#ghost needs to have a lot of layers to bed while soap just uses him as a heater

[saucywendeee]

“Time for bed, Johnny.”

“One more sketch.” 

[captain-mj]

Vampire Part 3

Gaz was wrong and Soap gets a lot of attention

After Alex left, the night slowed down considerably. He noticed Ghost acting odd though. Constantly picking at his mask or his gloves like something was bothering him. He tried to talk to him, but someone would need someone and he’d be dragged away. 

Price disappeared, apparently going to woo his ex wife? Who was also Phil the neighbor? Soap was confused by it, but he decided it wasn’t his business. Cleaning up the pounds of wolf hair was keeping him busy enough. Alejandro asked him for the fancy candles that smell nice and Soap ended up having to go to the store to get a new one because none of them could just agree on one of the scents they had at home. 

Somehow, for the first morning in ages, Ghost went to bed without Soap. He didn’t realize until Alejandro was pulling Rudy to their coffin to sleep and he saw that the sun was coming up. Soap still checked the coffin, just in case Ghost hadn’t realized somehow. Sure enough, he was already sleep. He had stripped out of several of his layers and Soap noticed some scratches on his wrists like he had been itching himself. It was odd. Soap wondered if something happened that he missed. Something that would make his Ghost anxious. 

“Johnny.” 

“Ah! Sorry sir! I wanted to check on you and make sure you were asleep.” 

Ghost opened his eyes to look at him. “Johnny… Your scar. We didn’t get to talk.” 

Soap smiled and perked up. “Want me to tell you now?”

Ghost nodded. “Like those things… the things…”

“Bedtime stories?”

“Precisely.” Ghost purred, a rumble deep in his throat. He closed his eyes again, but he was still breathing so Soap knew he was awake. 

Soap pulled up a seat and double checked the curtains before starting. “I grew up with three older sisters.”

“You act like a youngest sibling.” 

Soap paused. “You say that like you know.”

“I had a younger brother once.” Ghost opened his eyes just a little. “And I’ve known plenty. You act like one.” 

“Ah.” Soap tilted his head. “But I grew up with three of them and a Catholic dad.”

“Ew.”

“One day, one of them challenged me to climb to the top of the steeple.”

Ghost’s eyes opened fully as he stared, clearly interested now.

“So I did. I waited until everyone was inside, told my Dad I needed to use the bathroom and climbed to the very top. Took ages, but I managed.”

“And then?”

“Went down and went back inside. Told my sisters. And none of them believed me. So when church let out, I did it again. Right in front of the congregation.”

“Whole flock?”

“Whole flock indeed. My dad was so mad. My mom was so embarrassed. My sisters were all giggling like mad men though. Turns out they apparently did it all the time and wanted to see if I could figure it out.”

“What does this story have to do with your scar?”

“Well, my dad started yelling at me to get down right that minute. I got scared and lost my footing. Slammed down onto the pavement. Broke my foot and scratched up my face.” 

Ghost narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying to me.”

“No I’m not!” Soap laughed.

“No. The story is true. But you’re lying. That’s not how you scratched up your face.” 

Soap stopped laughing. While yes, Ghost was right. He didn’t expect to be called out on it. “Do you always know when I’m lying? That a vampire thing?”

“No. It’s a Ghost and Soap thing. I can tell when you lie. And you lied to me. Why?”

Soap faltered even more. He knew the answer, but he didn’t want to say. “The church thing is the reason I got the scar. You’re right it wasn’t the direct result, but it was the reason.”

“And you don’t want to tell me what actually happened?”

“No, sir.” 

Ghost nodded. “That’s okay… Do you have any more stories?”

Soap was a bit surprised, but he thought of his childhood. “Yeah. One time, my dad decided we should get chickens.” 

“Chickens?” 

“Chickens! For eggs!” Soap continued the story, ignoring that his eyes were starting to droop. Ghost eventually stopped breathing, as still as the grave, so he forced himself up. He blew out the candles and started to clean. 

“Hey.” He recognized the American accent right away.

Soap turned around. “Alex right?”

The tall werewolf smiled at him. Luckily completely clothed. “Yep! Gaz turned in early, apparently he accidentally fed on someone who’s mom died so he wasn’t feeling well. Did you need help?”

Soap paused and thought about it. It was already 10. It would take him ages to clean up by himself. “Yeah, that sounds nice.” 

Alex perked up and started helping. He listened to everything Soap said and they got it done in record timing. 

Soap yawned. “I think I’m… gonna head to bed.” 

Alex nodded. “Hey, I was curious.”

Oh no.

“There’s a few hate groups around here. Why have you never had the vamps eat those?”

Soap shrugged. “They’re not garbage disposals.”

“Gaz told me about your Tinder. And Craig’s list. I know that’s not completely true.”

“I’m Scottish.” Soap admitted with a groan. “Lot of them don’t like me either. Or they can tell I’m gay.”

Alex nodded. “I’m American. And straight passing. You ever want to lure them in with my help… I’d be happy to.” He smiled and Soap noticed how sharp his teeth were. 

Soap just nodded. “I’ll think about it…”

Alex smiled but he was clearly thinking about something. It made Soap nervous.

“Might want to spray Febreze or something! Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.” He turned around and left. 

What a weird fucking guy… 

Soap got up and woke Ghost up like every sunset. “Sleep well Ghost?”

Ghost sat up slowly and stretched instead of answering. He shook his head like he was trying to dislodge water out of them. 

“You alright, sir?”

Ghost touched the sides of his head, pressing his palm down over where his ears would be. “Yeah… I’m fine…” He didn’t take Soap’s hand. 

Soap frowned and gently touched his shoulder. “Ghost, are you sure you’re okay? Is it one of your bad days?”

Ghost looked at Soap, sniffing. For a moment, he feared the worst. That Alex’s scent was still stuck to his clothing. But just as quickly, he moved on. “‘M not hungry. Just uh… Make sure everyone else is fed. And then can we watch that show you showed me? With the blond lady?”

“Buffy the Vampire slayer?”

“Yes. I like the way she fights. