stuff, did you really mean it? You view me as a son?” MK could barely get the last word out. It felt like all of this was just a wonderful dream and when he awoke he’d be back on Flower Fruit Mountain.

Tang set down his brush to fully face the demon. “Of course, I mean it. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.” He poured his entire soul into that truth, a fact he was proud to scream to the heavens.

“Even when I look like this?” Sharing the same face of the demon who caused so much pain and suffering. He could barely stand it, but the thought of continuing to live in his human form just felt even more unbearable. He was tired of lies. Tired of being used.

“So you look like a demon monkey, big deal." Tang waved off the concern, regaining his trademark confident sass. "Last I checked, we are close with several demons one of which is a rather famous monkey. At your core, you are still the same MK we grew to know and care about. You may have started out as Wukong’s clone, but you have come a long way since then.”

Seeing that the boy was still unconvinced, Tang wrapped his arms around the child’s shoulders and brought him in for a hug. “You will always have a place with me, with any of us. You are loved and appreciated, Xiǎotiān. Never forget that.” Circles were slowly traced on his back as shaky breathing gradually evened out.

Xiǎotiān nuzzled his father’s neck. Taking in the scent of aged paper, ink, and tea. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“Of course.” Gentle fingers slowly combed through his hair.

The world was falling into the depths of madness, but in this moment Xiǎotiān could deceive himself into believing everything would work out.

[bowiebond]

"Love at second sight"

As IronHusbands, for the prompts!

TW Mention of substance abuse

When Tony Stark first saw James Rhodes, fresh faced with not a lick of scruff at fifteen and a stolen drink in hand as faceless people spoke to him about nothing important, he didn’t dare look away.

When James Rhodes first saw Tony Stark, under terribly dim lighting of a party and in a tailored outfit that was a stark contrast to his own terribly faded science joke shirt, he couldn’t look away.

Tones saw Rhodey, Rhodey saw Tones, and there wasn’t a moment during MIT where they looked away from each other, not really.

Rhodey kept his gaze on Tony, kept his focus on the younger as they sketches a million unused blueprints, as Tony seemed to look everywhere else for praise and desire, as Tony avoided sleep for days on end on a caffeine high.

Tony let his eyes follow Rhodey, let the constant distraction orbit around his brain as he admired the shiny stars in Rhodey’s eyes when he aced test after test, as he stumbled in smelling too much like his dad after a party but simply caressed his head and let the younger get him into bed. He let his own eyes sparkle like passing comets when Rhodey praised his work, when he treated Dum-E like more than a robot.

“You know, that boy is always staring at you, Jimmy baby.” Mama Rhodes would muse when Rhodey would bring Tony to thanksgiving, and Rhodey would always laugh.

“Tones is always trying to guess my next move, I like to stay unpredictable.”

“You’re plenty predictable, sweetheart. It came with a healthy dosage of stubbornness.” His Mama would pinch his cheek and shoo him off and Rhodey would forget his own excuses.

Then one day, they’re both forced to look away. Rhodey can’t look at Tony when he’s raging, when he’s breaking his beautiful creations like they’re offending him, when he’s screaming himself hoarse.

Tony can’t look at anyone. He can’t see anything but grief and pain and anger. He drowns his vision in booze and drugs and shades the outside world with a pair of sunglasses so he can’t see them and they can’t see him.

Rhodey tries to step back into view, to catch his eye, but Tony simply blocks him.

So Rhodey leaves. He has a life, he has promise, and he refuses to be undermined or forgotten as he climbs the ranks.

It’s almost a year later when his phone rings.

“This is James Rhodes. Who is this?” The number is unknown but he feels it in his gut.

“Rhodey. It’s uh… it’s Tony.”

“What a surprise. Didn’t you block my number? And you know, just, kicked me aside in general?” He doesn’t want to sound petty, or even angry, but he is. Or maybe he isn’t. Maybe he’s just tired. He feels tired talking to Tony, hearing his voice. He feels heavy with exhaustion and longing.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Shit.” Tony sounds on the verge of crying, but it’s different from the crack in his voice when he lost his parents. “Rhodey, I’m sorry. I’ve been a dick. Am a dick. I just — can you do me a favour?”

“You’re asking a lot, all things considered.” Rhodey intones.

“It’s… Hanukkah.” Tony sighed. “Spend it with me? Please. I can’t — it’ll be the first without them, and I can’t, Rhodey, I can’t—“

“Okay.” Rhodey cuts him off before he can blabber.

“Okay?”

“I’ll be there.” Rhodey doesn’t lie. He takes leave and he comes to Tony’s front door with a simple suitcase. When Tony sees him again, doe brown eyes unveiled from his usual frames, Rhodey feels like he’s being seen for the first time by Tony since Howard and Maria’s death.

Tony’s eyes fill with tears and he wraps he arms around Rhodey like he might disappear, but it’s warm and Rhodey has been cold for too long. Both of them have been.

When Tony steps back and feels Rhodey’s eyes, his entire chest blooms with hope and warmth and it’s melting away the walls so quickly it should be terrifying.

“I’ve missed you, Rhodey.”

“I can tell, crybaby. You light a candle for me yet, Tones?” Rhodey says instead but it’s filled with fondness that sets Tony’s anxieties at ease.

“Not a single one. You know I can’t be trusted with fire, platypus.” Tony grins and it’s infectious.

“I’ll supervise.”

They light the first candle of the menorah together and it’s like the spark of something new between them.

It’s the same routine. They celebrate and they laugh like old times, and Tony only drinks a Rhodey measured amount as they watch sci-fi films — critiquing them violently and practically yelling on top of each other to get their points across before bursting into laughter over movie science — and build a volatile machine that explodes paint and dust when Dum-E gets involved. They spend a good hour chasing the bot in order to clean him off.

It’s sweet and warm like s’mores and they can’t keep their eyes off one another. On the final night of Hanukkah, Rhodey asks him to come home for Christmas the coming week with his family.

It’s sitting on the porch of his childhood home with Tony that he realises.

“You know, Mama always said you liked fo stare at me.”

“What? That’s absurd. I don’t stare.” Tony grumbled.

“But you do watch me. I always figured you were trying to stay one step ahead like the genius you are.” It’s a curious statement, branching out into an almost question, and Tony bites.

“You’re predictable, honey bear. I don’t have to be a genius to stay one step ahead.” Tony snorted.

“So why do you watch me then, huh?” Rhodey grins, turning to look at his best friend.

“I… I didn’t get to for a long time. I kind of— I messed up after my parents died. I wasn’t the best to you, never really have been. Probably never will be.” Tony shrugged weakly.

“You didn’t handle it well. You self destructed. And, yeah, it hurt. To see you like that, and also to know I couldn’t really help.” Rhodey sighed. “You stopped looking at me. I think that was the worst part.”

“I stopped…looking at you?” Tony took a moment to digest his words before huffing a laugh. “I stopped looking at you. I stopped looking at everyone. And I forced you to stop looking me in turn, didn’t I?”

“Sure did.”

“I’m so stupid.” Tony smiled even as he spoke, bittersweet.

“I think it was for the best though.”

“Yeah?” Tony turned his gaze onto Rhodey and admired the soft porch light highlighting his defined cheeks and broad nose.

“Yeah. Never would have gotten to see you in a different light if I hadn’t… looked away. I needed a double take.” Rhodey’s deep brown eyes met Tony’s and his grin grew. “Love at first sight — it’s kind of overrated, huh?”

“Lo…” The tiny creases in Tony’s face smoothed with realisation. “Love at second sight? That’s not how it’s supposed to go, honey bear.” Amusement made his eyes shower with comets and Rhodey laughed, his own glistening with stars as he leant in and pressed a gentle kiss to Tony’s lips.

Tony found he was fine with being distracted by Rhodey, and would be fine with it forever, honestly.

Rhodey had a simpler desire. He just never wanted to look away from Tony again.

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

May I request something where Leonardo and reader are really good friends and reader gets kidnapped and turned into a mutant. Leo blames himself, but reader reassures him it’s not his fault and they end up kissing. 💙💙

I'm To Blame [Leo x Mutated!reader]

Being turned into a mutant becomes the least of your problems when your closest friend believes it to be his fault. No one could have predicted what was going to happen; no one can control everything in their life. If only Leonardo would have realized that.

It started as leverage-abduction. The Turtles confront them, or you be pumped full of mutagen. Or worse.

The bait had been set, and the boys had no choice but to take it. Hook, line, sinker. You were held in a Foot-controlled lab, bound next to a glass canister of the ooze, a line in your arm and only the clan scientist in control of the drip standing between you and a possibly grotesque fate. You struggled and squirmed, but it was no use; there was no escape on your own.

There was a crash outside the lab doors, men shouting, guns firing, but bursting through the doors were your four saviors. Your friends, allies, and family. Leo fought his way to the front, a new kind of urgency consuming him as the gravity of the situation hit him. Any closer, and you would be mutated.

"Halt!" a soldier shouted over the clamor, a team of heavily armed men forming a semicircle around you and the scientist.

A hand grabbed hold of the back of your neck, yanking you toward him. He forcefully stretched your arm out and displayed the tube, making a note of their predicament, and the boys grimaced. Raph growled that deep, rage-fuelled rumble, while Donnie felt a shudder run up his spine seeing the canister of mutagen. What DNA the concoction was infused with, they had no idea of. There could have been anything in there. If the dosage wasn't carefully monitored, she could be killed!

"Weapons down, turtles, or this girl will be transformed right in front of you," the scientist said coolly. Leo stepped forward, blade drawn and teeth bared, but a warning shot was fired into the wall next to them. Mikey yelped and ducked into Raph, who blocked him partially with his huge frame. The scientist leaned down and inspected the canister, humming, "It seems like this batch is highly unstable. Is this a game you want to play, mutants?"

"You're bluffin'," snarled Raph, and his hands gripped his sais impossibly tighter.

The scientist raised his brows, his free hand wandering to the activator to the mutagen. One tap of a button, and your humanity would be ripped away. "Perhaps. But can you really be sure?" he inquired almost casually. "Only one flex of my finger, and we'll see."

Clenching his jaw, Raph shifted, lowering his weapons a little.

Leo mentally gauged the man power that was currently present. They could take them, he knew they could!

But Leo couldn't trifle with the canister currently attached to you. Breathing heavily, he dropped his swords, which clanged loudly on the floor. His eyes met yours, solemn, and you broke into a violent fit.

"Leo!" you cried out, lunging forward as he told his brothers to stand down. "Don't do this! Please, please, get out of here!"

He only shut his eyes, and with a wave of his hand, they all let go of their weapons in succession.

"We're not going to leave you!" Donnie yelled in return, his voice shaky.

There was a deafening silence in which it felt like a standoff, the boys panting, trying to formulate a battle plan in their heads. Leo stared at the scientist with one of the most hate-filled gazes you'd ever witnessed.

One of the soldiers in the back turned halfway around and whispered something into his earpiece.

The hefty metal doors right behind them flung open, a line of large men clad in black carrying what looked like modified cattle prods. The rods popped with electric currents as they closed in on the boys, who were only able to whirl around quick enough to meet the electrified weapons, and were instantly stunned. Currents no human could withstand brought them to their knees, Mikey shouting shrilly as he fell forward.

Groaning, Leo kneeled. He turned to the scientist at your side, his eyes darting between you and him. "You got us. Now let her go," he said. His voice was low and raspy.

Hand hovering over the button, the scientist spoke while he looked you in the eye, "You know, we were short of a healthy test subject."

Mikey gasped and planted his palms on the floor, "You can't do that, man!"

The scientist sighed and looked down at you, who was wildly struggling against your restraints. He muttered in a matter-of-fact tone, "But I can." It seemed that after a moment of contemplation, eyes going out of focus as they fell on your face and the tears running down it, he let out a reluctant groan, and motioned to one of the men behind him. "Take her elsewhere. We'll figure out what to do with her once we get these," he glanced back at the turtles, "squared away. Clear?"

"That wasn't the deal!" roared Leo, rapidly surging toward the scientist. Another electric shock was sent through him, but he kept on, and the brothers all followed suit.

You winced as the clamor rose and all hell broke loose, the boys ripping their weapons away from the men, guns being fired—your ears rang and a bullet even whizzed by your head.

Leo came at the scientist with his blade, the cowardly man trying to duck away in time. Two soldiers came up on their flank, one with a semi-automatic, and the other brandishing the electric rod. Except before they could get close to even shock him, Mikey's nunchucks landed a heavy blow on one of their heads, causing him to stumble toward you.

And fell right onto the button.

"No!" you heard both Donnie and Leo scream as the drip was activated, Mutagen flowing through the tube and into your body.

Everything became a blur. Within minutes you mutated, firstly writhing on the floor in agony as the burning liquid coarsest through you. Bones shifted, tissue changed, muscles spasmed. Your senses were temporarily blinded.

"Idiots!" snarled the scientist, backing away from you as you transformed. Raph was occupied holding off the soldiers. Mikey couldn't bear to watch. Donnie didn't know what to do, and Leo was...devastated.

Your strength grew. You broke free from your restraints. The firefight continued, this time aimed at you rather than just the Turtles. But the boys wouldn't let them hurt you. In your panic, you'd almost attacked them—your family. Leo hollered at Donnie and Mikey to get you out of there while they covered you, and seconds later, you were all barrelling out of the facility, alarms blaring, guns sounding, men shouting.

Yes, the Mutagen was highly unstable. You couldn't control yourself. And your body, it wasn't done reacting to the ooze.

You didn't know what happened next. You fell unconscious just after escaping. The last thing you can remember is Leo catching you in his arms. Him helping to carry you back home, to the lair. Your new home. You were one of them, now.

Breathing labored, you sat up on the metal table you had been laid on by Donnie. He'd checked your vitals already. Needless to say, so early in your mutation, things were not looking the best. But you would pull through; he was sure of it.

The first face you sas upon waking up was Leo's, worried. His eyes flitted all over you. You hadn't yet seen yourself.

"Y/N," he whispered, hands bracing against the edge of the table. "This...this is my fault," he said.

Donnie scuttled by holding a light and examined your eyes, then asked you to move a bit to see if there were any anomalies such as paralysis. You had some trouble adjusting to your new form, but so far, it wasn't dire.

Everyone came and went, hugging you, saying their piece about how happy they were that you were okay—as okay as you could have been—until Splinter noticed Leo's distress. He told the boys to let you two have a minute alone. Splinter left himself, as well.

The two of you now alone, Leo had a hard time speaking. He couldn't quite find the words to say how sorry he was.

"This isn't your fault," you drawled, still feeling a little loopy from the whole ordeal.

He leaned in, as you couldn't do much beside sit up. "If you hadn't ever gotten involved with us, this would have never happened," he said, lowering his head. "And now you're…"

He paused, and you finished for him, "I'm what? A mutant?" you asked softly. "Leo, I am so lucky to be alive. And it's all thanks to you." He sighed, not believing your words. "They would have killed me, Leo," you added, and took his hands in yours. He looked up at you, blue eyes meeting your own. Had your eye color changed?

"You didn't deserve this," he swallowed.

"Does anyone?"

He stood up. "This happened because I failed, y/n! As a leader, as a friend—"

Not caring about your current state, you slid off the table, landing on your feet with a thud. Your body ached, but you payed it no mind. Leo went rigid as you closed the gap between you two.

Still holding his hands, you told him slowly, "It is not your fault."

Your faces were only a few inches from each other. Unknowing, he gripped your hands. You swore that you could almost hear his heartbeat picking up as you leaned in, lips hovering over his. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but you stopped that thought. "You understand? Not...your...fault…"

His breath hitched when you gently pressed your mouth to his, at first going completely still. But then he closed his eyes, and his arms found their ways around your torso. The kiss was short and gentle, but he was stricken—only when you parted did he whisper a moment later, a new kind of hope inside, "You can live here, with us. You don't have to worry. You shouldn't ever have to worry, y/n."

"I won't worry, Leo," you muttered, letting your head rest on his chest. "Not when you're here with me."

He held you until eventually, everyone filed back in, Splinter smiling warmly at the sight.

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

previously on...

Witchy stuff! Disclaimer: I am not a witch so please do not take my theory of theory seriously. This has been taken off first page of Google, which is where I did my research. First ironstrange x reader interaction & tony being sweet and stephen radiating wife energy.

fun fact: the moodboards are just chapter spoilers without context.

Whatever protection spell the book had, it was nuclear. Burn cream didn't do much in terms of numbing the pain; I had to wear gloves throughout my shift at the café, self-conscious about the skin peeling off my palms and the light, sensitive fingertips. Saying that the day was hellish would have been too kind.

My spirits were briefly lifted when one of my favourite mad scientists walked in, nose buried in a StarkPad - his chattier, more confident friend nowhere to be seen. Doctor Bruce Banner lifted his eyes from his work only to give a brief, polite smile and mumble his order, immediately resuming the poking of the screen.

"You forgot something last time," I couldn't suppress the grin. Sometimes routine was nice, comfortable. The napkin with unintelligible scribbles and formulas in my hand was transferred to Banner's pocket with a shy smile and a reddish tint to his cheeks, as if he didn't find himself in this very situation more often than not. "Is Mr. Stark okay?" I voiced my concerns, having noticed the recent, acute absence of the rowdy man in the café. Dr. Banner rarely came here alone and it was more of a telling exception than anything.

"Oh, Tony? Yes, he's fine," the scientist nodded absentmindedly. "He's on a small vacation with his boyfriend," the last part was said with puzzlement and incredulity and I had to remind myself that a forty-something scientist was unlikely to possess at least a halfway decent gaydar. I mean, I would have eaten my shoe if Tony Stark was 100% straight.

The fact that Tony having a boyfriend surprised Dr. Banner, who appeared to be one of Mr. Stark's best friends, was quite funny to me. "Good for him, he deserves it after saving the world, like, a bajillion times," I replied honestly, attempting to hide my good-natured snicker at Banner's obliviousness. Scientists, they just are a different breed, man.

The perplexion melted off Banner's face, leaving only supportive contentment. "That is correct," he nodded confidently, exchanging a bill for his matcha. "Thank you. And, uh, congrats on your new job," he added with another one of his not-quite shy smiles.

My cheerfulness vacated the premises shortly afterwards as I struggled to keep up with the endless stream of customers all the while my hands throbbed and burned under the nitrile gloves. I was ready to call it a day and just tell Jeremy I had an accident, but my pride wouldn't let me. I arrived at Odette's feeling less than stellar, running purely on spite and several cups of espresso.

It went about as good as expected, select few customers growing clouds over their heads at the slow pace I was assembling their orders: the fact that even witches had Karens of their kind was a fact that I found both amusing and alarming. It wasn't particular comfortable, knowing that I, or any other wait staff, was always at risk of being cursed for bringing them the wrong kind of cake or messing up their white suburban mom coffee.

"You could have asked, you know," Odette's slow drawl startled me out of the trance I'd put myself in to avoid focusing on the discomfort. "Come here, girl, I'll take care of it."

My face heated up immediately as I realized the tender skin of my grubby little hands was on full display. Odette must've put two and two together, seeing my sins written all over my scarred hands and my guilty face. Not wanting to invoke a negative reaction and get on her scary bad side, I let myself obediently trot into her office.

"I, uh," the eloquence of my speech - spectacular. I was ready to fall through the floor out of of shame.

"It happens sometimes," a round jar of what looked like buckwheat honey landed on the table. Odette massaged the thick gel into my palms with gentle circular motions, shushing my hums of pain in-between. "The book called for me in the same way it called to you. The only difference, it was my grandmother's at the time so the protection wards did not go off because I was family." My eyebrows rose at the calm in Odette's voice. Composed as ever, the witch looked more amused than upset by my little snooping stint.

The pain in my hands disappeared completely, a cool sensation I could only describe as minty enveloping them and spreading throughout my body. The chill was pleasant - I hadn't even realized my body had been running on higher-than-usual temperatures ever since I touched the book. Those protection wards Odette spoke of, they really packed a punch!

"I will teach you," she must've interpreted my stunned silence as curiosity, having made up her own mind in the seconds I was basking in my newfound relief. "We'll start slow. The transition from the material world into the spiritual isn't easy," Odette warned, locking her fingers, her magnetic eyes commandeering mine for utmost attention. "But it is incredibly rewarding. If you follow the rules, you will prosper. Our kind isn't plentiful these days, with people praying to gods that condone greed and selfishness," her lip curled in distaste. "Each one of us can make a large difference in this world. The opportunities you have been given need to be taken seriously."

My lip caught between my teeth as I mulled over the words my boss spoke with so my concern and conviction. Nothing in her speech sounded amiss; sure as she was, I was still mercifully given a choice. Odette's aura, that used to seem suffocating and dense, grew around me into a non-physical hug, a comfort akin to a mother supporting her child taking their first steps.

I eyed the sixty-something year-old, tall, imposing woman, scanning her for any deceitfulness, exhilaration and wariness sitting on my shoulders and whispering into my ears. True to myself, I gave into the side that craved and lived for adventure. "I would love to learn," hoping my voice conveyed the excitement and hopefulness of being a part of something special.

Odette smiled kindly. "I knew that," with a chuckle to herself, she reached into a set of drawers and extracted a few worn, plain notebooks. "Homework," the wink she threw at me instantly took ten years off her face. I couldn't even bring myself to sigh, only the sludge still covering my palms preventing me from making grabby hands in the direction of new information.

The bell rang before I could make another comment and I was let go with the instructions to wash my hands - and that's exactly what I did, having noted the short Asian man impatiently tapping his foot next to the front desk.

The man's name was Wong and he was the sole reason for my uncontrollable flares of temper during my work hours at the bodega. Odette herself avoided him like the plague, and for a good reason: his attitude was nothing short of conceited, as if the weird robes that he wore were some kind of a hall-pass to be a demanding asshole when it came to the store's wares.

Wong could spend up to forty minutes inspecting the baggies containing herbs and other knick-knacks, meticulously picking out what he considered best and curtly insulting the items he found to be lacking in quality. I was made aware he belonged to some sort of a sect or a cult of honest-to-god wizards; as if him looking like a worker of the Ministry of Magic didn't make that fact obvious. I was unpleasantly surprised at the fact that even witches, much like doctors, had elitist pricks among their kind - and Odette had the audacity to simply vanish whenever one of those robed people set foot in the shop, leaving me to use all my mental strength to try and not strangle the wannabe Karens.

I was willing to bet my favourite star-patterned scarf that Wong hexed the waiters who made him wait longer that he considered appropriate. I just knew it.

The anger, the frustration and at times, blind, total rage came in useful - and that was a surprise to me. According to Odette's notebooks, everyone had the potential to master magick - to an extent, each individual's threshold was, well, individual - but the more a witch was in tune with her emotions, her feelings, the higher the success rate of her spells grew.

The notebooks contained enough information for me to understand that Odette was considered a High Priestess (not to be confused with Head of the Coven - not all witches wanted to be a part of those) and the amount of power she held was quite impressive. No, she couldn't turn back time, she couldn't raise the dead; the people she helped and healed were, oftentimes, made well at the expense of her own life energy. It was an endless cycle of emptying a glass and refilling it back up. The deities lended a hand with that.

Some time after I'd gone through the theory, Odette encouraged me to choose a direction I was to study in depth; much like her, I was interested in the defensive rather than the offensive. Healing spells, protection wards and the occasional light hex to deter enemies from reoffending: I was disappointed but not surprised to learn the fact that curses and serious harm done to other people quite often backfired, harming the caster themselves as well as their victim.

I had always believed in karma, to a healthy extent, but these days I was that much more aware of how I treated those around me. That's not to say I became a pushover - I simply chose to smile rather than frown at the world and replaced my longing and envy with a sense of gratitude towards the things I already possessed. Just like Odette had said, layering the spiritual values over my material, earthly ones wasn't easy - it was hard work, and what prevented me from stopping when I felt exhausted was that it actually paid off.

As I got ready to cast my first serious spell, I ran through a mental checklist of things I developed - of sorts. Positive vibes only. Having vengeful intentions when warding off potential harm-doers was not only dangerous, it was counterproductive. Intentions mattered the most when casting a spell and I could end up killing all the innocent, stray cats in the area instead of making a burglar choose the neighbouring building some five months down the line.

The spell, I considered to be a success. The atmosphere in my home lightened, the dingy walls of my rental started radiating comfort and safety I hadn't felt since moving out of my parents' home. A slight tiredness persisted for a few days after the last candle burned out; Odette reassured that it was perfectly normal as I was a baby witch and my energy channels were adapting, growing to accommodate my newfound awareness and flow of cosmic energies that I was training to harness.

Next on my list was a personal protection charm, an antique silver locket adorned with stars I had scavenged in a local pawn shop. Odette had given me instructions on how to cleanse potential magical conductors: the amount of rings and jewelry she wore directly correlated to the power of a singular spell she could cast. There was a fine hairline between charging your accessories and letting them drain you and I learned to walk South of it the hard way, but as all learning processes go, eventually I found my middle ground and was successful.

My daily routine grew small rituals like the forest trees grew moss. Slow and steady, I was transitioning from a curious baby witch into a self-sufficient practitioner of magic. Sounds crazy, I know, coming from someone who could barely believe into aliens until Thor himself had walked into the coffee shop and ordered a latte, but as all things do in life - I changed.

Working the morning shift allowed me to discreetly place a few of the good-luck charms I had made during my most recent creative stint. While they didn't have a direct effect on the customers or their tipping habits, the atmosphere on the cafe's premises had lightened enough that even Jeremy's usually sour face tipped more towards neutral these days.

The smile blossomed on my face without effort as I caught the tell-tale bespoke suit and sunglasses of the man waltzing through the doors of the café as if he owned the place. "Nice to see you, Mr. Stark. Enjoy your vacation?" I asked the smirking man, giving a respectful once-over to the tall, lithe man holding onto his shoulder.

"It's Tony," the happiness was radiating off him in waves. "Missed my favourite coffee shop and the world's nicest barista," he winked at me, causing the man behind him snort, steely blue eyes studying me in turn. "Had to introduce my two favourite people," the engineer took a step back, parting his arms with a flourish gesture. "Stephen, Starlight. Starlight, Stephen," he spoke before rattling off his usual order. And a cake on top.

I gave an amused grin to the man obviously humoring his significant other, as Stephen mock-bowed in my direction. "You're right, how could we be together without the approval of your favourite barista?" Stephen had his wits. I decided I definitely liked him. "Starlight? Is that a nickname or were your parents hippies?" Okay, witty bordering on rude. Was Stephen a lawyer?

"Now, now, honey," the crinkles around Tony's eyes deepened as he barked out a laugh. "No need to be jealous. We're all adults here, we can share. There's enough of me for everyone."

I rolled my eyes, easily slipping into the familiar banter. "Speak for yourself, Mr. Stark. I'm very selfish," I cocked an eyebrow, tilting my head to the side and pretending to size up Stephen. "You've outdone yourself this time," Stephen's eyebrows rose. The line between 'sizing up' and 'checking out' was so very fine and I walked it well, a quiet sort of confidence that had bloomed within me at the recent events in my life letting me be slightly bolder that allowed myself to be before. "I'd have to be the Devil myself to break up such a blessed union. My congratulations," my smirk grew into a warm smile as Tony beamed at me in return, content on showing off his most recent acquisition.

Who, by the way, looked a little bit lost. Evidently, Stephen did not expect such a degree of familiarity between me and Tony; which was, to be honest, most likely what had him returning to the establishment over and over. Come for the coffee, stay for the company. Or how was it?

The energy between Tony and Stephen was electric. There was something undoubtedly attractive, magnetic even, about the tall, steely-eyed man, something similar to Odette's charismatic pull but without the overwhelming ossification of the air around her. Even putting aside the fact that Stephen was a visually stunning person with his sculpted phisique and high, sharp cheekbones, he commandeered the attention to himself without even uttering a word. Definitely a lawyer, with how the type could hold the whole courtroom together with a single look.

The early birds on a Friday were few and in-between; the three of us chatted as the two men sipped their coffees with muted noises of joy. According to Tony, Fiji was delightful this time of the year. Oblivious to everything around him, the engineer rambled about his ventures without a care in the world as his partner looked up to him with earnest happiness and I- well, I wished I could go to Fiji, hot boyfriend optional. The weather in NYC was slowly becoming dreary: I did not look forward to winter sludge and the traffic congestions that it created.

"And I love what you've done with the interior. Those cat statues? Charming," Tony rambled, pointing out the good-luck charms I'd placed all over the café. Small knick-knacks I carefully selected to match the overall vibe of the room. "Tell Jeremy I send my regards. Appreciate the lack of paps, too," he winked at me, looking visibly relieved.

"Huh?" The rag in my hands froze. "I haven't seen a single paparazzi around here, since, like, ever," I admitted, puzzled.

"And I appreciate it. Ever since our thing became public knowledge, they've been hounding me wherever I go," the eyeroll Tony made was truly powerful. "Whatever you're doing, keep doing it," and again, the engineer winked at me, apparently having made some assumptions of his own. "I won't tell if you won't."

The puzzlement persisted within me all throughout my shift. I lived in NYC, for fuck's sake, I wasn't unfamiliar with how things ran around here.

Every establishment I worked in had been swarmed with the annoying, persistent celebrity hunters at some point - and yellow press and paparazzi were, by far, the worst. Some of the greedier ones could go as far as to shove simple folk out of the way or order a cup of coffee with their camera hiding under the tablecloth to sneak in a juicy picture of a celebrity just trying to have their brunch in peace. I hated those vultures with a passion; their negative energy, their lack of morals when it came to hunting for a new scandal that would make them a few hundred bucks.

The only way to even slightly deter them was to repeatedly call the cops on them for public disturbance. I'd done it once or twice, egged on by Jerry and his worry of losing profit - after all, there were establishments known specifically for high rates of celebrity sightings and if any of the superheroes wanted to make an appearance, they would just go there for their cup of overpriced coffee and defrosted sponge cake. Our café was strictly for comfort and leisure - a rare thing me and my boss actually agreed upon.

As I said warm goodbyes to my favourite engineer and his newfound, dashing boyfriend, the cat statues stared at me in mute satisfaction, their hollow eyes radiating smugness and their immobile mouths stretched in what looked like pure, mocking mischief.

Taglist is open until the story is finished. Spare comment? 🥺

@couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

[herstarburststories]

(He Isn't) A Good Guy

Kinktober day 15: humiliation kink

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x reader

Summary: Jensen is tired of everyone saying he's a good guy.

Warnings: dirty talk (kind dark bc of the kink), handjob, p in v, riding, cheating, possessive, slapping

You have to be careful with what you're good at. You might just end up doing it for the rest of your life.

Jensen Ackles never caught the appeal of that saying. If you were really that good at something, why wouldn't you want to do it?

Such a mindset was as constant as a mother’s love and made Jensen's loyal company for a long time during his career. He pictured it would last forever: the head pats, positive criticism, and his charm that caught more and more fans. The Hollywood man was happy, really. He grew to be a good — if not great — actor. He had a wife and three kids that were the love of his life. He could go anywhere and find a job through the instantaneous recognition that Supernatural bestowed upon him, not to mention its gift of a best friend, Jared, and the raw amount of personal growth he went through. 

He was perfect in the most diversified aspects of his life, and, God, it was boring as fuck.

Whatever Jensen did, he was excused for it. Plenty of people would light themselves on fire for him (and hey, don’t think he was ungrateful for that), but being called a good guy that apparently couldn’t do any wrongs while the rights came out even in his sleep could be devastatingly annoying.

He thought he might have some problem, perhaps even a middle-aged crisis. Come on, who, with his life, would feel compelled to look for something else? Ackles had the money, the friends, and family. He had everything everyone dreamed about, but he just wanted to wake up.

Then, he met you.

You were the woman in her twenties who was barely starting in the media business, yet you had enough luck and talent to evoke the CW's attention that early. They wouldn't hire you as an official director, but you were in the training process. You were a prodigy, as most people on the set liked to joke about.

You sighed, slightly frustrated about the direction these takes were going. Asking Ackles to follow orders was roughly the same as punching a wall; the brick didn't break, and it only left you with scuffed knuckles and growing irritation. “Jensen, you need to tilt your head to the side or we won't be able to catch her face on camera.” 

“I'm doing that,” he said as if it was obvious.

“The camera doesn't agree with you.” You crossed your arms, tired of having this heated squabble again.

“I know how to shoot sex scenes, Y/N. I've been doing that for—”

You interrupted him: “I'm aware of how long the show I'm working on has been going, Jensen. Now, take my hint and do as I say. I get that you have done this before, but we are trying a new position, so your M.O. might not work.” You knew he was a good actor. Supernatural wouldn't be what it was if it wasn't for his character. Still, you needed this episode to be perfect in terms of filming. It was your first actual chance to prove how worthy you were. Jensen had his career and little apple pie life settled, but you had to scratch and squirm to insert yourself into the industry. You knew what you were doing. Nonetheless, you attempted to pacify his self-assurance by being assertive and gentle at the same time: “Just listen to me and try it. Please.”

The green-eyed man opened his mouth, very much ready to spit out a contradicting retort, but at the last second, he clamped his jaw shut and opted for a smirk instead. “Yeah, boss.”

It was the first time in years that someone actually came at him. Jensen felt the bruise aching his ego that spiked a sudden pressing need to puff out his chest and say I know what I am doing. Why don't you watch? 

He'd call that the Texan man behavior, alpha macho testosterone levels on high, but, honestly, he was just mad that someone had the audacity to talk to him like that, as if he was a rookie on his job. Jensen's whole body heated up, his jaw clenched, and his breath caught on his throat when he glanced at you — of course, he'd never put a hand on a woman, but God, that was infuriating. He wasn't a middle school child in need of a lecture.

But this was his first impression. As you gave everyone fifteen minutes to relax before shooting again, he went to his trailer, gait unnecessarily heavy like a child throwing a tantrum. Jensen locked his trailer and closed his eyes, trying to pick out his emotions — how long have it been since he got mad? That couldn't be healthy.

Do as I say. Your words were echoes in his head, spinning and making him dizzy. Just listen to me.

And the look you gave him. It wasn’t adoration as a fan or nervousness like a new worker. You didn’t excuse him as anyone else did. You glanced at him as you would to any other person on the set that had made a mistake: you pointed it out and didn't offer any sugarcoating to dull the blow.

It felt refreshing.

Shaking your head at the scene unrolling on the other side of the camera, you let out an exhausted sigh. This was your second directed episode, and Jensen wasn't making it easy for you. He always seemed like such a nice guy, yet you weren't surprised by his mulish behavior. You had called him out, and now he was turning it back around on you. Celebrities were complicated on their one, but male ones even more. Their egos required a role for themselves.

“Everyone, ten minutes!” you announced, placing the headphones on the table next to you. Your crew started dispersing, Ackles included, when his name left your lips: “Jensen, c'here.”

The green-eyed man arched his eyebrows, not sure why you wanted to talk to him so privately. Still, he approached you.

When you were a kid, you went through a phase when your smile wasn’t very pretty. It was too much teeth, eyes too tight, and head lifted high enough to show under your chin. Your parents couldn't just up and tell you that it looked terrible, obviously, so they just showed you multiple pictures until you decided that you didn't like something about it.

Maybe that would work with Jensen.

You patted the chair next to you, and Jensen sat there with a wisp of hesitation. You clicked on the scene you had been trying to get right for almost an hour. The replay went smoothly, Ackles's shoulders shrugging by the end. He didn't see the fuss about this.

“Seems good,” he said nonchalantly. 

You squinted your eyes at him. Someone as talented as him couldn't be serious about not seeing a problem with how ridiculous his vampire transformation through the last season was. “Seems like a sitcom”

“It's a dumb scene.” Jensen shrugged.

You groaned. “Can't you just accept that you can do better?”

Jensen crossed his arms and straightened his posture, holding a defensive atmosphere around him. God, he was infuriating sometimes. “Maybe you can. I've been doing great for years. You might not be the right director for this kind of show.”

“Just do as I said. You're in the scene, but I'm the audience. I can see right through you. I'm seeing things from another perspective and trying to tell you how to improve. That's what a director is for. Go ahead and try it!”

Your friendly conversation with the lead apparently had the opposite effect. As soon as he went back to his place in front of the camera, Jensen Ackles appeared to acquire the stubborn, incredibly unprofessional desire to take on all the worst camera angles only to get on your nerves.

“Are you kidding me!?” You elevated your voice, furious at how careless he was. All your patience has been zapped. “You're doing it on purpose. How can you be so petty?”

“Me? Petty!?” he said between gritted teeth, almost hissing as he walked to you. “I've been playing Dean for years. I know him more than—”

“I know. You do a big job with that character, but Jensen, you make mistakes. It's part of the process. You're a grown-ass man, so you can take what I'm saying and make something useful out of it. I'm the director; you are the actor. I don't care about how long you’ve been on this stage, and I don’t care for incompetence. You ain't doing good, so do as I say and fix it.”

Jensen tensed up when you said that, exhaling shortly while his eyes glued on you. You were half his age, yet the way you presented yourself — arms stiffly crossed, eyes ablaze and chin lifted — spoke of your power on this film set. At the end of the day, he was just a man, and he was in your court. Just like that, you held all control. He bit his bottom lip, neck red with the heat of anger and adrenaline that lashed through his body.

He was furious, yet all his body could do was react as if you had kissed him instead of punching his ego.

Anger and luxury both came from the same place. They were just different branches on the same tree growing from a common seed.

The half of Supernatural's leader actor started doing it on purpose, then. Not acting in a way that could collide with his career or mess up the shooting schedule, but an occasional bitched scene here and there when he had a chance, and always when you were in charge of the scene.

He relished in it: someone treating him like a man and not an untouchable idol. A woman who would look straight in his eyes and not be too intimidated, excited, or lovey-dovey to tell him all the bad things he needed to hear. You were someone who could put him in his place.

Unfortunately, playing around can only get you so far. If you bring someone to the pool, they won't be satisfied with just one foot in the water. They'd want to swim, splash water at their friends to get them all wet and soaked too. 

What started with provocative, fuming rage and nuisance soon melted into something deadlier. It was something unmanageable, a burning fire that attracted all the wrong kinds of glances. Yet, neither of you could help but follow where the smoke signal led.

You were here, in each other's arms. It was a dirty little secret that went way beyond just an illicit affair: it was about what you two could give to each other without even asking, and what other people could never quite comprehend. . . And they didn't need to. Jensen had you, and you had Jensen. To desire and savor the result was enough.

Your hand was wrapped around his cock, moving up and down in a painfully slow rhythm. You had two legs wrapped around his, your face hanging next to Jensen's — close enough that you could kiss all of his freckles if this were out of love and not necessity — as you spoke.

“Everybody thinks you are the good guy. Little mister perfect.” Ackles groaned at the malice in your tone. He hated that — how everyone called him perfect, how every single person told him he was such a good guy. You were his only grounding force under the blinding lights. “But I know you aren't. You are nasty, disgusting, and so needy for someone to put you in your fucking place.”

The male's lips parted slightly, a pornographic moan leaving his body. This perversion felt like a hair short of sin. Who in their right mind would be so turned on by a girl half his age picking up all the worst things one could say about him, only to throw them exactly where it hurt the most?

Why, in the name of God, did he want more? Why was Jensen bucking his lips, needy noises that he never dons escaping his trembling body? Why was his cock hard as fuck, ruinining your fingers with sloppy precum while he internally begged you for more? 

It was like receiving a miracle and giving it to the devil.

“Look at you,” you continued, a smirk painted on your features, “getting fucked in your trailer by the woman who basically told you to stop whining and get your job done like a real man.” You loved being in control of the usually overconfident Hollywood star. If only his dearest fans knew how much of a submissive he was — how he just needed to be told where he belonged. 

“Y/N…” Jensen managed to say, his chest moving erratically fast. You leaned in to press your lips to his, and he whimpered. Ackles' hand slid to your waist in an attempt to pull you closer, but all he got was a slap on the arm and lack of friction on his dick. “Y/N!”

“I didn't say you could touch me, stubborn idiot.” You hissed, getting up to throw away your skirt and underwear. Jensen sniffed, feeling so ridiculous about himself. You had way too much control over him, but he couldn't really care about anything other than you touching his cock right now. Fuck composure or else. “I'm not your wife. I'm not one of your thirsty fans.” Each word came out in a harsh tone, those syllabus together had no other duty but hurt him, and he loved how they agonized in his body, redirected right to his hardness. You got free of the skirt and your soaked lace panties. “I don't need you. This?” You gestured at yourself and Ackles, a wry laughter coming out as you climbed on his lap. “I'm doing you a favor. So, you better thank me and take whatever I choose to give you. Understood?” Jensen's eyes were obsessed with your image, not leaving your face once— not even to look at his hard cock that was so close to your cunt due the new position. He just nodded, wishing that was enough to show you his piece of mind. It wasn't. You slapped his cheek and howled. “I made you a question.”

Jensen gulped, the red on his cheek from your smack couldn't compare to his blushed body. This felt so good, finally getting what he wanted. Ultimately, he blurted out: “Yes, I understand.”

“Good. Now let's put you to good use.” You winked at him, a hint of silly playfulness before you got all his length inside you at once. Both of you moaned, the unique sensation of your walls around his hard dick was marvelous. So warm, tight, and wet. Everything he deserved in one pussy, one woman. You started to move your hips up and down. “You feel so good inside me, baby. Like your cock was made for me— I think you were made just for this, to be fucked by me. What do you think?” His eyes fluttered shut, Jensen was allowing himself to get lost into you. You were heaven in sin, fucking him so nice. You weren't having his silent, though. You both had to be quiet about many things regarding to your mutual arrangement, you couldn't get more of closed mouths. Not when this was happening. You grabbed Jensen's jaw, fingertips pressing against his skin. “You better start answering me before I get out of here and go get some with a real man.”

Jensen groaned, holding your hips possessively. You knew he was one of the jealous kind, talking about other men touching you always got a reaction out of him. “I'm a real man.” 

“Show me then, baby.” A glimpse of sweetness appeared as you leaned in to kiss his lips. It didn't last much before your lips went to his neck, words coming through an open-mouthed there. “You know, they all are so caught up in your act, Jensen. The perfect texan boy, the amazing husband, the unproblematic idol…” You chortled, sending goosebumps through his whole soul. His dick was deep into you as you were riding his restlessly. “I bet you get tired of this. I bet you just want to fuck me in front of everyone sometimes, just to show them how dirty you can be.” He nodded, a soft whine leaving his lips. He was so tired of being the good guy. Only you knew him. “Like right now. You spent the whole day messing up with me, teasing me, just so you could get punished. And here we are, fucking in your trailer, while everyone is getting ready to go home.” He tried to move his hips as well, to get more of you. When you didn't stop him, Ackles winced and bucked his hips, hitting your G-spot, going deep and raw inside your tight cunt. One of his hands went to your pussy, digits pressing to your clit. Your next words came during groans of pleasure. “You should go too, baby. But you can't help it, huh? You just want go fuck me, even though I don't even care enough to send you a message to make sure you got home safe. You like it. You love that I'm not crazy about you, that I don't care.” His heart ached, but his cock only grew harder. Jensen could feel he was on the edgy. “So, you stay here instead of going home to your sweet wife. You stay here instead of hanging out with your best friend. You stay here instead of looking through your social media just to get an ego boost. Is this what a good man would do, Jensen? No... But that's okay. Men like you just need to be put in their places, and you love it.”

“Y/N!” He screamed helplessly, pulling your body closer to him when he came inside you, marking your pussy as his. A treacherous, lust stained thought was placed on his shoulders, whispering lovingly to his ear like you did your swearing: breed her, get her pregnant with your baby. Make her yours.

You had broken him, and he loved every second of it. He couldn't wait to give you the shattered pieces as a gift.

You came with an excruciating grunt right after him, all over his cock. The feeling of Jensen coming inside you always pushed you right way. You sighed happily, resting your head on his chest.

He enjoyed moments like this.

You remained there, waiting for his cock to relax inside you, get less hard before you pulled you. When it did, you pressed a quick kiss to his collarbone, walking to grab your clothes.

“Jensen,” You coughed after putting on your skirt. “I'll send you the new script tonight. Send me an email to confirm that you got it.”

What you truly wanted to say was, tell me if you got home safe. But you couldn't.

“Sure.” Jensen answered with a nod. Once again, he also wanted to say something else: thank you for giving me what I need, for seeing me. I love you. But he couldn't.

You picked up your wet panties, throwing it at him with a teasing smile before leaving the trailer.

It was enough.

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[ly-canthropewrites]

Trust and Security

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 3460 words (I was aiming for 1000, but let’s just say - it got away from me)

Ratings/Warnings: SFW. 

Summary: “Didn’t you hear the news? It’s safer to shower in pairs” @twdeadfanfic​

It’s been over a month since the prison fell, and your group was weary. After one month of being out on the road, vulnerable and exhausted, your little family finds safety behind the tall walls of the Alexandria Safe Zone. Although, the walls do nothing to cease your skittishness. 

The new folk behind the walls were kind and gracious, but at the same time, naive and inexperienced to what lays behind their safe haven and that worries you. It worries your group as well; everyone picking up on the credulous attitudes and their misty-eyed optimism and it just doesn’t sit right. 

The first few days were difficult, a strange adjustment period. After being used to the wilderness and the danger it includes to now having a proper house to sleep in and call home, it felt, surreal. But after a few days, some of your people begin to relax and enjoy the safety of Alexandria. 

You weren’t one of them, and neither was Daryl. The pair of you refused to believe in this wonderland, a shared acceptance in the belief that this place will fall just like the prison and just like any other ‘safe place’ that stood before. Perhaps you weren’t giving this place a chance? Perhaps it is easier to set yourself up for failure rather than have your hopes high? Regardless of the reasoning behind it, you just can’t get rid of the gnawing feeling of the false safety this place eludes. 

Almost daily, Rick tries to convince you of Alexandria’s potential. He exemplifies the possibility of having a future here, a safe future for Carl and Judith to grow up in, a safe place where there isn’t fear about the dead or the dangers that stalk outside the walls. And almost daily, both you and Daryl turn him down, stubborn in your ways and between the false reality constructed and the abnormal kindness from the residents, you can’t help but feel unsafe. 

You can’t lie, however, that Alexandria does have its perks. You have been here for 5 days already and you have not gone hungry once in that time. It is nice to have a healthy food supply, to have a blanket and a mattress that isn’t damaged or dirty and of course, it is nice to be clean. You have taken advantage of the running water system in the town, taking more showers in the last 5 days than you have in the month and it is a luxury that you allow yourself to indulge in. 

The first time you had a shower you almost cried. Not one for the emotions normally, it couldn’t be helped that day when hot, running water cascading over you, temporarily washing away the trauma and pain of the apocalyptic world. For a moment, you could forget the ones you’ve lost, the agony and anguish every time you’ve had to take a life, the suffering and torture you’ve endured. For a moment, you could just be no-one. 

                                 -                         -                         -

Day six lingers, and the house is quiet. It had been decided yesterday that it’s possible to make Alexandria home and for that, houses were given to share. Rick, Carl, Judith and Michonne moved next door, never too far away from family but it gave them enough space to breathe. A large portion of the group, consisting of Abraham, Eugene, Sasha and Rosita, moved into another house on the same street. The remaining were quick to claim rooms; Maggie and Glenn taking a room as well as Carol stealing the spare. It left you and Daryl with a little bedroom on the ground floor and the lounge room. It didn’t matter, neither of you slept much nowadays and if you did, it was never at the same time. One always had to be on watch. 

It was a silent arrangement, just like how your friendship blossomed. One day you were alone, despite being with the group, lingering to one side, keeping one eye on the wilderness around you as if you were ready to jump up and run into its clutches. But then one day, with no significant event as the catalyst, Daryl grew close, being drawn to your side every time a new camp was set up. Neither of you asked for the other to join, it just always happened. It became an unspoken rule that you were to always be partners. If you were to go hunting, so would Daryl. If you chose to set up your sleeping roll in the corner, Daryl would linger close. If you missed a meal, or gave your portion to someone else, then Daryl would give you some of his. It was unspoken, but it was law. You weren’t to be separated. 

                                   -                         -                         -

Summer had followed your group to Alexandria and the pair of you sat on the porch. Daryl was fiddling with his crossbow, nimble fingers twirling and unwinding certain pieces, tightening this and that, fixing up his bolts before giving the entire weapon a wipe down. He worked methodically, quietly, as if his actions were second nature to him. You shamelessly watched him periodically, fascinated by the sleek weapon and by the rugged man. He was your best friend, your partner and companion. You would die for him and he would die for you. It was simple. It was easy. And he was the single person that never failed to bring a smile to your lips. 

Satisfied with your ogling, you return to your book. It wasn’t yours to begin with. It came with the furnished house and in a moment of boredom, you plucked it from its place with every intention to fill the small gap of monotony. What you hadn’t expected was to become engrossed with the novel, completely swept up in the mythical world it held. 

“Yer almost finished that thing yet?”

Daryl breaks your train of thought, startling you back into the world of reality and you shrug.

“Got a few chapters to go,” you say, flicking ahead to see that you indeed have almost completed the fiction. 

“You only started yesterday arvo’“ Daryl states, crooking an eyebrow in your direction, his hands continuing to work on the crossbow without a visual guide. 

“What can I say, I’m a fast reader. You finished playing with that crossbow yet? You’ve been fiddling with that thing for the past 3 days now,” You are quick to shoot back at him, a smirk dancing across your lips in victory and Daryl scoffs, shaking his head in small amusement as he turns his gaze back to the item in his lap. 

You finish your book just in time for Carol to leave the house, the older woman looking well dressed and holding a container of cookies. Both you and Daryl raise an eyebrow at her, silent questions being asked, and she pointedly ignores them. 

“Have you even had a shower yet?” She asks sternly, giving the quiet man a stiff side glance that he shrugs off. 

“I’ll hose you down when you sleep,” she threatens, “you are filthy Daryl, just take a goddamn shower”. 

You stifle a giggle, biting down on your lip to hide your growing smile but you fail miserably, and a chuckle escapes you. Daryl hears it, glancing over at you with a bored expression but when he sees you smiling, he can’t fight back a little smirk of his own. 

“You enjoy watching Carol take the piss out of me, ay?” he questions gruffly, and you laugh at that openly, throwing your head back to revel in the moment. 

“Hell yeah I do. Who wouldn’t?” you tease, poking your tongue out when Daryl rolls his eyes. 

With your book done, you throw it onto the table beside you and stand up, stretching out your arms as you unfold from your previous position. Your shoulders pop loudly as you rotate them and you groan with satisfaction, eyes closed as you continue to move your body. You miss how Daryl’s eyes selfishly gawk at the sliver of skin that is revealed as you stretch, your shirt just riding up to show the smoothness of your skin and he wonders how soft your body would be beneath his hands. 

His eyes quickly snap back to his crossbow when he hears you hum, stretching complete and body limber. 

“You off then?” he questions, not looking up at you as he speaks, fear that his eyes will reveal things he refuses to say. 

“Yeah, might have a lie-down or somethin’“ 

“Gonna take one of yer ten million showers?” he teases you and a warm flutter erupts in his chest when his words make you laugh. 

“Showers aren’t the enemy, Daryl” you remind him, a smile easy on your lips, but your tone is firm. 

He grunts, explicitly refusing to respond and you sigh. 

“Come shower with me,” 

Those words catch his attention. His head whips up to look at you, eyes wide and stunned. You admire his surprised expression, noticing how his lips part ever so slightly and how he sucks in a shallow breath as he processes your words and intentions. 

“Didn’t you hear the news? It’s safer to shower in pairs,” you joke, but your eyes convey understanding.

Daryl remains frozen for another moment or two, waiting for the punchline or the taunt but it never comes. Of course, it wouldn’t. He knows you. You aren’t like that, not to him. So, when it clicks that this isn’t an immoral joke and he allows himself to believe your gentleness, he nods, flustered but agreeing. 

You give him a small smile, jerking your head in the direction of the front door before you turn to walk through it, not waiting for Daryl to move. You know he would follow, he has always followed you and he would follow you to the end of the earth. 

By the time he reaches the bathroom, you already have the shower turned on. You have your hand beneath the stream, testing it, determined to have the perfect temperature and it is so unlike you, but at the same time, it is. He has seen you kill walkers with your bare hands, he has seen your unfiltered rage and your grief, and he has seen the special compassion you reserve for Carl and Judith. But it is rare for him to see you this gentle, this soft, this caring. 

You know he is there, standing in the doorway watching you. You felt the heaviness of his gaze the moment he reached the second floor. But you don’t mention it, instead, you hum as you adjust the water before turning around to rifle through the cabinets for soap. The house is a treasure-trove of good items and the luxury of having a shower also extends to bathroom products. There are different types of soaps and shampoo to choose from and Daryl sees you fish out two items; a creamy soap bar and a green bottle. You set them both inside the shower before stepping back. 

“Go on, get in” you gesture to the shower. 

“Thought you were havin’ the first one?”

“And leave you with an opportunity to escape hygiene? Not a chance,” you retort

You know him too well, he thinks fondly. But an uneasiness sets in and you can see apprehension flit across his face. 

“Daryl, you can shower. I won’t be leaving, I’ll be right here” you say tenderly, taking a seat on the closed toilet lid to prove your point. You weren’t going to leave him alone. 

It’s reassuring, as much as Daryl hates to admit it. He isn’t used to having someone stand by him unwaveringly like you do. He hates to admit that he has come to lean on you, come to let you in. You have never pressured him, never forced his hand and for that, you unknowingly have his eternal gratitude. 

“I won’t even look, so hurry up otherwise the water will run cold,” you announce, making a big show of closing your eyes and slapping a hand across your face for good measure. 

Daryl cracks a smile at your theatrics, relief rolling off him in waves and slowly he begins to unbutton his shirt. Your ears strain to listen, to catch a sound so you can guess what he is doing. The rustle of a shirt confirms that he hasn’t bolted, and it makes you smile. What you don’t see is how Daryl’s fingers shake slightly as he works his belt undone as well as his jeans. He is stripping off his layers, both literally and metaphorically, and he hasn’t ever felt this bare, even with your eyes closed. He keeps his eyes trained on you as he edges towards the shower, his back never turning to reveal the ugly past that is marked into his skin and he only feels relief when he has the shower curtain drawn, letting it act as a barrier in all senses. 

He has to admit; the hot water does feel heavenly. His sigh is, thankfully, masked by the sound of the shower and Daryl closes his eyes, tipping his head back and completely embraces the water. He stands there for a few moments, relishing in the luxury and the feeling of his muscles slowly unwinding, and he almost hates himself for putting this off for so long. He is so lost in heaven that he almost forgets that you are still sitting in the bathroom with him. 

He pokes his head out, eyes falling on you and he smiles when he sees that you haven’t moved from your seated position, hands still covering your face but to keep you occupied, you bounce your leg. 

It’s almost as if you know he is staring at you because you speak up, 

“How’s the shower?” you ask

“Are ya comin’ in or what?” he ignores your question, now smugly watching your surprised reaction. 

Gobsmacked, your hands fall from your face, mouth hanging open and your eyebrows raised in disbelief. This is the first time he ever hears you stutter. 

“Wh- what?” 

“Are ya gettin’ in or not? Ya expect me to leave you sittin’ and waitin’ for me?” 

You nod, “Daryl Dixon, I didn’t expect you to invite me to shower with you”

“Sunshine, you did the invitin’ first”

“I never specified if I was to be in the same shower as you at the same time” you respond, shock fading quickly as your confidence returns and Daryl enjoys the transformation. 

“Get in” he mutters and drops the curtain, standing back to leave you some room for when you come in. 

You are quicker to strip than he was and although he knows you are coming, he can’t help but jump when you step into the cubicle. You notice, of course you notice, but as always, you don’t comment. Instead, you smile up at him with such a warm gaze, Daryl feels his heart clench. Silently, you grab the soap bar and lift it up, expressing your question through your look and he nods. You are gentle as you run the bar over his shoulders and down his arms, taking your time to sudd up your hands so you can run your fingers over each individual digit, cleaning them of the dirt and the grime that had accumulated. Daryl was silent during your endeavour but by the quickness of the rise and fall of his chest depicted his nervousness. 

“Tell me if it gets too much” you murmur, eyes flicking to meet his and it amazes him how you don’t pressure him, letting him control his limits. It is his blind trust in you that allows you to be this close to him and you know how hard it is for the redneck to open up to you, to let you close to his turmoil. 

“Nah, s’okay” he mutters breathlessly. 

You continue on to his torso, rubbing the bar in circular motions and its satisfying to watch the water run dirty, revealing more of the gorgeous man in front of him. Daryl fears it will get awkward when you kneel down in front of him, eyes closed as he wills himself not to make a fool out of himself. Either or not you pick up on his anxious, you don’t say, but you avert your eyes from his lax cock, focusing on cleaning his strong legs. When you are finished Daryl offers you a hand, holding it firmly as he pulls you to your feet and once steady, he doesn’t let go. 

“I can leave your back” you offer. The story of the scars isn’t new to you, but their appearance is. He hasn’t let you cast your eyes upon the monstrosities, barely able to look at them himself. 

He is torn, gnawing at his lip as he tries to decide on an answer, but his silence is one you will accept. With a fond smile you shrug, reassuring him to the best of your ability. 

“That’s okay, tilt your head forward, hun” you are quick to move on, distracting him from the dangerous thoughts that threaten to surface, and it works, the pet name is a pleasant sound falling from your lips. 

He obeys, tilting his head forward and closing his eyes as the water runs down his cheekbones. The pop of the shampoo bottle alerts him to your intentions and a sprig of mint fills the steamy air. Your fingers massage his scalp as you clean the brown tresses and Daryl bows beneath your touch. He slumps forward, head resting upon your shoulder in full submission and you pressed a lingering kiss to his temple, fingers never ceasing their ministrations until they begin to cramp a while later. You don’t want to move him, savouring the weight of his body against yours but the suds need to be washed out, so you tap his shoulder. Daryl washes out the remaining suds himself before he looks down at you, guilt suddenly creeping upon him.

“Do yer want me... to, ya know”

Bashfully, he gestures to you, but you shake your head laughing.

“No Daryl, it’s fine, but thank you” you say sincerely, “now, let’s get you out of here and into clean clothes, hey”.

The shower gets switched off and the pair of you emerge from the stuffy cubicle. Daryl grabs the towels first, handing you one before wrapping his around his waist. There is no third towel to cover his back and he is painfully aware of that fact, tensing up as he realises that he is closest to the door and will have to turn around to walk out. Once again you amaze him, slipping by to walk out first and Daryl lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

When Daryl appears, he finds you in the small bedroom, stretched out on the bed with your eyes closed.

“Tired?”

“Warm showers make me sleepy” you confess, opening your eyes to look up at the man sheepishly.

He hums and remains standing at the end of the bed, hands tucked into the pockets of the old sweatpants that hang from his hips and takes his time to admire you. He doesn’t admire your clothes, although the sight of you in snug clothes makes the fluttering in his chest go faster; but he soaks in your comfortableness, your trust.

He doesn’t ask if you could move and make room for him, wordlessly you do it anyway when Daryl begins to climb onto the bed. He flops onto the mattress once he reaches the pillow, heaving a sigh as his body melts into the softness of the mattress. He rarely allows himself to sleep on it, leaving it for you to use while he takes the couch or the chair outside on the porch. And just like the shower, he realises how much he has been missing out on. And he is sick of it.

“Yer too good to me, Y/N” he mumbles, and you chuckle, shaking your head before you roll onto your side to face him.

“Nah, just doing what is right”. What you deserve.

You both fall silent, letting the post-shower haze settle over you and allowing your bodies to relax.

You are on the cusp of sleep when you feel Daryl’s hand slip into yours, calloused skin brushing against yours and instinctively you tighten your grip, Daryl squeezing back.

“Thank you” he murmurs.

You don’t say anything, fighting the pull of sleep and with a last-ditch effort you curl into Daryl, his arms sweeping you closer to his chest and cocooned in his security, you allow yourself to drift to sleep.

Alexandria may be weak, but it’s given you a safe haven, and maybe it isn’t all that bad.

[kyber-crystal]

Unspoken Words

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 4.2k (I POPPED OFF LOLLLLL)

Summary: In which the night before being deployed on a covert black-ops mission overseas with Natasha, you write Steve a secret love letter that you never intended to give him. But, it still ends up falling into his hands.

Warnings: fluff, soft angst, cute steve hehe

A/N: once again, shamelessly stole this idea from the kdrama im watching adsfasdf

To Steve.

You always told me it was time I found someone who cared for me just as much as I cared about others. For the longest time, I had myself believing I was set for life since I already had the team. That I didn’t need to find a man to sweep me off my feet and take his last name, to have as my own, as every time I seemed to let my feelings wander astray, it’d end in tragedy.

After waiting for too long to say this, I guess I'm gonna come clean now, so brace yourself. I felt as if this would be easier for me if I was saying it on paper rather than in person, so here you go.

I realized I'm in love with you. You never leave my mind. You're always there, mentally, if not physically. It's hard for you to comprehend all at once, I know, it's hard for me to wrap my mind around, too. It still feels unreal that I'm actually admitting all this to you. I could've sworn I'd only acted this way in my dreams, but hey, reality can sometimes come up behind you and slap you in the face, you know?

In the middle of the storm, a war that rages on in my mind, you’re my safe haven. You’re the gentle center who keeps me steady and prevents me from teetering over the edge and losing my grip on reality. You keep me centered, and I don’t know what I’d do without you by my side. Steven Grant Rogers, I’m in love with you. I know, it doesn’t seem real. As crazy as it sounds, I’m hopelessly in love with you.

Steve, you are my one stability in a chaos-ridden world and I thank you endlessly for that. I so desperately needed something to hold onto, something to convince me I was still alive and breathing and somewhat sane. It's hard for me, it's hard that only today I've accepted the feelings I'd been harboring inside for years. But I've decided to admit defeat and admit I've officially fallen in love with you. Because what I'm beginning to feel now is far too strong for me to ignore; it's impossible to keep up this act when you're all I can seem to think about.

It's all strange, honestly. The feeling of butterflies flying around my stomach and tickling my insides makes me feel as if I'm up in the sky, my head in the clouds, but it also overwhelms me and makes me scared at the same time. The fact that I'm in so deeply in love scares me because I know when I'm really in love with someone, it's hard to escape once I've completed the act of falling for them.

Weird, right? Who knew the great Y/N was so capable of being a romantic sap?

It feels dangerous yet completely safe at the same time, as if someone's given me peace and my heart is dancing around in my chest because it's so happy, at the same time there is a Captain America-shaped hole there in the center that I was never aware was there in the beginning. My chest aches at the thought of having to leave you or you not reciprocating my feelings, but I know I might just suffer that fate, since the world as I know it, isn't kind whatsoever. I should know this better than anyone, after fighting countless battles.

It scares me more than excites me, how you can go from being really close friends to then being completely infatuated and in love with them and wondering how you were ever able to go on with your daily life without them, because I sure as hell can't imagine that now. In the beginning, I told myself it's not right, I still had so much of my life ahead of me, so much time to plan out what I'm going to end up like in the future but my brain is screaming no, no, it is right, it's meant to be.

The team tries convincing me to do something about it but I'm terrified. Terrified that I'll have to bring down the thick and heavy walls I spent so much time building up in the fears of being hurt and damaged and my heart shattered to a million jagged pieces.

I know most people would consider me to be foolish and naïve for spilling my feelings through a sappy love letter, but it's true when I say I love you so much more than I could ever love myself. You're my best friend, and as cheesy as it sounds, you are my everything. My anchor.

I fell for you all on my own. Not because I was pressured to or anything, but because I made the decision myself. I don't just give my heart to you by default as if there's no one else available for me to open up to. It's because I choose to. Every day that I wake up, every day we're fighting for our lives or fighting each other or going about a normal day or whatever, I'll keep choosing you over and over again, and I hope someday you'll do the same.

I love you more than you know. And if you don't feel the same way, then it's perfectly fine. I understand, and I'll wait for you as long as it takes, no matter what.

Whatever it takes.

Y/N

You let out a long sigh and set down your pen, folding the paper up into fourths and tucking it under your lamp before pushing yourself away from your desk and standing up, stretching your arms in the air. What even was the point of doing that, anyways? It’s not like Steve’s just going to come in here and read the letter. 

The downside of living with the Avengers was that word got around very quickly, especially about your love life. There was no hiding anything from anyone, as they’d find out one way or another. If Tony didn’t find out first, it was Natasha, Sam, or Bucky who did.

“Hey, Nat,” you spoke without turning your head to look at who was behind you, knowing your red-headed best friend was leaning against the doorframe, observing you carefully. 

“Y/N,” Natasha nodded and made her way inside, sitting at the edge of your bed and you took a seat next to her, as she rested her head on your shoulder. “You alright? I can tell something’s on your mind.”

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

“Something tells me you’re not.”

“Did Wanda read my mind for you?” you raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

“No, she didn’t,” she replied honestly, “she’s busy baking cookies with Vis and Peter right now. You think you wanna tell me what’s up? As your best friend, I’m obligated to know what’s going on.”

You closed your eyes and let out a long sigh. "You know what it is."

"You mean who?"

"Why am I letting this happen to myself?"

"You can't control who you fall for,," she explained. "Your heart sometimes just has a mind of its' own."

“He’s Captain America,” you deadpanned.

“And you’re the badass Y/N!”

“I shouldn’t even have feelings in the first place. And I shouldn't have written that love letter that I won't even give him anyways, or...you know."

"You wrote him a letter?"

You got up and tugged the letter from underneath your lamp and gave it to her, watching as her eyes scanned over the paper with your tidy, typewriter-like handwriting filling the sheet from top to bottom.

"So..."

Natasha handed the paper back to you. "Why can't you just tell him?"

"Because he doesn’t like me back."

"You should tell him at some point. Keeping this all to yourself isn't healthy."

"You sound like Tony."

She chuckled lightly. "What?It's the truth."

"Fine," you threw your hands up in the air in defeat, "I’ll consider telling him after we get back from Kyiv. I’m only considering it. And if I do confess...will you take me out for shawarma? Bucky took me last time and I barely got to eat anything because he stole most of my food."

"Alright, I promise," she laughed. "You got a deal."

...

SHIELD was always taking advantage of your almost unparalleled skill in the art of covert espionage and hand to hand combat and sending you off. Normally, it would last no longer than a few days or weeks at a time, so to hear that you'd be gone for four whole months made Steve feel sick to his stomach. He was dreading having to watch you leave, because it would mean spending the next third of a year by himself, without being able to see your face or your smile or simply have you around for some good company.

You pulled him aside after dinner one night to tell him the news.

"Nat and I were called in by Fury early this morning. We're being deployed to eastern Europe to stop a nuclear missile launch."

"How long will you be gone?" He tried to keep his voice as steady as possible, but it was a dead giveaway that he didn't want you to go at all.

"Well...if things go right, 3-4 months."

"And if doesn't?"

"Six, maybe seven."

Steve felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at your answer. "Why is it gonna take so long?"

"I don't know," you sighed, "just trying getting in and out isn't a very short process. We have to maintain low profile for a while before we infiltrate the base. If we're discovered too early on...then...well, we're basically screwed."

"Oh."

"Hey, I'm going to be fine, if that's what you're so worried about," you took his hand in yours and squeezed it tightly, "I know you're thinking I can't handle this, but I can. Nat and I are gonna look out for each other. I promise I'll be okay."

"When are you leaving?"

"First thing in the morning. We gotta go at four."

You didn't have to add on another sentence to tell him it meant you were unable to say goodbye to anyone. He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat and trying to ignore that weird feeling in his chest as you kept holding his hand, not letting go even when you had the chance to.

Later that night, you were able to get five hours of sleep before Natasha came in to wake you up and you got ready. When she noticed how your eyes had lost the light to them and your shoulders slumped as you boarded the jet, she knew something was up.

Guilt clawed at your insides. You should’ve told him you loved him before you left, you idiot. What if you don’t make it back alive? Hm?

A set of footsteps echoing across the hangar bay suddenly made you turn around. You turned around to see Steve, jogging towards you and calling out your name. Knowing it was only a matter of minutes before you finished boarding and took off for a mission thousands of miles away, with very little ways of communication as you were supposed to be as discreet as possible when undercover, he didn't want you to leave without saying goodbye.

A mix of surprise and relief is on your face when you see him. You shake your head and give him a reassuring look, that everything was going to be okay and you'd be just fine.

"What are you doing here? You should be sleeping," your brows furrowed together in confusion as you unloaded your weapons, tying up your combat boots. "I thought you—"

Steve quickly comes forward and crushes you into a tight embrace that tells you he's going to miss you much more than he's letting on. You were quick to return the gesture, wrapping your arms around his torso and squeezing him back, resting your head against his broad chest.

"Stay safe out there," he murmured into your hair, pressing a light, fleeting kiss to the top of your hair.

You don't question his sudden act of sentiment, and just gave him a small smile in response. "Don't worry. I will."

With that, you turned around, stepping back up the ramp with Natasha. The gates to the hangar bay slid open, and within seconds you had taken off.

Steve stands there for a while even after the Quinjet is out of his sight, and it's only when Bucky pulls him back inside that he realizes he's been standing there for over an hour without moving at all.

The first few weeks pass by in a blur. He hardly eats, he hardly sleeps, he hardly even gets up for his morning runs or trains at all. After the first two months came and went, Tony grew rather concerned seeing him deteriorate and decided to ask him what was going on.

"Tony, I'm fine."

"Like hell you are. What's up with you? You haven't eaten a solid meal in over two months. You've lost some weight around your face, you almost look like a skeleton. When you haven't gone on your morning runs in forever, I should have a reason to be worried about you, Cap."

"It's been five weeks and she hasn't checked in with us yet," he stated plainly, gulping down his third cup of coffee of the day. "She should've called a week ago."

"God, I never thought you'd be the one to get so worked up over a girl," the billionaire let out a long sigh, pouring himself a cup of coffee as well at the kitchen counter before taking a seat at the island next to him, "but here we are now."

"What if she got injured?"

"Her and Nat are looking out for each other. I'm sure she's fine. She's going to be okay, so why don't you eat something solid for once? Tell me what you wanna order, I'll get it for you."

Thanks, Tony. I'll take Thai." (You and Steve often ate Thai takeout together.)

"Anytime."

Way over in Ukraine, you and Natasha were sitting on the bed in your hotel room watching the news on TV in silence because neither one of you felt like sleeping yet, until she decided to speak up.

"Why haven't you called Rogers yet?"

"I...don't know."

"He's gotta be missing you like hell, you know."

"I know. And I miss him too...a bit too much. That's why I can't call him. Because every time I hear his voice or see something that reminds me of him, it makes me fall even more in love with him and I can't afford having that. I don't want to risk getting hurt. Besides...I already summoned every last ounce of willpower to write that letter."

"You really should give him a call. It's not doing your heart any good to purposely drain yourself of him."

"Fine."

Steve had somehow allowed himself to get roped into a Mario Kart showdown with Bucky and Sam, when his phone suddenly lit up with a familiar number he could recognize anywhere. Your contact picture filled up the screen: you grinning wildly as his arms wrapped around you from behind, Pietro photobombing in the back as he made heart signs with his hands.

He picked up the phone and answered it after only one ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Steve," you spoke over the phone, "how's it going?"

"Hey," he couldn't help but break into a smile, "are you alright?"

"Yeah. We got the data files downloaded onto the flash drive and then destroyed it yesterday. So for now, we're just waiting around and maybe doing some tours of Kyiv while we have time."

"What time is it over there?"

"Half past midnight. You?"

"2:30."

"How are you holding up?"

Bucky and Sam looked over at that exact moment, wiggling their eyebrows up and down as they gestured for Steve to say something. "I'm doing fine. Got pulled into a Mario Kart deathmatch with the two idiots."

"Tell Bucky and Sam I send my regards and that I'm bringing back those baguettes I promised for when we stop over in Paris," you told him.

"I will. It's good to hear your voice, Y/N."

You couldn't help but feel your heart flutter at those words. "It's good to hear your voice, too. Look, I'm sorry...but it's getting late, and my data on my phone is low, Fury didn't give me an unlimited plan so I gotta go now. See you soon."

"Okay. Try to get some good sleep, alright? I don't want you getting hurt because you didn't get a good night's rest the night before. See you."

"COME ON, MAN!" Sam yelled as soon as you hung up. "You didn't even have the decency to say 'I love you?'"

"I love her, but not like that."

"Sure you don't. I saw the way your face lit up when you picked up the phone."

"Two months," the super-soldier let out a sigh of disappointment, setting down the controller to watch him and Bucky tear each other apart on Rainbow Road, "two more months."

He picked up his phone again and clicked on his camera roll, mindlessly beginning to scroll through until one picture caught his eye. It was during summer break when you were vacationing in the Bahamas for two weeks along with several SHIELD agents, and Coulson had taken the team picture. Fury had somehow been convinced to come along as well.

As his eyes scanned all the faces in the picture, he came across himself and noticed that he wasn't smiling at the camera, but at you instead, and you were doing the same. Both of you, gazing into each others' eyes as if the two of you were the only people left on Earth.

He felt a pang in his chest as he realized, at that moment, that he was in love with you and hadn't gotten the chance to tell you so before you left. And now, it could be too late.

The letter ends up reaching Steve much faster than you'd anticipated it to. The next day, he went to drop off the sweatshirt you left in his room last time you’d had a movie night together and comes across a single sheet of paper lying out on your desk.

All the color quickly drains from his face when he realizes this wasn't actually meant for him to read. He knows what he'd just done was wrong, but the fact that he was so oblivious to how you felt about him makes him feel even worse.

...

The mission had gone extremely well. You and Natasha were in and out of that base probably faster than you could summon Tony after yelling out that one of his suits had been tampered with.

Natasha thought it'd be fun to surprise him by coming back a month early and could tell instantly that you loved the idea, judging by the way your eyes lit up when you boarded the Quinjet.

You decided to call him again on the flight back as she sat at the front piloting the jet.

"Steve?"

"Hey. What's up?"

"Uh...I'm afraid there's been a change of plans."

"What plans?" His voice quickly grew worried as he tried masking his disappointment at the fact that you weren't announcing your return.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, I'm sorry, but...I just wanted to call you to update you on what's happening. Signal's not very good up here, Nat and I are flying out again so I'll call you when we touch down."

"Okay. Talk to you in a bit."

After making a quick pit stop at a bakery in Paris, you were up in the skies again, zipping back towards the Avengers HQs where the rest of the team was waiting.

"You know, I think Rogers is in love with you," Natasha gave you a knowing look as you touched down.

"What makes you think that?"

"When you guys were going after Bucky...I think that's when it all happened."

"But that was several years ago?"

"Exactly."

You unbuckled your seatbelts and stood up, picking up your duffel bags as the opening gates dropped down and you stepped off the ramp to an awaiting Bucky, Sam, Clint and Peter.

"Y/N!" Peter rushed forward, squeezing you in a tight hug. "Hi! You're home early!"

"Yeah, I am," you grinned ruffling his hair as you pulled apart. "You make sure Bucky and Sam didn't misbehave?"

Sam shot you a glare as Peter replied. "Well, they were alright. Happy dropped me off here yesterday and I monitored their Mario Kart matches to make sure nobody killed someone, so yeah. Clint was good too."

You went over to Bucky as Natasha went to talk to Sam and Clint about mission details."

"Y/L/N."

"Barnes."

"How was the flight?" His hard expression softened slight as he gave you a quick hug. "I heard everything went pretty well."

"Yeah, it was okay. A bit jet-lagged, but other than that I'm fine. And speaking of flight! I got you guys something."

You motioned for Nat to bring the box of pastries from the jet, and as soon as she did everyone's eyes lit up with excitement.

"Dude, you're the best," Sam exclaimed as he bit into an eclair. "I love Parisian pastries."

"We don't wanna be here too long, now do we?" Clint spoke up. "Y/N, I think you have a special someone to surprise inside."

"Oh?" you raised an eyebrow at the archer before following him and the others inside the compound.

Steve was busy reading a news article on his phone at the kitchen island, sitting there in a plain grey T-shirt and dark jeans when he looked up and met your gaze.

"Hey, soldier," you greeted with a smirk, "miss me?"

His face broke into a grin as he set his phone down. "You're back early."

"Fury was a bit more lenient this time," you shrugged, taking your hands out of your jacket pockets, "so he let us go. Since we got the job done pretty fast."

He chuckled lightly, pulling you close in response and wrapping his strong arms around you. "I'm glad you're back."

"So I take it you really missed me, huh."

"You could put it that way."

"Like hell he missed you. You should've seen him while you were gone, Christ," Sam groaned. "He wouldn't eat anything solid for an entire week."

"Oh!" Wanda piped up, "I believe he has something to tell you? Right, Steve?"

"No, I don't?"

"Uh, we'll leave now, then," Clint awkwardly cleared his throat. "Let's give these two a minute."

With that, they calmly filed out of the kitchen, leaving the two of you to yourselves.

"You look tired," Steve raised an eyebrow at you as he noticed the dark circles under your eyes.

"You look worse," you joked, earning a small laugh from him as you circled your arms around his torso. "I'm just a bit jet-lagged. The ten hour time difference wasn't very kind to me."

"Well, I'm glad you're back," he breathed out, "I missed you."

"Ah, there it is," you mumbled into his chest. "But yeah, I missed you too. And here I was starting to think Captain America didn't have the heart to care for someone so much."

"Only for you, Y/N," he chuckled, pressing a light kiss to your forehead, "only for you."

“Wait a second,” you pulled away and saw a familiar piece of paper sticking out of his jacket pocket, “what’s that?”

Your eyes widened as you pulled it out and realized it was the letter you’d written him several months back. “Oh shit...”

“Was I not supposed to read this?’

“NO!”

“It was addressed to me, though...?”

“I never meant for you to read it!” you hissed, “Now give it back!”

“Ah ah ah! I don’t think so.”

You let out an annoyed groan, going up on your tiptoes to try and snatch the paper out of his hand. “Screw you, Rogers. Why do you have to be so damn tall?”

You jumped up and down in an attempt to get the letter back for several minutes until you finally gave up, arms growing sore. When he towered half a foot above you, it was hopeless.

Your hands landed against his chest as you let them fall and you just stood there for a few seconds, or minutes, maybe, in utter silence, with his warm breath falling against your neck and you hated yourself for wanting this moment to last longer. 

The air was suddenly buzzing with anticipation, like the world was holding its breath to see what was to come next. Steve’s gaze lingered on your lips before he tilted his head downwards, placing a hand on the small of your back and pulling you in for a kiss. 

His lips met your own so softly, so gently that you swore that you were dreaming for a split second, and you let out a sigh as your arms slid around his waist and tightened their grip around him. 

“In case I haven’t made it obvious enough, either,” he hummed, “I’m in love with you too.”

You felt heat rise up your cheeks. “You weren’t supposed to read that!”

“Too bad,” he smirked, resting his chin on your head, “I read it already, three times. You bet I’ll be keeping this for myself.”

“I hate you so much.”

“That’s not what the letter says.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Fine! I love you.”

Steve laughed lightly. “I love you too, Y/N.”

[dxmmymxmmywrites]

Caught Your Fancy

Maito Gai x F! Reader Smut

Warnings: swearing, suggestive themes, unprotected sex, oral sex, pwp

There is not nearly enough Might Guy smut, so I’m here to fill the void! Personally I think this dude would absolutely fawn over a sassy lady, so this was a real treat to write.

Enjoy it ya filthy animals 🖤

...

It was leaner than your other leg, but it looked somewhat normal. You could move mostly on your own with some aid, which often came in the form of your staff. Despite having your dreams of following a nindo crushed, you still had dreams for your life you wanted to make a reality.

And there were many bumps in the road. You would trudge along during your day to day life, trying to be generous to the community while also building up your reputation as a creative. You dabbled in a bit of everything— writing, sculpture, painting— whatever could keep your hands and mind busy. It did wonders to stave off your boredom, and it gave you your own personal haven when the day was done. You could retreat inside yourself for rest.

It was where you were immersed now, sketching along in ink to quiet your mind. Your thoughts had been raging since earlier in the day, happy as it had been. Your hands seemed to move on their own as you doodle with an anatomy textbook open for reference. Some strokes collected into refined nudes, others were simplistic doodles of hands or feet or what have you.

Critters scuttling outside your window finally brought you out of your reverie. When they quieted down, you finally took in your last sketch that had taken up most of your parchment.

You’d drawn a man with strong features just from the image of him that constantly plagued your brain. His bright smile, his sweet dimples— that stupid bowl cut.

You scooted your supplies and paper to the side of your workbench so you had enough space to groan into your hands.

...

You’ve been companions for what seems like ages. Calling Gai a friend sounded odd due to the nature of your... everything, but it was the closest word you had to describe him.

He made you laugh, and you teased him. He walked you home when you ran into each other at markets, and you had stopped in on a practice or two to watch him with his genin.

Most of the time, he would attempt to woo you and you would play hard to get. Gai most likely enjoyed it— the thrill of the chase in the springtime of youth or whatever— but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it too.

Spending time with him on little adventures always left you giddy, feeling like you could actually run a mile without falling on your face. He would send an unapologetic but weirdly sincere compliment your way, and you wouldn’t show how it affected you until you were parting ways once more.

You’re expecting it to repeat as he walks with you to your home on the outskirts of the village now. You had managed to run into him when you’d run out for a last minute ingredient for your dinner. It was like he always managed to find you in a sour mood and make you feel at least a little bit better— you had been exhausted beforehand, but you were happily content listening to him describe his most recent training session with his students.

“—That reminds me!” He perks up like a puppy. “A friend of mine recently said you were once enrolled at the academy! You never told me you pursued ninjutsu!”

It wasn’t meant to be a harsh comment, but you felt yourself wince internally. Somehow, you felt more painfully aware of your leg than ever.

“Yeah... that was a long time ago. Yknow,” you tapped your limp foot with your staff. “Before this happened.”

The panic in Gai’s expression rises quickly, but fades just as suddenly. “I wouldn’t want it to hurt you— but if you ever have an interest in revisiting the basics, let me know!”

You laugh a bit. At least he was trying to make you feel better, pity from others could get tiring.

“You trying to make me one of your genin?” You playfully jabbed.

“Only if you’d like to! Though I wouldn’t mind a one-on-one practice. However you are most comfortable.”

His voice calms towards the end, to a casual but gentle tone you don’t often hear him use. Gai took you by surprise often as well.

And it really was touching. You never thought you could get back to how you were, or that you could ever be an adequate ninja. It didn’t stop you from yearning for it— something you had hinted to Gai before. He had paid attention.

It made a sort of heat rise to your face. Very few could get that reaction out of you, and Gai’s accomplished smile confirmed he knew just as much.

“It’s a kind offer... thanks.” You finally spoke as the two of you approached your humble abode.

His mouth opened to leap into a grandiose plan of action for your training— but you shifted to plant a kiss on his cheek and he stopped in his tracks.

“I’ll think about it, Gai.”

...

Since the time you had shared your vulnerabilities to him, Gai became even more of a common occurrence in your life.

He would nearly bust down your door at some ungodly hour of the morning and start making you a healthy, youthful breakfast. If he ran across a book you’d been dying to read, he would find you wherever to deliver it himself. And whenever you had some opportunities to work within the village, he would make a point to stop by and insist on you filling him in on your day.

It took you off guard. How could someone be so... purely good? How could he be such a bright light to you, and not want a thing in return?

You swore that even if you tried to run from him, he would always manage to get to you. Like running from a ray of sunshine at lunchtime.

So as he reached out to you more and more, you became more available. Parts of you that had been walled up for years came crumbling down with every act of kindness he gave you. Whatever he did, you practically melted for him. And it often scared the shit out of you.

But still, good things continued to happen. You made time to visit Gai and his team when you were invited to the training grounds. You dragged him by the ear to your home several times to feed him a purely indulgent meal, saying he couldn’t just eat superfoods for the rest of his life. You start writing down little poems that make you think of him, and go out of your way to stick them in his pockets when you think he doesn’t notice.

He does. He reads each one, marvels over your calligraphy, and keeps them tucked away in an old jumpsuit.

Around the time your poems became a habit, you start inviting Gai and the genin to your home for dinner every weekend. You come to know each of his students individually, and you grow to love each of them so much.

Lee marvels you with his spirit, and his willingness to scarf down whatever you cook is flattering. Tenten makes you laugh every time you see her with her quick wit, and Neji becomes intrigued with your interests in the arts, and admires whatever project you’ve attached yourself to at the moment.

You don’t catch him in the act, but Gai steals more looks at you in these calm moments with his students more than ever. There’s a moment when you poke fun at Neji with a genuine laugh that he feels his heart skip a beat.

How did he find such a beautiful, youthful spirit like yours? He never wants to let you go.

...

After you had really come out of your shell, you finally agreed to meet Gai for a private session on the sparring grounds. It made you a little nervous, but the excitement in your chest pushed you further and further until you were rushing out the door in whatever workout gear you could find.

You arrive a little early, willing to wait for him if need be. Yet as you approach the encirclement of combat dummies in the field, you can hear the familiar smacks of someone putting the dummies to good use.

The sun finally moves out of your eyes, and your greeted with the sight of an unabashedly shirtless Gai landing hit after hit with no margin for error.

It’s... a religious experience to watch him move. Sweat glistens over his battle hardened muscles with each punch, and you carefully watch a trail of sweat glide down the center of his abs down to the prominent “V” shape of his hipbones.

You try not to drool.

He notices your presence and turns to give you one of his glorious smiles.

“You made it! Glad to see it wasn’t too early for you.”

“I was... motivated,” you manage, watching him step closer to you.

If he noticed your bothered state, he didn’t pay it any mind.

“I have a plan to get you used to the movement of combat. You’re certainly in shape, you only need to learn to follow the flow of combat to start.”

It vaguely makes sense to you, but he takes your hand and leads you to a larger training pit void of combat dummies. You almost don’t want to let go of his hand, but then he lets go and begins to circle you.

“Throw a punch, or hit me with your staff. Let’s begin slowly, and then I can follow your movements.”

It’s nerve wracking, but you can feel the butterflies going insane within you. You slowly go to swing your staff at him, but he slowly counters you and explains his reasonings as he does so. With each movement you make, his process becomes more calculated— and he gives you enough time to consider his words and apply them to your next move.

Like a game of chess, you work in tandem and simultaneously against each other. To be so in sync with him becomes almost intoxicating, especially zoning into his voice and following the grace of his marble-like body. He becomes the epitome of temptation.

Was this his plan all along?

In your single moment to falter, he is able to catch you from behind with a strong arm held around your throat. Your eyes bulge. But your ovaries do a summersault.

“And because of this, you must stay grounded in combat. And not in your head.”

You can feel a shiver convulse throughout your body at his voice being so close, so hot and breathe against your skin. This time, he does notice— and goes stiff.

He goes to say your name, but you painfully grip his wrist and then shove him to the ground.

He jumps when the end of your staff stamps itself inches from his ear, but he feels himself reddening at how tightly your straddling his waist. And those eyes— they sear him to the bone.

“Are you having fun?”

Your words are loaded, coated with either honey or venom and he can’t tell which. Does he care for the difference?

“Are you feeling inspired by my lesson? Do you already feel yourself improving?” He manages that picturesque smile again, though it’s certainly strained.

You lean closer to him, and he gulps. Your stare never wavers.

“I think I could teach you a few things, Maito Gai.”

The deadly desire in your voice makes him feel like he’s floating but falling at the same time. What are your plans? What would you have him do to you?

What would you do... to him?

His determined grin grows, and you feel your heart rate quicken.

“I’m at your mercy.”

You can’t take it anymore. Your freehand shoots to grab the back of his neck and your lips crash against his. He frees his hands then, and they heatedly run up your sides and cup your back until he cups your face with the most tenderness possible.

His kiss, however, is not so tender. Your tongues passionately intertwine with a ferocity that riles the both of you up with each passing second. You moan deliciously into his mouth, and he seems to melt into you.

It leaves him open to you pulling the back of his hair so you can shove your tongue farther into his throat. He continued to groan such sexy noises into your kiss until you begin to fervently grind on his lap.

When you break for air, you slowly grind your core over the outline of his growing hard-on.

“A-ah! Oh, darling—“ he heatedly moans again, making you wetter than ever, and pulls you in for another kiss.

His grip on your pelvis tightens as he sits up, and with you perched on top of him, he takes advantage of your exposed neck. His flushed lips trail lovely open-mouthed kisses all over your pulse-point, and you feel yourself wrap your legs around him as hard as you can.

You grind continually onto him, and keen lowly when he sucks a hickie into your neck just as he times a roll of his hips expertly between your legs.

“Hooooly fuuuck, Gai,” you say as your head rolls back. “Can we do this?”

“Absolutely,” he groans into your neck, pulling at your back so your sweaty torsos rub together.

How did you get so lucky to find him? You look down at him, breathing heavily, into his equally lust-blown pupils. You cup his chin to give him one more passionate kiss, where you lick over his lips and revel in how weak he is for your touch.

And then, you knock him down into the ground with a thump to his chest. Leaning over him so he has a face full of your tits, you instruct.

“I’m gonna ride you. But first, I’m going to sit on your face and blow you into next week.”

The blush across his face is prominent, from the joyful mixture of heat and hormones. But he excitedly smiles.

“Yes ma’am...” he says contentedly, freeing his dick from his pants while you readjust to kick yours off.

In no time at all, you reverse and lean your ass onto his face. He enthusiastically grips your thighs, and pulls your underwear to the side to place a long stripe to your soaked cunt.

You inhaled, but then he quickly pulled you into him and plunged his tongue into your sopping pussy. You shriek.

“Oh fuck! Holy fuck, Gai!” You whine as he hums into your cunt, and you feel your legs quiver as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Hearing you rendered so helpless on top of him spurred him on, and his grip tightens. You can’t submit to him just yet— no, you’ve been dreaming of this for too long to back down now.

You stretch forward as much as you can manage and encircle the head of his cock with your lips. At that moment you knew Kakashi was full of shit when he mentioned Gai had an acorn of a cock— he was clearly a grower, and fisting his girth made your mouth water.

You begin to bob your head on his length, and you feel his pace weaken. It spurs you on, and you try to open your mouth as far as you can to suck him with all your worth.

Gai continues to eat you out to his heart’s content, and you feel him shake as you drool over his immense cock. You feel your determination building again despite the tremors of pleasure overcoming you— and you take him to the back of your throat. You hum as you arch your back, and run your nails tightly down his muscular thighs to hold him in place.

He sputters against your cunt, and you hold his legs to the ground while you render him undone, swirling your tongue around every detail of his thick cock.

As he begins to tremor again, you take a hold of his cock and run the flat of your thumb over his head, teasing his slit.

“Are you ready for me?” You breathe onto his cock, and flatly lick the precum dribbling from his slit.

He exhales as you rise from his face, legs shaking. He leans onto his elbows for a moment, smiling as he wipes your juices from his mouth to lick off his fingers.

“I’m always ready! But especially for you, my love” Gai says in a deeper, more loving voice then you’ve ever heard him use before.

It makes you ache in the best possible way.

You jostle your weaker leg over his lap, and he puts a hand out to hold you as you adjust. Sitting down, you intentionally adjust the lips of your pussy to glide over his shaft, and slowly grind along his length as you kiss under his jaw. Gai moans deep in his chest, running his hands over your back, trying to ground himself through the pleasure.

“D-don’t tease,” he manages, and leans into your touch as you lick up his jugular.

His voice is a symphony to you, while he squirms under your touch. You know you’re both ready then— so you angle his cock to finally sink onto his length.

Both of your mouths open in ecstasy we you ease onto his length, marveling at how your wetness lets his girth take you. It takes a moment to adjust, but eventually you settle into his lap fully speared on his erection. The two of you are breathing heavily, and you’ve only just begun.

You settle your foreheads against the the other’s.

“When you’re ready,” he lightly comforts, and you nod.

You feel yourself grip him harder, and you use your legs to pull him closer to you. Your lips interlock once more, and you groan at the taste of your pussy on his tongue. It encourages you to sway your hips forward, while Gai slowly moves your ass to relish your pull.

You slide deliciously around his cock. The more he relishes in the moment, the more of a slave he becomes to the passion between you. Your bodies begin to move in a glorious rhythm, composing a beautiful dance while your gasps of pleasure begin to harmonize.

Gai takes the liberty to gentle buck into you, feeding off your pretty moans while he hits your g-spot repetitively.

You loving pull you name from his tongue, while you pant and try to see straight. You could get high off of how sweet his touches were— how deeply he looked into you.

“Ahh, fuck, Gai—“ you purr into his ear, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. “Harder!”

His quiet laugh is so deviant and sexy as he picks up his pace, to where he’s rutting into you with his balls slapping your skin. You can’t help but keep bouncing and bouncing on his merciless cock, thighs screaming, crying out as the noise of slapping flesh and wet squelching echos into the air.

“Take me, fucking take me!” You growl into his ear, clawing at his back to try to stay in place. “Ooooh, fucking ruin me Gai!”

“You have a filthy mouth, my love!” He exclaims, still fucking you like a damn race horse.

“And you like it, don’t you baby? You like me being a greedy for your cock?”

Your words run him through with so much shock and absolute list all at once. You punctuate the filthy whispers by biting down hard onto his shoulder— and he cries out as you set a brutal pace to milk the remainder of his stamina.

“AHHHhhh! Darling—! I’m— aAAAaag— closing in!”

You purr like a devil into his shoulder, liking the bruise you’ve left. You’re shaking like an addict, and I you know you’re close too.

“I’m gonna cum all over your cock, Green Beast! Cum for me, cum for your slut!” You pant out, and Gai nearly screams as he fucks into your pussy more furiously than ever.

In the heat of it all, you shove him to the ground again. You grab his chest and put all your weight onto him as you ride out your orgasm, moaning like a bitch in heat as you chase your highs to oblivion.

Gain holds your hips enough to mark them, forcing you down into his cock— but then he looks at you in all your glory on top of him. Sweating rivulets down your reddening skin, singing for him as you take his cock like it was made just for you. He pulls you we close as he can and lets out a strangled scream as he orgasms hard.

Tears stream down your face as you feel your pussy clamp down onto him afterwards, whining with glee we his cock throbs within you. You exhale hard, and you can feel your heart jump over the moon.

All before you collapse off of him, and lay down beside him in the grass. Both of you are dirty, exhausted, and covered in sweat— and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Somehow, you manage the strength to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“You’re amazing.”

He grins, surprised he has enough energy to laugh. “And you are the most beautiful creature to exist.”

You laugh through a blush, and snuggle into his strong arms as he pulls you into his chest.

“I think I should train you more often!”

[terrm9]

Shattered

Words count: 5 200

!!! WARNINGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH; DEATH; FUNERAL; TRAUMA; ALCOHOL CONSUMING; SUICIDAL THOUGHTS; MENTIONS OF ILLNESS

seriously guys this is very very very dark and angsty, there is no glimpse of anything else.

Author’s note: okay, the angsty fic is here. PLEASE, read the warnings and consider if you want to read it. I would hate to cause some triggering feelings in anyone, so please if you are not sure, DO NOT READ. The story will not be relevant for any other of my fics, it is really just angsty one-shot that I needed to write and will not be mentioned ever again. You won’t miss anything important because my other fics will be pure fluff again - there is a fluffy fic about Ramsey family coming where they are all happy and healthy and very much alive. (for more notes, see the end of the story)

„You are overreacting, babe,“ Chiara chuckled and wrapped herself tighter into the sheets.

„You literally just called me ‚babe‘,“ Ethan rolled his eyes. „I have every reason to be overreacting.“

Chiara laughed – or she tried to laugh, the sound soon turning into painful groans.

„It’s just the flu, Ethan. Really, I am doctor and a capable one, so stop questioning my judgement on my own flu. It’s flu season after all. It sucks but I’ll be fine in no time.“

Ethan was not as sure, not at all. Her strained voice and burning forehead kept his mind on the edge.

„I promise I’ll let you take me to the hospital if I don’t feel better in the morning,“ Chiara added as she noticed the wrinkle of concern between his brows.

„Okay,“ Ethan nodded relucantly and kissed her cheek softly. „Now, let’s try to get some sleep. And wake me up if you need pills or water or anything.“

Nodding, Chiara shut her eyes and allowed herself to hope that the throbbing headache would disappear by the morning.

Switching the lights off, Ethan took Chiara’s sweaty hand into his a put another gentle kiss on her knuckles.

„I love you,“ he whispered into the dark room, not sure if Chiara heard him.

„I love you more,“ she whispered back, a small smile on her lips.

Ethan chuckled, the fact that Chiara couldn’t resist to play the little competition with him even now giving his mind the peace it so much needed to sleep.

Impossible, he thought before letting the sleep overtake him.

˜

The sharp, bright rays of a sun that has risen long time ago made Ethan stir in the bed. He didn’t even check the clock, his hand already reaching for Chiara – she was the first thing on his mind every morning and this one was no exception.

With his eyes still half closed, he put his palm on her forehead and a relief washed over him at the feeling of cold skin under it.

The fever was gone.

The relief lasted mere seconds, however. Mere seconds until the words ‚cold skin‘ echoed in Ethan’s mind again.

Her skin was cold. Not feverish, not warm and not the way it normally was.

It was cold.

Cold.

Ethan sat up in an instant, the last traces of sleep long gone. He turned his head to see Chiara clearly and the terrifying, dreadful knot formed in his stomach.

Chiara looked as if she was sleeping very deeply.

But Ethan knew better. Ethan knew that Chiara has never been a deep sleeper.

„No,“ he whispered as he kneeled next to her and pulled the sheets of her.

She was pale. Her lips had the unnatural shade of purple. She was not in a deep sleep – her chest wasn’t moving up and down with her every breath. It wasn’t moving at all.

There were no breaths.

Ethan slapped her; slapped her really hard.

Chiara didn't move. The skin on her cheek didn't get flushed by the harsh contact with Ethan's palm.

"What the fuck are you doing, Chiara?" Ethan screamed at her while laying her down on the floor, as gently as ever.

But there was a part of his brain that was starting to fathom the truth, the part that knew exactly what Chiara was doing.

And that there was no need to be gentle with her anymore.

His head was spinning. Years of medicine worth nothing with the hands shaking so hard he couldn’t perform a proper CRP.

Ethan grabbed a phone and realized it was Chiara’s the moment his own face looked back at him from her locked screen.

He wanted to throw it across the room, to break it. But then, does it really matter whose phone do you use when you need to call 911?

He dialed the number, put the phone on a speaker and got back to pumping Chiara’s chest, praying to God he stopped believing in long time ago that any force that made Chiara’s heart stop could make it beat again under his hands.

The morning became a bizzare blur of action, fear and emptiness with Ethan dictating his adress to the phone one moment and sprinting to open the door for the paramedics the second, not giving them a chance to ask questions before he was kneeling next to Chiara’s motionless – lifeless – body.

The shock on all of the paramedics‘ and Dr. Stock’s face at the sigh of Dr. Ramsey in his pajama bottoms and trembling hands and Dr. Ray on the ground was evident – after all, they knew both doctors. They worked with them for years.

The young paramedic man – Ethan felt like his name was Eric, but maybe that was a pure lie his mind made up – pushed Ethan gently aside and started to perform a CRP himself, while Dr. Stock – a man Ethan’s age – asked him many questions.

When did you find her? What happened before? Was it a long time before you called us?

But Ethan couldn’t answer. Ethan didn’t know. Was it an hour or a day? What happened? He had no idea what happened. He wished he knew what happened and he also wished he would never have to find out.

Dr. Stock knelt down next to the young paramedic and with a solemn nod gestured him to stop with the CRP.

He checked Chiara’s pulse, he foricbly opened her eyes and observed them, he gave her feet a light tap.

And then he shook his head softly.

The three paramedics – two younger men and one older woman – shared a look and all of them checked their watches at once.

„8:08 AM,“ one of them spoke quietly and raised his eyebrow, a question for the doctor.

„Write that down for now,“ Dr. Stock nodded and stood up. „The autopsy should tell us more.“

The autopsy. 8.08 AM. They way they stopped with the resurrecting. Stopped with trying.

As if there was no point in trying anymore.

Ethan didn’t quite register everything going on around him. He wanted to throw up. He felt like fainting. Screaming. Knocking and throwing fists.

He hadn’t done any of those.

He kept standing on the spot, frozen and unable to move. He didn’t want their words and their actions to make sense.

"Sir - Dr. Ramsey - we are sorry."

The paramedic put a sympathetic hand on Ethan's shoulder, her eyes concerned. Perhaps it was supposed to bring some steadiness into his breaths, however the result was the opposite.

"I don't need your sorry," he shook her hand down and took two steps back.

The two other paramedics along with Dr. Stock wheeled the stretcher with Chiara’s body on it out of the bedroom, throwing one last glance at Ethan's trembling figure.

"Stop looking like that," he was screaming now. "Stop with the sorry and those looks, there's no need for them, there's no need for them."

His voice was cracking and the little part of his brain that wasn't completely coated in denial whispered 'Please tell me there's no need for them'.

"You are taking her to hospital, right? That's good, that's great," he muttered but noticing the exchange of their worried glances, his rage came back.

"Just STOP! Take her to the hospital, make her feel better! Make this okay!"

The tree men left the room, however the woman remained standing next to him.

„Why are you still here?“ Ethan asked.

„We already informed Chief Banerji, Dr. Ramsey. He asked one of us to stay with you until he arrives here.“

Ethan shrugged and turned away before replying.

„There is no need for that. You can go. Or at least leave the room, I am going to get changed.“

The paramedic didn’t look happy about his command but left the room anyway and Ethan opened his closet to choose a shirt for the day.

What a busy morning, he thought. At least Chiara is in the hospital now. I will be better at taking care for her there.

He almost laughed at the situation. They were supposed to go to the opera tonight and instead, she ended up in a hospital with the flu.

Maybe he could stop at the Derry Roasters and buy her some good coffee. But then, she probably doesn’t have the appetite and it would be just a waste of time.

No, he will go straight to the hospital. She will surely be confused when she wakes up in a hospital bed.

Ethan just finished tying the knot on his tie when the door to the bedroom opened and Naveen stepped in.

His face was grave and his eyes red, as if he was crying recently.

„Ethan,“ he said softly, not entirely sure what kind of reaction was he expecting.

„Naveen,“ Ethan nodded in a greeting. „I am sorry but I won’t even invite you for a coffee. I can’t be late for work.“

„I don’t think you should go to work today, Ethan.“

„I can’t see why not. I want to be there when Chiara wakes up.“

Every single cell in Ethan’s body, every single atom in it denied the truth. The new reality.

Ethan couldn’t admit what was happening and he wasn’t going to.

„Chiara is not going to wake up, Ethan,“ Naveen whispered, his voice broken.

„Oh, she is,“ Ethan laughed shortly, waving his hand in the air. „She has a nasty flu, but now that she is in the hospital, it’s going to be okay. They took her to Edenbrook, right?“

„They took her to Edenbrook’s morgue. Chiara is dead, Ethan.“

The air stopped moving around them.

The clock on the wall stopped ticking.

Neither of the men – the friends – moved for a long moment.

The truth has finally found its way into Ethan’s brain. His cells were not able to deny it any longer.

Dr. Banerji was ready to catch Ethan if he falls. If he faints.

But there was no need to catch him.

Ethan cleared his throat and nodded once again.

„Yes, right. Right. I need to call her mother and let her know. The funeral will probably take place in San Francisco, so we need to take care of the transport of her body.“

Naveen recognized what was happening. He has seen the scenario many times in his career as a doctor. The husbands that lost their wives, the sisters that lost their brothers – the first reaction was not always a breakdown.

Sometimes, the defensive mechanism was a forced rationality.

„I will inform Mrs. Ray. In the name of the hospital.“

„I should do it,“ Ethan replied stubbornly.

He wanted to fight with Naveen. He wanted to tell Diana Ray that her daughter died on his watch.

He wanted to take care of a funeral.

He needed to.

„Let me handle it,“ Naveen insisted.

After a long moment, Ethan agreed.

As he muttered silent ‚alright‘, little did he know that those would be the last word he would say in days.

Naveen left the room and Ethan’s glance fell on the bed.

Their bed. Her bed. The bed she died in.

The bed she died in.

She died.

She died and there was no way to reverse the fact.

It hit him like a wave, a wave one would never believe could be formed in such calm waters.

Dead. Gone.

Ethan fell on his knees and the room was filled with a desperate scream.

His scream, he realized.

It was as if the world as he has known it stopped existing in the moment Ethan’s knees met the floor.

His hands formed into tight fists and he punched the wood once, twice, he kept punching until his knuckled were all bruised and bloody.

He couldn’t bring himself to care.

Naveen heart broke at the sight in front of him as he opened the bedroom door.

The man he considered son curled up on the floor, screaming and crying and clearly not registering the room around him.

The back of Ethan’s throat was burning from all the screaming and his temples were throbbing from all the crying.

There was a gentle hand on his shoulder and Ethan believed it to be Naveen’s, but how could he be sure?

How could he ever be sure of anything anymore?

How could he be anymore?

The time stopped existing for Ethan after his first breakdown. Whether it was a day or a night, he didn’t know and he didn’t care.

The days became one and they were all coated in a thick fog, precluding Ethan to remember them.

It is as if there was a window in his mind that swallowed the memories of the first days after Chiara’s death, leaving only occasional snippets to torture his mind.

Ethan remembers the moment Chiara’s mother Diana, her sister Alicia and her aunt Livia stepped into his apartment. He remembers not being able to say a word to them and he remembers their gazes – broken and vain.

He remembers how Diana’s gaze is something more even – so, so distant.

She is sedated, Alicia explained to Naveen, who hasn’t left Ethan’s apartment. She kept fainting and her doctor presribed her the strongest pills.

Alicia cries the whole time and Chiara’s aunt Livia bites her lower lip so hard it never stops bleeding.

He remembers how he wanted to say that he was sorry, wanted to explain, but no sound left his mouth.

Ethan doesn’t sleep and doesn’t eat.

He hasn’t even cried since his breakdown. He just stands by the window, hand deep in his pockets and stares out of it – never saying a word to anyone.

Lost in the fog.

He remember the moment Chiara’s autopsy results come with the meningitis as the cause of her death.

The quickest, deadliest form, Naveen tries to explain. There was nothing that could have been done.

Ethan knows that that is a lie.

The hate he feels towards himself grows impossibly bigger at Naveen’s words – of course there was something that could have been done.

He is the best diagnostician in the country and he let his fianceé die while sleeping next to her.

He failed. Himself. Chiara. Chiara’s mother. Everyone and everything.

Chiara mentioned a stiff neck – that was it. That was a clear sign of the illness so how could he overlook it?

Why did he let her persuade him that it was just a fucking flu?

He still doesn’t cry. He grits his teeth and his hands formed in fists – always in fists – cause his nails to break the skin on the palms.

He should get ready for a funeral. They all should leave to San Francisco.

But nobody moves. Nobody is strong enough to make a first move.

That’s when Bryce Lahela walks into Ethan’s apartment, his eyes haunted and sobs leaving his body as he hugs Diana and Alicia.

Ethan remembers what happens next very well.

Most clearly of everything, it seems.

Chiara left this with me some weeks ago, Lahela speaks quietly while pulling an envelope out of his pocket. In case something happens to her.

It’s a letter. A letter Ethan doesn’t want to read but know he needs to.

           My dearest,

now is the right time to use the Hollywood cliché and I am going to do it.

If you are reading this letter it means I am dead.

And I am sorry. I am so very, very sorry because I know I have hurt you all terribly. And that’s something I never wanted to do.

Mom and Alicia – I failed. I remember how we promised each other that nothing would ever happen to us after dad and Liam died and now I broke my promise. Again, I am sorry. You still have each other – please remember that. And you still have me. Just as you still have dad and Liam. We are with you wherever you go, I promise. You know how much I believe in an afterlife – and with that, I cannot only be sorry for dying, because it also means I finally get to be reunited with them and that makes me happy. Let it make you happy too. Alicia, I am the proudest older sister and I beg you to continue with your life, to find your happiness and to follow your wild heart, just as you always have.

I would also like to ask for a favor – I know that I always wanted to be buried next to my brother. I know you want me to be buried in San Francisco. But Boston is my home now. And Boston is where Ethan is. Me and Ethan, we are forever. In any form. And if I am dead, I want to be resting forever next to him – find me a place in Boston, please. Ask him where he wants me to be buried and bury me there.

I love you both. I love you more than life.

Bryce – thank you. I wish you never had to deliver this letter, but I am eternaly thankful that I have had you to do it. Thank you for being part of my life. You were the brother I lost and you were my constant. No matter how stormy my life got, I knew that somwhere out there, there is my sun, my light Bryce, my safe port I could always run to when things became too much. You deserve all the happiness this world has to provide, Bryce Lahela and never settle for anything less than that. Please, let eveyrone else know how much I loved them – and how sorry I am. Sienna, Jackie, Aurora, Elijah and Rafael – my bestest of friends.

Forgive me for screwing this, Bryce. I know we had plans and I know you were looking forward to the wedding – me too. I love you, surfer boy. Always stay so irresistably amazing.

Oh and I think you really should ask Kyra for that date.

Ethan – my dearest Ethan. My greatest love. My forever. We have both believed in a different future for us, but we were destined for this. I am sorry I left without saying a proper goodbye. I am sorry I left you, period. You know how much I love you, Ethan. And I know how much you love me too – trust me, I do. Don’t torture yourself with regrets of not telling me more. I have always known. I have always felt loved with you and I have always felt happy. Until my last moment, I felt happy because I knew you loved me. I know that no matter what caused my death, you blame yourself for it and I need you to stop with that. Unless you killed me, you are not responsible for my dying.

Ethan Jonah Ramsey, you deserve a lifetime of happiness. I am sorry I ruined that for you, for I know that there is no happiness in your life now. But you still have a lifetime. Lifetime of chances, lifetime of love and friendships and miracles (stop muttering that you don’t believe in those, I know you are doing it now!!!). There are people who love you deeply and unconditionaly and those people will help you. Don’t push them away.

We deserved better. You deserved better, Ethan. We had plans, we had a wedding date, we had a vision of a beautiful future and that has been taken away from you, from us. But I have been part of your life and I am not truly gone as long as you remember me.

Please, never forget that there were five years in your life when you have been loved so deeply and so strongly it didn’t even make sense to the person that loved you sometimes. I will never stop loving you, no matter where I am and where I am not.

You are my greatest love and greatest adventure and I am proud of the man I had the honor of calling mine.

Find your happiness again, Ramsey. Find it and keep it. Love again. Laugh again. Live again.

I am somwhere there, watching you.

I loved you, I love you and I will love you always, Ethan.

 So, that’s it. If someone cares about my last wish, do you think you could arrange for Benedict Cumberbatch to crash my funeral and shout: „She was clever. Clever, yes! She’s cleverer than you lot and she’s dead!“ ? (it’s the scene from S01E01 in Sherlock, you know).

Haha this was a joke but I suppose nobody really laughs at it at the moment. I hope one day you will.

I love you all with my whole heart.

Don’t you fear for me, I am where I am supposed to be.

                                                                              -forever yours, Chiara.

 Ethan reads the letter over and over until he can’t anymore, until his hands are shaking so much he fears he would tear the paper, until his vision is blurry and he cannot read the words anymore.

And then he runs. He runs into to bathroom and throws up, even though he hasn’t eaten in days and there is nothing he could throw up.

He still does.

He coughs and acid that leaves his mouth burns his throat. He throws up and his whole body strains so much it brings tears into his eyes.

First tears after days and they are caused by the vomiting.

Once they are there, however, the first one is followed by another and that by another until Ethan Ramsey is hunched over his toilet seat, vomit and tears falling down.

He doesn’t remember anything after that.

He might’ve fainted and maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. He doesn’t know.

The last thing he remembers until the day of the funeral comes is Harper Emery and her stern gaze as she sits down next to him.

"Take the pills, Ethan. You need to sleep.“

"I need Chiara."

His voice is raspy and speaking for the first time in three days feels unnatural. It makes his thorat sore and takes another remnant of his energy away.

"I understand."

Ethan almost snickers at the absurdity of her statement. Nobody could understand. Because if anybody could comprehend his desire to just wrap his arms around Chiara for one last time, they wouldn't survive the pain that came with it. He doesn't snicker, however. Instead, he whispers.

"No you don't."

"I do," Harper replies firmly and takes a deep breath, deciding to tell Ethan about the man she has never mentioned before, not once in their relationship.

„Michael and I were together for three years. We met while I was in a med school and the flame between us burned almsot immediately. We fell in love and for the first – and the last – time in my life, I felt like I found my true love. But we weren’t meant to last. The relationship was too passionate, too stubborn, too exciting, too much. It became toxic and we had a very rough breakup. I moved on and I knew that we were better off, but there was this part of me that always knew that Michael was the only man I could see my forever with.“

„It was my fifth year at Edenbrook when there was an emergency surgery needed for a motorbike rider and I was the one to perform it. I didn’t need to look twice to recognize Michael – with his face all bloody and bruised and awful, I knew it was him. And I didn’t tell anyone because they wouldn’t let me perform the surgery and I needed to do that. I needed to save him.“

Ethan doesn’t move. He doesn’t even look at Harper – he just keeps staring out of the window. He is surprised but he doesn’t show any emotion.

„I didn’t save him. He died on that table, he died under my hands. For so long I felt like I killed him. I blamed myself, I thought that if someone else did the surgery, they would keep him alive.“

She trailes off and doesn’t give Ethan the answer he needs.

He doesn’t find out is she ever stopped blaming herself.

He doesn’t know if there is a chance that he could ever stop blaming himself.

˜

Ethan doesn’t cry at the funeral.

He is sitting on the front bench in the cathedral, next to Diana, Alicia and Livia.

He doesn’t want to sit there. He doesn’t deserve to sit them.

Can’t they see that it was his fault? That there would be no funeral if he only did his job right?

Alicia cries softly, her lips trembling. Diana, just like Ethan, doesn’t cry – no, she even smiles a little. It is the effect of her sedatives and Ethan knows that she probably won’t even remember the funeral.

Seeing Chiara’s smiling mother hurts more than seeing her crying sister.

The whole ceremony is filled with tears and love. Because everyone loved Chiara and Chiara loved everyone.

And Ethan just sits in his spot, staring at the casket, his gaze never leaving the wood it is made of.

And he doesn’t cry.

He wishes he would. He wishes the tears could get him through the day.

But he doesn’t and there is nothing to get him through the day.

People shake his hand and say their condolences and he keeps nodding and murmuring fake „thank you’s“.

He wishes he could go home, only to realize that there is not a single promise of some kind of peace with returning home.

There is no home for him anymore. There is an apartment. A place to live.

His home is gone. His home is lying in a wooden casket. His home is having ground scatterd all over her.

His home is buried six feet under him.

He is destined to be homeless forever.

˜

Days go by and Ethan doesn’t come back to work – not that anyone expects him to.

His days consist of staring out of the window and sitting next to the toilet in case he needs to vomit again.

People insist on staying with him. Alan and Naveen mostly.

But he doesn’t want their company. He doesn’t want their compassion even.

He wants to be alone and to let his guilt and regrets kill him slowly.

He wants his medical licence removed. He should be charged for killing someone out of negligence.

He doesn’t want to be Ethan Ramsey anymore.

And he always expects Chiara to come back to him. He checks his phone for a message from her. He walks into the living room and it surprises him that there is no stupid movie playing on the TV – the one only Chiara would watch.

He opens the fridge and is shocked when he sees that the Toblerone chocolate is still there – how did Chiara not eat it already?

It is one evening, weeks after the funeral, when Ethan opens a drawer in the bedroom and jolts into Chiara’s  perfume that meets the floor with surprising force and the bottle breaks into dosens of pieces.

The smell – Chiara’s smell – hits him with a force of a train and Ethan stumbles involuntarily at the feeling.

He broke her perfume bottle and it doesn’t matter anymore.

Because Chiara will never use the perfume anymore.

She is not coming back.

She is not coming back.

She is not coming back.

Ethan chokes on his sobs and leaves the room, his decision suddenly thoroughly clear.

There is no world in which he could live if the world is one where Chiara doesn’t live.

He can’t do it.

He can’t stay alive if she is dead.

Grabbing a bottle of scotch, he fills the glass and drinks the liquor in one swing.

Then the second.

Then the third.

There are the sleeping pills Harper has brought him on the counter and Ethan knows.

For the first time in weeks, he has a plan.

The plan that is supposed to be his last one also.

Chiara asked him in the letter to go on with his life. She promised him that there are better days waiting for him.

How could she? She was dead. Dead and gone and indifferent to everything she left behind.

Everyone she left behind.

Ethan Ramsey has always been a rational man. His rules and princlipes leading him through the life, the life that was predictable and safe.

That was until Chiara burst into his life without ever asking and burned his principles to the ground.

That was until Chiara left his life without ever asking.

All he wanted was to die. Ethan never believed in an afterlife and he didn’t believe that killing himself would reunite him with Chiara. But it didn’t matter. He didn’t need to be with Chiara – he just couldn’t handle being without her.

And so he drinks some more.

Suddenly, he sees it. The picture forever burned into his brain.

Diana Ray.

The eyes of a woman who lost her husband, her son and her daughter.

There is a glimpse of rationality after all. And with that part of his brain, Ethan realizes that no matter how much he hurts, Diana Ray hurts more.

He feels like he can’t breathe and he knows that that is how Chiara’s mother feels for every second every day.

He thinks of a mother that lost two of her children and with that, he thinks of his father.

Alan would lose his only child.

And Ethan sees it. Feels it. Knows it.

With his desperate desire to escape the misery surrounding his whole being, he would not only kill himself.

He would kill Alan Ramsey’s child.

The pain he feels would become the pain he caused.

It is the same exact moment the terrible, sobering realization hits him when the heavy crystal glass falls from his hand and shatters on a wooden floor. Ethan follows its trajectory almost identically and with a inhuman sob leaving his throat, his knees hit the floor - and the broken glass.

He can see blood.

The glass is quickly stained by the maroon red and with combination of an artifical light in the kitchen, the most omnious of shadows project on the wood.

There's a lot of blood and even in his state, Ethan knows that it is his own blood. He can see it, he can perceive that his skin has been cut by the sherds. But he doesn't feel it.

There is no physical pain to be felt.

It is as if the pain coming from his core - the pain that doesn't have any visible source - was at such unbearable rate that his body protected him by refusing to let him feel any more.

He could be shot right now and he wouldn't feel anything.

Ethan just wishes he could be shot right now.

He wishes he could vanish, he wishes he could erase the existence of Ethan Ramsey from the universe.

If only it was that easy.

And so with bloody hand, he reaches for his phone and dials his first emergency contact.

„Ethan?“ Alan’s concerned voice responds immediately.

„Dad,“ Ethan gets out of himself, though he is sure Alan hardly understands him thorugh the violent sobs leaving his mouth constantly. „Could you please come here?“

 *** *** ***

so... one thing. The whole meningitis thing being so deadly is not something I made up. It is the very same thing that killed my best friend 7 years ago - he fell asleep with light flu (so everyone thought) and never woke up again.

If Ethan seems out of character here, I am sorry. However I believe that  when one is grieving, there is nothing as out of character. People do really unexpected and weird things while grieving.

This was actually self-indulgent (even though I guess it’s weird to use it like this) - the stages of grief Ethan is going through (denial - weird rationality - breakdown - shutting himself off - not sleeping, eating, talking - unability to express his sorrow at the funeral - more breakdowns - the terrible, terrible moment he realizes she is really never coming back - wishing to die - finding the strength to stay alive...) are my exact stages of my own grief back then. And it was very difficult to write about those and also very healing.

[jaskierek]

Temporary

Summary:

Everyone's always left Jaskier, he's come to expect it. After all, he was temporary, forgettable. Until Geralt comes back. Until Geralt seems bent on proving him wrong.

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

Julian and his parents were never that close.

They weren’t really invested in him if he was being honest.

Well, maybe they were. They were invested in his academic grades and his ‘upbringing’, which for them consisted of learning how to hunt pheasants and which fork to use.

Other than that, Julian was pretty much left alone with no one but his nanny to keep him company. He liked her. She’d sing for him and tuck him in at night with a kiss.

When he was 7 he figured out that she was being paid to care for him so he closed himself off even to her, hiding behind his blinding smiles.

His father wasn’t gentle with him and Julian tended to get in trouble. How else would an ignored child get any sort of attention? Turns out that the Earl of Lettenhove was more invested in the dignity of the Lettenhove name than he was in ignoring his son. So Julian got what he wanted…in a way. It’s sickeningly clichéd, isn’t it?

Eventually his parents didn’t know what to do with him so they sent him off to boarding school.

Julian learned how to be charismatic, how to become popular among his peers and earn ‘friends’. All fleeting relationships, never lasting long, never slipping past his mask of smiles. Unfortunately, that did not stop him from getting into trouble, nor did it keep him interested in his studies.

He remembered one particular professor. He was a wizard with a cane. He knew exactly where to strike to make it the most painful. “No tears.” He used to say and Julian was forced to swallow them down. After a while he learned how to be an academic.

His love for poetry came as a surprise. He’d only started liking it when he was 19. It was also when he’d met the Countess de Stael. Once she’d stepped into his life, poetry had poured out of him. He’d forgo sleep in favour of letting the words slip onto the pages before him. She loved it at the time.

And then she left.

And so Julian had carried on with his studies, allowing his broken heart to write the most beautiful sonnets and ballads.

And then Julian had left. And he’d changed his name. He changed it to Jaskier. Buttercup. Beautiful, bright and yellow. Small, delicate and smooth to the touch.

Buttercup. A weed.

Loosen the soil, yank at its base and pull it out. More room for better things now.

He’d fallen into many beds during his travels. Men, women, neither. Sometimes it was the Countess de Stael herself. He remembered most of their names. And when he didn’t, it was because he’d been blackout drunk. And even then, he’d remember things like the touch of their skin or the colour of their hair.

None lasted long. Many didn’t care to learn his name. He wasn’t hurt. He hadn’t expected anything more.

He wrote beautiful songs. People didn’t care to listen. So he wrote what was popular. He wrote of monsters and heroes and kings. He knew nothing of monsters and heroes and kings. His songs were bad. He wasn’t paid much.

Then he’d met Geralt of Rivia. Witcher. Monster Hunter. Emotionally constipated. Self loathing. Kind. Generous. Asshole. Utter and absolute asshole.

The love of Jaskier’s life.

Geralt had never shown Jaskier much outward affection. Jaskier had hoped that he cared though. He’d hoped that he wasn’t dispensable, forgettable. The Witcher, for all of his grumpiness, had provided food, had let the bard sleep in occasionally, had let him talk for hours on end, had made sure he was always safe and healthy. He had once even nursed Jaskier back to health after a particularly malicious cold that had left him numb and with a raging fever. Jaskier could even make out the faint whisper of worry in the Witcher’s golden eyes.

Geralt had also inspired him to write in a way he hadn’t known possible. Suddenly, the lyrics and notes were pouring out of him again. His pockets filled with coin. His stomach filled with food. His fame spread. His music was respected. People’s desire for him had grown. He was wanted. But never in the way that he needed.

People ignored him when he was with Geralt, their gaze slipping over him like water. He understood. It was hard to focus on a simple bard when a Witcher stood right beside him. And not just any Witcher. Geralt of Rivia. The White Wolf. A mass of muscles and sharp swords and white hair and amber eyes and gods, did Jaskier understand. He often found himself struggling to look away. And besides, he was used to not being seen, at least not being seen truly and wholly.

Then came the golden dragon and the witch and the mountain and -

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

It seemed to be a common wish for anyone who’d met him.

Some of his relationships lasted a night, maybe a week, a month, maybe a little more.

With Geralt it had been 20 years. He’d cleaned his wounds, he’d bathed him, he’d learned to understand his grunts and the minute twists of his lips, he’d loved him with all that he had. 20 years. He still wasn’t enough. Jaskier wished he could blame the Witcher. But he’d seen him be kind, he’d seen him be gentle, he’d seen him be careful with his words. Perhaps Jaskier simply wasn’t enough. Maybe he wasn’t enough to warrant care.

Dispensable, forgettable, temporary. Fun while it lasted but not enough to love.

While Jaskier was an idealist, he’d always considered himself to be realistic about his own assets. He was attractive, he had great eyes and a great smile, he was a good dancer, he could write a hell of a song.

There was not much else.

He was annoying, too excitable, too greedy, he was interesting up to a point. He talked too much. He was too cocky. He was useless in a fight. He had a tendency to fool around with married people. He was unlovable.

Ah, yes, and he was dramatic. Overly dramatic.

Jaskier looked at himself in the mirror and smiled, big and bright.

Buttercup.

Weed.

Temporary.

“If life could give me one blessing -”

The smile didn’t waver.

Geralt had found him half a year later performing at a rather respectable inn. He had been singing one of his new songs. It wasn’t about Geralt. None of his new songs were. Not for lack of material though, he found he could write about the Witcher endlessly. Jaskier had believed himself adept at swallowing down pain. He was proven wrong.

“What can I do for you, Witcher?” He’d asked with a grin, hoping Geralt wouldn’t see through it.

“Nothing, Jaskier.  I want nothing from you.” He’d responded and the bard felt his chest clench at that. Perhaps this meeting had simply been an accident. Geralt didn’t want anything to do with him. He should have been used to it.

“Ah, well then,” Jaskier said, turning around, finding he couldn’t stand to look into those amber eyes any longer, “see you around, Geralt.”

“No - Jaskier, please, wait,” the bard had ground to a halt at that, looking over his shoulder to see a pained expression on that beautiful face, “I - I’ve been looking for you.”

So, yes, Geralt had found him and not accidentally. He had been looking for him.

Jaskier didn’t know what to do with that information.

“I want to apologise.”

The smile finally slipped.

“You…you want to apologise?”

“Yes.” Came the response. Short. Fast. Without any room for doubt.

“Why?”

Geralt looked almost incredulous, almost confused. “Because I said terrible things to you.”

Jaskier furrowed his brows.

“So?” He couldn’t help but ask, not maliciously but entirely curiously.

“‘So?’ What do you mean ‘so’? Jaskier, I said things to you that I didn’t mean, things that I couldn’t stand you believing. I - Jaskier, you - you were there and I was angry and I lashed out.”

A beat of silence.

“After the mountain, I - I tried to be alone and I couldn’t stand it. Even…even before - we’d spend weeks apart but I still never felt as alone as I did after I said…what I said and I - I didn’t mean it and then I went to find Yennefer,”

Ah, Jaskier was an idiot. Add that to the list of flaws. Of course he wasn’t the first one to be sought out by the Witcher. Why would he be?

“Must have been a fun reunion.” Jaskier said, trying to inject some genuine sounding mirth into his voice and the smile that had reappeared. Geralt looked away.

“It wasn’t like that. Although we care for each other, we realised that that wasn’t what we wanted.”

Despite himself, Jaskier’s chest still tightened painfully. Hearing - hell, even seeing - how truly and deeply they cared for each other… His smile didn’t waver.

“Sorry about that.” Was all he could think to say.

“Stop it.”

Jaskier blinked.

“Stop what?”

“That smile. That smile you do when you don’t really want to be smiling. I’ve known you for 20 years, bard, I know which smiles are genuine.”  Geralt sounded frustrated. Almost pained.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“For fuck’s sake, Jaskier. I know I fucked up. I know I did and you deserve to be angry at me but don’t give me that smile. I hate it. I hate that smile.” The Witcher took a step closer and the bard finally let his smile slip. It wasn’t his only mask. Geralt seemed to realise this too, still looking displeased.

“What do you want from me, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, the amusement gone from his voice, but he managed to keep it levelled, not betraying the tiredness behind it.

“I don’t want anything from you, Jaskier,” he paused for a moment. “What I wanted to say was that I talked to Yennefer and she helped me realise that I don’t want a life without you.”

It would’ve sounded romantic if Jaskier wasn’t certain that Geralt would never think of him like that.

“So you do want something from me. You want me to travel with you again.”

Geralt winced and after a moment said, “yes”.

“You hurt me.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m - I’m trying to make up for it.”

Jaskier was weak. Add that to the list. He was so fucking weak.

“Okay.”

After that, Geralt would eye the bard warily for a while, as if expecting him to reveal himself as some sort of shapeshifter, a doppler maybe. But Jaskier knew that the Witcher would smell anything like that a mile away so he didn’t really know why he kept glancing at him over the campfire.

Other than that, it seemed like things were back to normal.

Everything forgiven, nothing forgotten. Unfortunately.

Jaskier pushed that out of his mind and returned to his rambles and Witcher-themed ballads. After all, Geralt had said he’d missed him. Surely that had meant the whole ‘Jaskier experience’, prattling and all.

The bard still didn’t know how to comprehend that information. No one had ever missed him in his life. At least, not that he knew of. Maybe they missed how he made them feel, like when the Countess would moan “gods, I missed this,” as he’d trail kisses up her thighs. So no, he didn’t know what Geralt wanted but it was strange. The Witcher smiled at him more, talked to him more. Every time they separated for a time, Geralt would greet him with a small smile. It made the bard’s heart do things and it wasn’t fair.

Perhaps this was a punishment from some god or another, maybe destiny herself or karma. Maybe it was Jaskier’s punishment to have to endure a love for a man who would never reciprocate it, all the while being subjected to that same man openly stating that, yes, he wanted Jaskier around.

A few months later, Geralt had kissed him.

It was after a battle with a Leshy, half wildcat, half bear, with fangs and claws like knives, sharp and long enough to sever a man in half. Jaskier had gotten very close to being that man before Geralt had yanked it back by its tail, swinging his sword as it whirled around in fury. After the fight, the Witcher had surged over to Jaskier, arm bleeding and eyes searching.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice gruff. His hands were running over the bard’s body, checking for injuries.

“No.” Jaskier managed to choke out, trying to ignore the feeling of Geralt’s hands skimming over his hips. “But you are. Let me check that arm.” He said, reaching for the Witcher’s bleeding bicep. A hand snapped up and grabbed his wrist, bringing it back down to his side.

“You got too close.” He rumbled, taking a step closer so that he was practically pressing the bard up against the tree behind him. Jaskier swallowed.

“I know. Sorry.” He let out a shaky breath as he noticed those golden eyes sliding down to his lips. Geralt growled and pressed their lips together, one hand behind Jaskier’s head, the other still gripping his wrist. Jaskier was quick to reciprocate, tangling his fingers in the Witcher’s snowy hair and opening his mouth willingly.

Their kiss was all tongues and teeth and sucking and biting. Their sex was much the same. Jaskier knew it was adrenaline and he knew it was just physical, but he couldn’t stop from smiling the next morning, for once waking before the other man. Geralt’s injured arm was wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, the wound already mostly healed. The bard found himself tracing the outline of Geralt’s cheekbone, his jawline, his thumb running over his lips. He had never known the Witcher to sleep so deeply that a touch would not wake him.

He didn’t know whether this was a one time thing but he was grateful it had happened. Even if he only got to taste the man once, he would find a way to make it be enough.

After a while, Jaskier got up and wet a small rag, cleaning himself before rinsing it and beginning to clean the Witcher, it was nothing he hadn’t already seen, some of it he’d even helped wash before. They were still sticky from the night before and they were nowhere near any lakes or rivers. Geralt woke to Jaskier running the cloth across his thigh.

“Sorry, I thought it would be nice to wake up not so icky.” The bard said, pulling his hand away.

Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s hand, “I like it.”

Jaskier smiled and looked away, missing the way his favourite pair of golden eyes lit up at the sight.

“Well, I’m not about to miss my chance at touching that body again.” He said with a whistle. Geralt laughed at that and pulled the bard down, pressing a kiss to his lips that threatened to burst Jaskier’s chest with affection.

The Witcher’s gaze was soft for the rest of the morning.

They’d fall into bed multiple times again. Sometimes it was rough and fast and adrenaline-hazed. Sometimes it was soft and gentle and it left Jaskier feeling heady, his head filling with sweet honey as Geralt’s fingers worked wonders.

It was hard for him not to get attached even more. He knew he shouldn’t. He wouldn’t allow himself to believe that Geralt cared for him romantically. He wouldn’t put his heart through that. Still, it was hard.

So one evening, when a particularly brave woman had chosen to flirt with the Witcher, all but offering herself up on a platter, Geralt had looked to Jaskier with a look in his eye.

“It’s okay, Geralt.” He’d reassured him from the seat across the table, he smiled and Geralt frowned before rejecting the woman bluntly. Jaskier felt a sigh of relief building in his throat as the woman sauntered away.

“What did you mean ‘it’s okay’?” Geralt asked, turning to him with stiff shoulders. Jaskier froze. Was he really going to make him say it aloud?

“I - I mean, it’s okay if you want to sleep with other people, you don’t have to worry about me.” You don’t have to worry about me trying to stop you, about me being hurt.

“What - Jaskier -,” The Witcher struggled for a moment before taking a breath, “is this just about sex for you?”

Jaskier definitely wasn’t expecting that.

“I…is it for you?” He asked. It was a coward’s response. Had he already put that on the list? Add cowardly to the list. Geralt was quiet and Jaskier could feel his heart beating in his throat as those amber eyes searched his.

“No.”

He thinks he might have misheard.

“What?”

“It’s not just about sex for me and if it is for you then we should stop.”

Jaskier’s mouth was open, trying to find a response. He knew what he wanted to say but a declaration of love was probably not what the Witcher wanted.

“I love you, Jaskier.” Geralt said, his face pinched.

Huh.

“I know you don’t want me like that,” Geralt continued, his gaze still on Jaskier’s, “you of all people have seen the worst of me and I wouldn’t blame you for not being able to stomach romance with a Witcher,” the way he said that word made his chest clench, “but I can’t keep doing this, Jaskier.”

Since when had Geralt ever been more eloquent than his bard?

“You think I don’t love you?” Jaskier’s voice came out quiet, hesitant, incredulous. Geralt’s eyes looked wary.

“You -“

“Geralt, how can I not fucking love you? I’ve spent 20 years loving you. Fuck - it - it hurts how much I love you.”

Because it did. Every time Geralt smiled at him or teased him or tied his hair back in the morning, it was like a blow to Jaskier’s chest, but he’d gotten good at swallowing pain, swallowing tears.

He could tell Geralt was still disbelieving and fuck - he knew that the man’s self-loathing ran deep and he couldn’t help himself from saying; “Geralt, you are the best man I’ve ever known and it frustrates me to no end that you don’t see it.”

Geralt was watching him, scanning his face, his eyes, looking for something.

“Then why - why do you hide yourself from me?” He asked, frustrated, “You - you do this smile that - it’s not you, it’s not your smile. There’s this look in your eyes sometimes. It’s like a wall and I hate that you need to hide from me.”

Jaskier’s hand shot out to grab Geralt’s, trying to comfort him. The Witcher had never been big on affection in public but he let his hand be taken by the bard.

“It’s not you, Geralt, I don’t blame you. It’s - it’s not love…what you feel for me.” Jaskier smiled sadly, his years of practice swallowing down tears being put to use. “It’s not love. You’ll get bored of me soon. I’m not permanent. I’m - I’m a fleeting fancy. And that’s okay.”

“You - I - what?” Geralt asked, looking so completely confused that it was almost comical. “Fuck. We’re not talking about this here.” He said, standing up and dragging Jaskier up through the inn and into their shared room. “Now,” the Witcher growled, whirling on the bard and grabbing him by his shirt, “what the fuck did you just say.”

Geralt didn’t scare Jaskier. He could never scare him, but the bard’s eyes were wide as he looked at Geralt’s furious expression.

“I - I don’t know how to say it, Geralt, I - no one’s ever wanted me before, not in a way that matters.” He managed to choke out, his vision turning blurry. Fuck, he thought he’d gotten good at swallowing down tears but Geralt had yet again proven him wrong.

“Who told you that?” He asked furiously.

“No one,” Jaskier responded, pushing Geralt away and scrubbing at his cheeks fiercely, “no one had to. I know, okay? I know.” The Witcher snarled.

“You know nothing, bard, if you don’t know that I love you.”

“Stop it, Geralt.”

“No.”

“I can’t do this if you’re just going to leave me.”

Jaskier froze and a silence passed. His breath was shaking from barely restrained tears.

“I can’t do this, Geralt,” he continued in a quiet voice, “not if you find someone better and leave me. I - I don’t know what I’d do. Everyone I’ve ever known has either left me or grown tired of me. It’s not a pattern that’s going to end with you. I - I don’t think I could take it if you left me again.”

Geralt’s gaze was soft, pitying. Jaskier was pitiful, add that to the list.

“I’ve known you for over 20 years and I have not grown tired.”

“What is 20 years to a Witcher? And even so, you did, you did grow tired of me.”

‘If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.’

“I didn’t grow tired of you. I grew tired of myself and my ability to fuck everything up.” Geralt said softly, “And I did, I fucked it up.”

“Geralt, it’s not love.”

“Stop saying that.”

“It’s not.”

Geralt snarled and pushed Jaskier up against the wall, leaning in close so that Jaskier had nowhere to look except for those golden eyes. Those disarmingly honest, golden eyes.

“Listen to me, Jaskier, I love you.”

Jaskier wouldn’t cry. He swallowed down a shaky breath.

“I’m irritating.”

“You are.”

“I talk too much.”

“You do. I like it.”

“I’m greedy.”

“You enjoy finery. It’s not the same.”

“I’m arrogant.”

“Clearly you’re not.”

“I can’t fight. I’m a coward.”

“You’re one of the bravest men I know. To the point of recklessness, it worries me.”

“It does?”

“It does.”

Geralt’s lips were grazing over his now, teasingly. Jaskier smiled, genuinely. Geralt smiled right back.

“You love me?” He asked, voice breaking.

“I do.”

And Jaskier cried, finally.

Jaskier cried and laughed and kissed Geralt. It was bad. It was wet and sloppy and he loved it. And Geralt loved it too. Because he loved him. Jaskier. He loved him.

Then Geralt had dragged him to bed, whispering praise into his skin as if hoping it would soak through him and settle in his bones. Jaskier had done the same because fuck, he was in love and it was dizzying.

“You know,” Jaskier began the next morning, earning a grunt from the Witcher laying under him, “I think last night was the longest I’ve ever heard you speak.” The chest beneath the bard’s head rumbled with a laugh.

“Fuck off.”

“I guess I just bring it out of you, Witcher.” Jaskier continued, grinning devilishly.

“I will kick you out of this bed, bard.”

“Please, I dare you to try and rip me off of you. I have melded my body onto yours.”

Geralt simply grumbled in response. It was a grumble of acceptance, Jaskier could tell. He could always tell.

-

They ran into Yennefer two months later and Jaskier found that he wasn’t concerned. He wasn’t worried Geralt would return to her. Partly because when she spotted them the first thing out of her mouth was;

“Finally. For Melitele’s sake, that took much too long.”

Geralt had looked at her with a pointedly unamused gaze which she’d returned with a wink.

Later, after they had helped her with a monster-slaying job so she could collect some sort of venom, the three had shared drinks.

“I take full credit for this, by the way.” She’d said, gesturing to the two of them and the arm wrapped around Jaskier’s waist.

“In what way is this your doing?” Jaskier had asked.

“I’m the one who told him to tell you how he felt.”

“Which he did months after he’d found me.”

“Is his lack of communication skills my fault?”

“If he didn’t do it when you told him to then it doesn’t count.”

“Fuck off, it counts.”

“It most certainly does not.”

Geralt took a sip of his ale as the two continued to bicker.

Not long after, Yennefer had decided to join them - “graced” them with her presence as she’d put it. Jaskier could tell that Geralt and the sorceress still cared for each other deeply. He couldn’t really talk though, he’d found himself caring for her as well. When she’d called him her “friend” he had practically glowed. Then Ciri had barrelled into their lives and their little circle had grown and gods, did he love that little girl.

“Where are your parents, Jaskier?” She had once asked as he was soothing her back to sleep after a nightmare. It was always Cintra burning, Jaskier ached for her. She was too young for all of this.

“I don’t know, honey, I haven’t spoken to them for years.”

“Why not?”

“We were never really a family.”

Ciri paused before smiling widely.

“But you have a family now.”

Jaskier smiled back, brushing the hair out of her face and listening to the sounds of Yennefer sleeping soundly and Geralt mumbling something to Roach.

“I do.”

[visceryl]

Forget Me Not

@hogwartsmystory and I co-wrote a short story involving Jaxson (Ethren’s brother) and Konnor a few years after the Order. Hal Greywind belongs to @one-very-angry-hufflepunk and Idmon Malin belongs to @zuulosdovah ------

The pitter of rain bounced off the roof of the colonial farmhouse and dripped down every window. It had rained from first daylight to evening, turning the grounds outside to muddy puddles, while animals sought shelter in barns and enclosures sparsely populated throughout the owned land. 

Inside, the dim glow of a single living room lamp and the hearth of a fire lit up the room where Konnor lounged tiredly in a reclining armchair. His feet propped up atop a fluffy mass of white fur as a large dog chewed idly at a cow ankle bone that crunched beneath its jaws. A book’s spine was broken across the arm of his seat, untouched for hours unlike the glass of red wine he turned in his grasp.

Somehow the day off work had been longer and more exhausting than if he’d gone. With no papers to keep up with or assignments to see to, Konnor was left to his thoughts alone in the empty house he called home. Hal and Charlie had invited him over to stave away the blues of the day, but as he denied every year, he’d insisted anniversaries shouldn’t be skipped.

Even the bad ones.

The glass lifted to the edge of his lips as he took down a long sip and set it on the nearby side table. In his other hand, he gripped tightly to the crumpled and dirted remains of a photograph. Taken several years back in shoddy quality and with minimal color, a light leak consumed the entire lower half of it. But the importance of it remained. Grouped all together, Konnor could still make out the faces of those he’d joined the Order with. Talbott, Chiara, himself, Hal, Tonks, Ben, Eileen, Ethren. 

He sucked up a breath and his gaze tore from the photograph. His head knocked to the cushioned back of his chair. Like flashes of moments from harder times, they lingered in his mind. The day of the final battle nearly broke him. He ended it with several broken ribs and a scar that ran from his hip down to his thigh, but the worst injury had been the heartbreak after, when bodies were fished from where they laid. 

A crack of lightning flashed outside the window, followed by the rolling boom of thunder that shook the shudders. Konnor parted from his thoughts to rub a hand over his face, massaging tiredly at a temple. Beneath him, the Great Pyreneese stirred and gathered to her feet before making off for the kitchen.

“Yeah, I get it. Bit too miserable in here, huh?” he called after the dog. The picture was set aside his wine glass with another fleeting glance before he drew the book in hand again. It was some shitty mystery novel to pass the time. 

Konnor read for another half hour until he came to a stop at the end of a page, hardly remembering a single word from the entire chapter. Too distracted. Another gulp of wine disappeared behind his lips. Mourning the dead was like getting your soul devoured by dementors. 

He lost himself to thought again, droning out to the crackle of the fire as the rain relentlessly poured outside. Then a knock came. Several harsh repetitive raps that sent Iris into a loud barking frenzy from the other room. “Quiet, quiet!” Konnor yelled out, pushing up onto his feet. He crosses the room, quietly muttering to himself about how Hal couldn’t leave well enough alone. But that wasn’t who he found.

As the door swung open, Konn straightened in surprise, half shielded from the gust of wind and rain. 

A cold, unforgiving rain poured down from the angry grey clouds above. It pelted the tattered, brown leather duster of the man who stood beneath its rage, auburn hair plastered against his face. 

Konnor's eyes widened. "Jax?" 

"Konnor." Tired bags hung under his eyes and rain dripped off the end of his nose. "Mind if I come in?" 

Konnor shielded himself half behind the door from the blustering wind. "It's late. Why are you all the way out here?" 

"Maybe I just needed to drink with someone other than a little kid." Jaxson caught on to the look of disapproval on the man's face in seconds. "Don't worry," he mumbered, long fingers fishing through his hair. "I didn't just leave him alone. Summer has him for the night."

Konnor sighed. "Come on in," he murmured as Jax stomped into the house, shaking his hair out like a wet dog. "You really need to stop bouncing him around so much. It's probably confusing. And uh... pick your poison." He motioned to a liquor cabinet near where the TV rested. 

"It's better than being stuck with me. Believe me." 

“Maybe when you get like this, yeah.”

Jaxson made a beeline for the whiskey. He swiped up a bottle and heaved down into one of the chairs. The neon glow of the screen reflected in dull eyes, and wordlessly the man tipped the bottle back. 

Konnor eased down next to him, eyes searching the man. "If you're going to drink me dry, you can at least tell me what's going on." 

"What. Can't just come over and visit my brother's best friend?" 

"Then you should know better. I'm practically a professional at dealing with you emotionally constipated Whitecross boys. And you don't make a habit of visiting. I'm always hunting you." 

"The kid keeps me busy. Sorry." Jaxson took another long gulp. Red had flushed onto his cheeks. 

His eyes caught the photograph that Konnor had left on the table. The Order always made sure to photograph its members... to remember those gone, or killed during the war effort. That particular one... had been the recruits of 1995.

Ethren. 

Jaxson dragged his gaze away, heart twisting into painful knots. “...Ethren and Tonks?”

Konnor grimaced. “...I always pull that dusty old thing out on the battle’s anniversary.” He retrieved his own wine glass, polishing the dwindling remainds and held out the glass. "Don't leave me out. How is Alaire doing? Feels like time has flown." 

Jaxson sighed. "Perfect," he murmured as he poured the man a glass. "Somehow, he's managed to dodge a bullet. He doesn't have his dad's cynicism, or his mother's cruelty. He's... growing up to be a very kind and thoughtful boy."

"..he's three now, right? Think you'll consider preschool for him? He'll just end up going to Hogwarts or Ilvermorny, but muggle schools before then aren't so bad." 

Jaxson's jaw tightened. "I... I was thinking of just schooling him myself. At first." 

Konnor arched a brow. "Yourself? No offense, Jax, but what do you know about current day curriculum? You're already here looking like death just getting by as is." 

Jaxson's teal gaze flashed with a sudden rush of anger. "I'll manage!" He shouted, cracks tearing down the cup. A deep breath followed, as fingers massaged his face. "...it'll be fine." 

He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. 

"You're not alone, you know," Konnor said, his voice gentle. "In any of it." He stared down into his own glass. "I know you think you have to do it all yourself... but it's not healthy for you. Or the kid. Ethren wouldn't want this for you."

"Ethren's dead. Doesn't matter what he wants." 

"That's horseshit. Don't make him come haunt your ass." "Horseshit?" 

The edge of Jaxson's lip lifted. “...he's gone. Enjoying whatever paradise he's found, or maybe just...nothing. It's us, the ones who survived who are fucked over." 

"Well, I'm sure as hell am not going to sit here and wallow because he made a dumb decision." Konnor's eyes searched Jaxson's face. "There's still stuff we can do. We can live our lives now. I put everything I had on the line to make sure of it just like he did, and now his kid can have a good life and a family if you'd just let him have that. You can't push all your shit onto that little boy."

Jaxson's eyes were tinted with red as he stared down at his hands. Calloused, and decorated with the scars of nails digging into his palms. With a breath, they curled into fists. "I know. Alaire... he doesn't deserve that. I need to get over it. That's why I'm here. I need your help.”

Konnor grabbed Jaxson's shoulder. "Ethren was my best friend. Anything, Jax." 

"It's come to my attention that you're proficient in a rare caliber of magic." Jaxson glanced over. "You know how to obliviate."  

Konnor's hand lifted up from his shoulder and hovered. "...I learned it in the order." His eyes narrowed. What does that have to do with you?" 

"Take him away." Jaxson's voice unraveled into a whispered beg, and he snatched Konnor's hand in a desperate grasp. "Ethren. Please. I... I can't do it anymore."

Silence lifted from Konn as a wave of sadness twisted his features into something soft and knowing. He sighed, letting his shoulders fall. “You can’t seriously be asking me that, Jax. I can’t do that… It’s not right. I know it hurts but that pain is something you have to push through.”

“What’s the point!?” Jaxson snapped. “It’ll never go away! It… it fucking hurts. And it's hurting the kid too. I can’t be this broken husk taking care of Alaire, he deserves better!”

“Obliviating those memories won’t help you any. It's dangerous. It creates holes. Empty spaces... If you completely cut ties with everything that could remind you of him, maybe it could work but that's not the case. Which is why I'm saying you can lean on all of us. We can help you get back on your feet and manage that pain. To give the kid a good life.”

“It’s not enough.”

“It has to be, Jaxson. It’s all we’ve got.”

Jaxson tore up to his feet, knocking the bottle of whiskey aside and it teetered on the end table. Konnor quickly leaned to catch it from spilling as the older man tangled his fingers up through his hair. “You know…” he finally growled. Jax locked his gaze on Konnor. “I thought you of all people would understand.”

Shock rippled over and Konnor pushed up after him. “I do understand. I know where this is coming from, but it’s not the answer.”

“You took Allston’s memories!” His eyes clouded with a lingering wetness. “He was your own brother. How dare you deny me what you did for yourself!”

“Don’t,” Konnor snapped sharply. In a few short steps he got right up into Jaxson’s face, the roots of his hair beginning to bleed from pink to a darker red. The two were level with another, tension crawling between them. “I have to live with what I did every damn day! I have to miss him like he's as good as dead! I took his memories so he would live, Jaxson. You know how easily I could have forgotten him too?! But that's not the point. The point is we have to remember for them. To protect what is left."

“And what about what I want?! Allston didn’t even ask for you to take his memories, you forced it on him. This is… This is something I want! If you were able to take the coward’s way out then I have every right to do the same.”

Crack.

It happened in a flash. A cold anger burned and strangled in Konnor’s throat as the rest of his hair bled with crimson rage and his fist snapped against Jaxson’s jaw. Then he shoved him. With fingers wrenched up in his jacket, Konnor sent Jaxson to the ground. “Don’t you dare call me a coward! What I did saved my brother’s life, I’m not running from what I did. You… you don’t get to come here and do this to me, Jaxson!” He grasped at his throbbing knuckles, turning away as the sting of tears met his eyes. “Especially not today. I lost my best friends. My brother. And you want to call me the coward?”

Jaxson caught himself on an arm as he hit the ground. Stunned. Fingers drifted to the dull ache of his jaw before his teeth ground together, ignoring the slightest twinge of metal on his tastebuds. For a long while he didn’t meet Konnor’s gaze and when he did, a faint sheen of wetness marred his cheeks. “I can’t make it like this,” he whispered. “I’m trying to save my life. I…” His voice cut off in a choke and he bowed over to hide his face. “Everything I did. Everything I was, it was to keep him safe. Now...now.. What am I supposed to do!?”

The hurt strangled in Konnor’s chest. “Find something,” he hissed bitterly. His hands shook and he fell back onto the couch, collapsing to sink his face into his palms. “Find even the tiniest shred of happiness and live. We don't get fairytale endings, Jax, we just have to make the most of what's left and you've got a whole lot waiting for you with Alaire." He dared glance up, wiping a sleeve across his own face. “I’ll be damned if I lose another one of you because you couldn’t stop dwelling on one single thing.”

“An arrow killed Ethren.”

“An arrow didn’t god damn kill him, Jax!” Konnor lashed. He retrieved the bottle up from the table and knocked it back for a long swig to ease the matching ache of his fist and heart. “He couldn’t move on. He couldn’t let go of the poison that is Merula fucking Snyde. She was never going to be good for him.”

Jaxson hadn’t moved from his place on the floor, staring down absently at his own hands. “You mean his obsession.”

“What else?! You’re all selfish bastards. Chasing after your obsessions like starving dogs with little regard for who it ends up hurting.”

“Is that why you did it, then? Allston couldn’t move on?”

Konnor let a sad chuckle rattle from his chest. Angry locks of fiery red had returned to their soft, white shade. "Towards the end.. my cover got blown with some death eaters. I hadn't seen Allston in a while and it seemed like I never would. I was hunted and somehow.. somehow the second I was cornered he was there. He got himself captured and tortured and I know the only reason he knew was because he was doing things illegally. When I found him I got him out, Jax. Before he could kill himself."

“...Sounds like your brother and I have a lot in common then.” Jaxson drew a sharp breath as a tear dripped down from the tip of his nose. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid of falling into the same things he did. Falling until it… I just want to stop feeling like this. How am I supposed to move on?”

"...do what Ethren couldn't. What Allston couldn't. Let go. Be what they couldn't be. Be someone who cares for who they have left, even on bad days." 

"That feels impossible," Jaxson muttered. Still on his hands and knees, his fingers gripped his soaking wet shirt, like he was trying to grab at his heart. "I feel like my soul died with him. I wouldn't have made it this far if I didn't have Alaire."

"Maybe you two should go on a vacation. Go somewhere new for a couple weeks... find your soul again, being his guardian the right way. You cut away from your family wealth, right? Look, I'd cover it for you." 

"..yeah. Sounds great." Jaxson's voice was numb. Cold. Slowly, he pushed to his feet. "Thanks, Kon. Sorry for... this." 

Jaxson went for the door. Konnor chewed on his lip and exhaled in an exasperated breath. "Stop." He motioned to the cushion beside him. "Stay the night, Jax. I think... we can afford a night of booze and talking about him. A night to break." 

Jaxson didn't turn. "I thought the point was to not break." 

"The point is to not let it consume you." Konnor's let his gaze travel to the picture on the mantle. His smile was sad. "We're just people,” he murmured as he pushed up to take it in hand. His thumb drew over Ethren’s face, and he ignored the sharp twist of his heart. “We hurt. We ache. Sometimes, things feel like it's too much. So a night of drinking and accepting that is good, every once in a while. Otherwise, we just burn out."

Jaxson's head turned. Rather than anger... appreciation glittered in his eyes and he sighed. "Guess that's true," Jaxson said. "Won't do Alaire any good to pick him up and still be wallowing," he muttered as he eased down into the seat. 

Konnor followed close after, tipping the bottle his way. "Did Ethren ever tell you about our trip to Paris?" 

"You two went to Paris?" 

"Oooh yeah. He put me on his damn death trap of a bike." Konnor shook his head with a snort. "Your dad was screwing my mom, so we decided to pay a visit and have a luxury dinner on them after." 

Jaxson stared at Konnor for a long while before laughter bubbled from him. The first semblance of a real smile. "That... really doesn't surprise me. Our dad... he was always with other women until..." Jaxson's eyes darkened. His jaw tightened and he downed another gulp. 

"...I know. My dad's dead and my mom is basically dead to me. Aren't we just pathetic?" 

"Ethren wasn't," Jaxson muttered. "When mom was in danger... he dropped everything to find her. Even used all the unforgivable curses. He would have torn down the world to get to her." He leaned back. His wet hair flattened against the back of the sofa, and the neon light of the television reflected in his eyes. "That was just the kind of person he was. Friend, family... lover. When he bonded with someone, he would never give up on them." 

"You really idolized him, didn't you...?" 

"Idolize him?" Jaxson considered that. "Guess it's only natural to talk about... the good things when someone isn't here anymore. But no... I didn't idolize him." Jaxson snorted and leaned forward, auburn bangs falling with him. "Ethren was selfish. Selfish and obsessive and downright cowardly , at times. He didn't want to live for himself, so he lived on the whims and needs of others. And when he did want to live for himself, he threw it away, for a war he should have never been a part of and a girl that never deserved him."

"Good. I'd have to hit you again." Konnor stared at his knuckles, already beginning to bruise. Likewise, Jax's jaw was swelling in a rush of blue and black. "We had a no bullshit policy. Sometimes, while we were in the Order, I'd make a phone call to him or he'd make one to me. Like we weren't at war, and no time had passed... we'd laugh or talk or cry or curse until we lost our voices. Something like that would completely undo the stress of having to get up the next day and go right back into a room full of enemies." He grimaced. His hair had dulled to a bluish grey tint. "We had a deal that after everything was over, a few of us would high tail it to some remote island and piss away a few weeks." 

"Yeah?" Jaxson said quietly. "Probably Tredyffrin Island... the one  our family owns... no one ever goes there anymore. It would have been perfect." The elder brother sighed and poured himself another glass. He stared at the downpour of red pooling at the bottom of the crystal goblet while thunder roared outside the glass window. "He made me a lot of promises, too. Like when he was an uncle, he was going to spoil the shit out of whatever kid Idmon and I adopted. He insisted he'd never have a kid of his own." Jaxson dragged a sharp breath. "...fuck."

"Everything changed... you ever still think about giving Alaire someone to grow up with?" 

"...no. Between Idmon and I... we probably only have enough sanity between us for one brat. And that's with the girls' help. Aisling and Summer... they’re absolute life savers."

 "Well, I can't blame you for that," Konnor said with a tired smile. "Shit, I always imagined a family and kids one day, but... I think after everything, I've only got it left in me to help all of you guys manage your own rascals. Hal and Charlie have two right next door. And ever since Barnaby found out I've got my own little menagerie, he drags Aisling and their kids over all the time. And Alaire is always welcome." 

"He's been so excited to come back and see Uncle Kon." Jaxson's smile was short-lived. "...how do you manage it all?" 

"Depends on what you mean by 'all.'" 

"Losing Allston. You'll never be able to talk to him again. Losing Ethren... Tonks... Your dad...everything." 

"Well, if you haven't noticed, I have a healthy supply of alcohol. But I don't make a habit out of that, my position requires me sober, obviously." He swished his drink thoughtfully. "What really drives me is knowing what all I've still got. Lots of people still want and need me around." 

"I don't actually want to forget him," Jaxson whispered. "Remembering the good times...it's part of what pushes me forward. And Alaire deserves to know those stories. It just seems so much... harder this way." 

"I know." Konnor leaned over, and his fragile fist punched Jaxson's shoulder lightly. "Don't ever ask me to take away your memories again. That magic can go right to hell." 

Jaxson smirked. "...Ethren always hated that spell. He said to be obliviated... it was the deepest violation a person could endure. Those memories are precious." He gave a deep breath and lifted his goblet. "...to remembering the fallen. And living in their honor." 

Konnor lifted his glass in turn. "Help me finish this bottle, and the guest room will have your name written all over it."

-------

Morning came with the promise of clear skies. As the sun painted the sky a beautiful array of pinks and purples that began to open up to the blue of day, Konnor rolled to the other side of the bed with a tangle of sheets around his legs. At the end of his bed, Iris snoozed with soft snores. 

From downstairs he could hear the rustle of footsteps cascading against the hardwood floors and with a tired rub of his head, Konnor swung himself to stand from the bed. His hair poked out in all directions as his hands raised up in the air and a series of pops crawled up his spine. “Jax?” he called out through the house.

No answer.

Konnor sighed and crossed the room with last feeble attempts to pat his platinum hair down into something presentable. The stairs winding down from the hallway just outside his room creaked with each step. He passed several pictures of Hal, Charlie, and the twins on the way down until his feet stalled on the bottom step. 

Jaxson stood at the doorway in the living room, dragging his jacket over his shoulders.

“You’re leaving?”

Jax’s gaze darted up. He looked rough. From the clear as day hangover to the black and blue bruise in the size of a small fist surrounding the right side of his jaw. “...Yeah. I figured I’d leave you to your day.”

“You could always stay for breakfast, you know. Bet you could use it.”

“Nah, I should probably go pick Alaire up. But uh… Konnor?”

Konnor finally touched down into the living room, flicking on the light to join the flecks of light illuminating from the window. “What’s up?”

“Sorry for last night, and thanks. I needed that.”

“Yeah I’ll bet you needed that knuckle sandwich. Just don’t be so much of a stranger. You better haul yourself and Alaire back over here soon or I’m going to lob you another one.”

Jaxson hid the beginnings of a smirk. “Do that and I’ll have to get you back. Don’t worry, we’ll visit soon. I think I just need some time to clear my head first.”

“Then do that. You can always call too, and tell Alaire I say hi.”

Fingers curled around the doorknob, opening it ever so slightly. “I will.” He opened the door, and all but fell backwards as a small toddler came barreling into the house to cling to his legs. 

“Found you!” Alaire giggled as he buried his face into his Uncle’s leg and Jaxson blinked. 

“Alaire?! How did you-”

“Summer mentioned that you’d gone for the night... and that you might need me.” That voice. He’d know that voice even in a symphony of voices. Idmon Malin came from around the corner, blue eyes soft, his smile kind as he lifted Alaire up into his arms. Blonde hair fell down his back. “I thought I might drop- Merlin’s beard, Jaxson, are you all right?” 

Jaxson, still stunned at his boyfriend having shown up out of the blue, blinked. “W-wha?”

“Your face. Bloody- did you get hit with a bludger last night?”

“A...oh.” Red bled onto his cheeks as Idmon’s long, delicate fingers gently brushed his bruise. “No, there was an uh... accident last night involving an erumpent and a... uh-”

“I slugged him,” Konnor purred as he leaned against the doorframe.

Idmon snorted. “Well, I imagine he deserved it,” he said. As Alaire began to fuss, he put the child down and he rushed over to jump into Uncle Konnor’s arms and his gaze searched his lover. “...are you alright. You look... like a mess.”

Two short steps brought Jaxson to his boyfriend. His arms hooked tight around his shoulders and he rested his head against Idmon’s, a ragged breath drawing from his lungs. “...it was a long night.”

“..the anniversary,” Idmon whispered. His palm found Jaxson’s cheek. “You should have stayed with me..”

“Shouldn’t have run,” Jaxson agreed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize... did you find what you were looking for..?”

“Uncle Konnor!” Alaire tugged on Konnor’s shirt. “Aunt Summer gave me a toy snitch!” 

“Did she?” Konnor lifted the boy up into his arms. “That was very sweet of her. And speaking of sweet... I think I have some biscuits in the cabinet. Want some?” 

Alaire giggled. “They’re cookies, biscuits are... biscuits!”

“Oh, no,” Konnor grinned as he tickled the squealing boy.  “Do not start that, your dad and I got into so many fights about cookies and biscuits!”

Jaxson’s eyes softened as he watched Alaire smile and hug Konnor around the neck. His hand found Idmon’s, squeezed, and gave a breath. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I think I did... let’s stay for a bit, then go home.”

[rotzaprachim]

be gentle with the people who were not made from The Fall

- Gen, Declan Lynch &  Mór Ó Corra

2k ao3 here

She passed Declan a blank manilla envelope. He ran his fingers gingerly over the edges, life having long ago built up a healthy suspicion of anything from the channels of the Fairy Market. He couldn’t feel anything, but he’d also never had the touch for it. At some point he’d always ended up having to hold his breath and jump in in order to get the rough work done. 

He slit it open with the knife in his pocket.  

There were answers he’d had before he even knew what the questions were. Firstborn, Niall told Declan. My All-American son, Niall told Declan. When you were born the rivers dried up and all the cows in Rockingham County cried blood, Niall told Ronan. When you were born, I wasn’t here, Niall told Declan. 

The silence swallowed his voice for a long time. 

“Ó Corra?” 

She gave him a look that said, you can’t pronounce your own name. Finally she said, “You have my name. It’s what they did when the father couldn’t be found.” 

He studied the certificate in the small crescents of yellow light that bounced in through the tinted windows of her sports car from the streetlight outside. The Births and Deaths Registation (Northern Ireland) Order 1976, Article 34. Registered in the District of Belfast. 24 July 1997. Declan James Ó Corra.

There was a box that asked for Name and Surname and Dwelling Place of Father (6). It was blank. There was another box that asked for Rank or Profession of Father. On that one, someone had gona back with a red pen at some later point, scrawled angrily, messily, bleeding jaggedly out from the neat black boxes, GONE. 

It made sense, in a strange sort of way that Declan’s brain dimly seemed to recognise in the same way that the drowning man thinks the sun streaming through the surface looks quite nice even when he’s being pulled under. Niall Lynch’s sons. The dreamer son of a dream and the dream of the dreamer the son of a dream. And here now was the odd one out, the liar the son of a lie. 

“I was two years younger than you.” The woman finally said. He couldn’t think of her as anything other than the vague idea digging at the back of his eye turned hard, angry secret when he started to shift through his father’s boxes of crap after death. He’d left a fuckton of a lot of loose threads, although Declan hadn’t thought he’d be one of them. Letters and phone bills from a far-away woman, even a photo or two, all the vitriol and anger he’d carried around bubbling up again acridly through a mirror. Collected in an old file box next to IOU’s and pay me bastard or i’ll fuck you ups in seven different languages, three of which Niall didn’t know how to read. Collected, and never returned. Even some photos of him as a kiddo in a tiny knit sweater. 

“No explanations.” Declan finally said. His voice sounded like when he’d had the lights punched out of him by one of the goons his dad owed rubles, or rupees, or riyals, in the parking lot of a Fairy Market. It could have been all three. “You don’t have to give me one.” I don’t know if I want one, he didn’t say. 

“I’m a very dangerous woman to find, Declan. You wouldn’t have found me if you hadn’t been looking.” 

He didn’t know what he wanted. He wanted safety, although he’d ruled out that as a possibility years ago. He wanted the ones the world had left him to care for to be safe, and he’d jeapordised all that on a wild goose chase to find the woman in one of his father’s fucking dream objects on a hunch of a hunch. He’d done exactly what he’d warned Ronan not to do, relied on himself to be smarter, sharper, more careful. All attributes hard won on his own,  like learning from imitation from a mirror. You see what this who looks like you does? Now do the opposite. 

He sighed. The air bristled, and he realised he sounded a lot like Mór Ó Corra.

“Maybe I-” 

Maybe he hadn’t been angry, almost, to find out. Maybe he’d almost been relieved. A voice to his darkest thoughts saying, you did not dream this up. The part of himself that’d been forced through seven years of Catholic school and then forced himself through a few months of therapy where he couldn’t tell the therapist about any of the things that had most profoundly fucked him up said a good man should have loved any child, regardless. He was about fifteen years past thinking Niall to be a good man. 

“Maybe I spent so many years dealing with all the fucking dreaming, the dreamers and the dreams and every fucking thing that’s come to kill us because Dad couldn’t fix any of his own shit and the fact that none, none of it was ever part of me that I thought I wanted some kind of fucking explanation for it all. I wanted some- some explanation for it all. Why I was different. WHy dad- … WHy dad. I wanted some part of a past that was mine.” Selfish, maybe. Learned. If you spent a lifetime you were different from other people, eventually you came to a wanting a reason for them to be different from you. 

“And you think I’m going to be the dear old Mam who darns your socks and calls to remind you to bring a good girl home to the family?” 

“No. I didn’t ask for that. You know what I asked for.” 

The second Manilla envelope she gave him was far thicker. This time, he could feel the slightest trace of- something. Not a buzzing, not a mist, a- something. He slid it into his briefcase. No expectations. Nothing more. A deal that was a deal, only a birth certificate instead of a handshake. 

“I was two years younger than you. Sometimes life doesn’t hand you many choices. I’d say you didn’t understand, and you don’t, but I’ll also say you’ve been a hell of a lot more of a father than Niall ever was. All the more so since the world’s made you be one.” 

Niall was drunk off some kind of spiked slivovitz when he’d come round to it the first time. Retrospectively, he was probably scared shitless, and rightly so. “Anything happens,” he’d slurred into the hotel couch. “You’re the man of the house. Take ‘em to church. Make ‘em proper. Make ‘em fear God. There’s money in the bank, anything happens.” And Declan had almost said, you know it’s my number Matthew’s school’s had down on the books for a year now? You know the priest there already thinks we’re orphans? 

“You’ve got a number and an adress. You’re a smart boy. You know if you use it my women’ll kill you just as likely as the dreamkillers.” 

“Everything has a price. At least you’re up front on it.” 

“I’m not a good woman, Declan. Don’t make your father’s mistake. Don’t dream me into being one.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

--- 

He didn’t open the package until he’d driven two hours, switched lisence plates and then cars, moved a state line, and walked two miles out to a sublet Jordan knew from a friend of a friend of an enemy in the art underground, where two dreams were now. It came with two dozen forged Miró’s in the living room, all done with a variety of blue paint with a distinctly incriminating synthetic binding agent manufactured solely post 1986, and even in the palest strands of morning light it made the living room into a riot of psychedelic stick-figure Catalan sunshine. He opened the door carefully, walked gingerly past the still-sleeping Matthew, TV still flickering from where he’d probably been watching it far later than Declan would have let him. Flicked the kitchen light on and made himself a cup of instant coffee, and more than anything else resisted the urge to upstairs and collapse next to Jordan in the bed that was for the moment theirs and sleep till noon. But if there was a lesson he’d learned by know it was that he couldn’t do any of the things he wanted to in life. So he downed the shitty instant coffee and he opened Mór Ó Corra’s folder and he got to work. You do what you gotta do for your family, Niall had told him. A deal had gone south and they’d made it out with their lives and stacks of money shoved in their pockets. One day you’ll have yourself a wife and some kids and then you’ll know. And he’d swallowed what he now knew was his rage. 

     “Ready to make a deal with the devil?” The voice on the other end of the number had said when he’d dialed it, and he said, only the devil can help me now, and he’d been right. No one with their head above the water could know the things he wanted to know about the Moderators. I have two dreamers and two dreams to keep out of the reach of a shadowy intergovernmental agency who’s whole M.O is about killing every dreamer they can find to stop the end of the world. Only a shadow knows its kind. And for her part, Mór Ó Corra had been thorough. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t trust her and he didn’t even know if he trusted the birth certificate. When you were the lying son of a lie, another one would be more natural than anything. He wouldn’t act on any of her information until he could put some feelers out, a few red herrings, get ahold of some of Nialls’ other bullshit to run cross checks. It was a start. At some he’d always ended up having to hold his breath and jump in in order to get the rough work done. At some point, he’d always just been shoved in. 

He didnt’ realise he’d fallen asleep until he was woken up. By Matthew, prodding his neck with the tines of a fork. 

“You said to wake you up if you slept past noon.” Jordan set down a massive plate of something exactly an inch from his eardrum with a loud clatter. 

“It’s 12:02,” Matthew added generously. 

He looked down. He hadn’t gotten through the pile. There was still more- 

Jordan’s eyes flicked notably towards the floor tiles. Declan followed them. In his early morning haze he’d somehow missed a second, smaller envelope within the envelope. He slipped it into his jacket before Matthew could see. He slid all of the papers back into the envelope before Matthew could see more. 

“Two whole extra minutes? Well, that’s where’s where the rest of my day went.” 

“You looked like you needed it. Like, you definitely looked like you needed it.” She handed him the day’s second mug of instant coffee and it hit him again that he loved her a not, which would have felt all new and electric even in circumstances that were not the current ones and when and if this was all over with hopefully no more deaths she deserved a really really nice vacation to somewhere sunny. Which he would not promise until he knew he could actually pull it off, because Declan Lynch was a liar but he was not a man who broke promises. 

  He didn’t open up the other envelope until he was in the bathroom with the door firmly locked. Magical all female mafias ran on the power of the sticky stuff at the top of a Manilla envelope, apparently. Only a few sheets inside. A surprisingly blurry print-out map with a building circled, a clipping from the Belfast Telegraph about the NHS’s most recent warnings on the loneliness epidemic among young adults and seniors, and new local projects for seniors to form new connections through knitting circles, classes in French and Irish, and mentorship opportunities with Sixth-Form students. “Former school teacher Anne  Ó Corra recounts feelings of isolation after the untimely death of her only daughter in 1999. She says that mentorship opportunities with Saint Mary’s Compre-” Declan scanned the article. On the back the same hand that had scrawled, GONE, wrote, THink the old bat’d be happy to see you. 

[peachy-inserts]

todoroki falling for someone/relationship hcs

request:  may i request some headcanons of how shouto would fall in love and how would he act in a relationship?? 🥺🥺 thank u!!

warnings: just cursing! a/n: sorry for uploading this so many times! i messed up the tags (and also, hello! i promise we aren’t dead) long post! more under the cut

Shouto is a hopeless romantic at heart. Although it’s not something that crosses his mind frequently, whenever it does he finds himself daydreaming about the possibility of the perfect love interest as an escape from his mundane and repetitive life in which he feels trapped

Similar to Bakugou (Same prompt for him here!) I feel like Shouto would definitely fall in love with someone after learning how to trust them and interact with them rather than falling for someone after a couple meetings, he has to know you personally and on an emotionally vulnerable level before he would even consider the concept of something more; partly because of sheer embarrassment, the other from deeply routed trust issues

He would be best suited with someone spontaneous but respectful; someone who can break him free from the chains binding him to his career and future and expand his horizons and emotional capacity to levels nobody thought were ever possible. The way he acts around you is uncharacteristic of this terribly disturbed boy

Shouto realizing that he’s fallen in love with you will hit him hard and suddenly, knocking the air from his lungs and knocking him over onto his feet. Hopefully, you’ll be there to pick him up and make him see that maybe this won’t be such a frightening experience, and that you can help him along the way

He’s a very blunt yet dense person, which is shocking for someone of such quick wits and broad intelligence. Tease him about it and he will scowl at you, but give in and laugh as you both recount some of his most memorable moments. You paying attention to him, telling him your favorite times spent with him? It’s an intoxicating liquid drug that he wants to drink up and bathe himself in in a lavish fashion

Coming to terms with the fact that he’s in love with you, someone he’s so close with is by far what’s most difficult for him since he doesn’t know how to healthily process his own emotions, often times dismissing how he feels and letting it build up into an alcoholic cocktail of rage and self doubt

Without even realizing it, he’ll begin to cling to you. You’re practically attached at the hip, and he’s so subtle about it and kind that it will take an incredibly receptive sense of the world around you to notice that he’s putting an increased amount of effort into spending as much time as possible with you

Hell, kudos to anyone watching the two of you who will see what’s really happening. He’s a very unpredictable person, and everyone would simply assume you two were impersonal friends simply trying to be polite and help each other

Shouto isn’t really someone who ever writes, but like I said he is a hopeless romantic. One way he finds to cope with his new and foreign feelings is by writing sappy poetry inspired by or even for you. They’re actually not too bad, but there’s not a chance in hell that he would ever let you see them. Sometimes he’s so embarrassed to have done it that it’s incinerated on sight

I think Deku and him would be good, close friends, more so than what the series portrays. I like to think they’re besties and im putting that here because im selfish and love their dynamic. Anyways, Shouto would nervously approach Deku and ask for his thoughts on his poems, wondering if you would appreciate them or find him strange for writing about you in such a manner

After months of hiding away and suddenly growing distant, he would finally decide that if he gets rejected, it’s at least better than living out his dreams through fantasies in the solitude of his own imagination. He would come out and say that he loved you to your face, and then should you reciprocate become a shy and nervous mess who can’t help but shudder at the sudden fluttering in his stomach

Shouto actually really likes to go out on dates! He prefers to take a gentlemanly approach to your outings, and growing up frequently attending formal settings is more than comfortable with going out to whatever high end event your heart may desire

Date nights are just for the two of you, and provide for him confirmation that you’re his and nobody else’s; he’s the only one who gets to take you out and spoil you, the only one you will get ready for and the only one who will be there still at the end of the night to hold you tight

Not only that, but you have the opportunity to truly catch up and cast any other responsibilities to the side for a while. All that matters right now is the undeniable bond between the two of you, even if it’s only for a while. No matter how far apart you are, it can’t be broken by any amount of distance

Literally tell him to stop bringing you flowers; because of his mother, he’s always been particularly fond of them and their meaning, spending far too much time researching the symbolic truth behind every petal, and giving them to you for no special reason at all… far too frequently. This man is literally smothering you in carefully planned, sweet gestures

Please be patient with him. Afraid of losing you, he would actively try to change himself for the better so that he can become the person that he needs from you, since it’s only fair. He’s insecure about his seemingly cold demeanor, and worries that you may leave him for someone who isn’t afraid to reach out when they’re needing help, someone who isn’t broken and can take care of themselves without relying on you

This only feeds into his jealousy. Depending on the situation, he would most likely react one of two ways. If someone is hitting on you out of the blue, being rude and obnoxious, he would (again) be similar to Bakugou in that he’s immediately provoked and won’t hesitate to throw punches without a single bit of remorse. If you have a relationship with someone he doesn’t like or feels threatened by, then he will try to ignore it despite the way it nags him day and night, spending his free hours sulking over it; yet not bothering to speak out, afraid he will take things too far and accuse you or someone else of things that aren’t there

Help teach him that there are levels of conversation, let him know it’s okay to argue and disagree sometimes. When commiting to a serious relationship with Shouto, it will undoubtedly benefit you to show him how to have a healthy discussion from opposing perspectives without becoming heated. He doesn’t want to be the way that he is… he knows no other ways, though

Once he gets over the initial shock of being with you, he really doesn’t mind PDA. He’s not confident, but sure as hell not an ashamed person, either. He doesn’t mind to hold your hand in public or give you a chaste kiss on your forehead, perhaps even letting you rest your head on his shoulder

He would obviously wait a little before considering that you meet his family, that being a serious commitment. Him doing this definitely symbolizes his intense dedication to you and desire to stay with you for a long while. It’s a big step for him given their relationships, so stick it through with him and offer him support

He’s definitely spoken about you to his siblings and mother, though. Further into your relationship he won’t hesitate to openly gush about you and the ways you make him feel things he never has before, and how he didn’t know feelings this intense were possible when it came to others; it’s unlike anything he ever expected, feeling as if his life is better than any artistic interpretation of romance

I’m only gonna say this once so listen up. He is a Todoroki. He likes to feel as if he’s in control and protecting you, so one of his favorite things is to totally cage you with his body, so that the only thing keeping you shielded from the outside world is him and his loving embrace. Would absolutely randomly pick you up just to watch you squeal and jokingly try to push him away from you all while giggling as your face flushes pink

As for showing you off, he doesn’t really see that it’s necessary. What can I say, he’s a centered and simple guy. He’s hella proud, but it’s not important to him that everyone knows just how lucky he is. He doesn’t need an ego boost, not when he’s got you to cherish. All that matters is at the end of the day he’s got you to himself

A great listener! Not because he doesn’t talk, he’s actually very engaged in your conversations. Shouto just genuinely appreciates all that you have to say and wants to know every detail you have to spare, often times wondering what the world is like from your perspective

Not too fond of pet names at first, but if you insist on it and start making cute nicknames for him he’ll cave in and do the same for you, eventually sometimes stuttering when he uses your real name because it’s become so foreign to him. Always bringing you up in conversations as ‘pumpkin’ or something personal to you, and then feeling the heat rush to his face when he realizes it

 Shouto is the type to want to move in together very soon; mans is committed for the long haul. Just for fun, would draw out floor plans with you and discuss the features your future home would have, with every intention of making every detail you offhandedly mention a reality

He loves it when you kiss his scar I don’t make the rules that’s just how it is. He wants nothing more than to be smothered by you in love and affection, and your gentle pecks among his sensitive feature that represent so much horridness in his life are something that he lives for

Oh. He’s really good at giving massages.

»»————-　♡　————-«« Like these hcs? Find the same prompt for:

hawks.

bakugou.

aizawa.

kirishima.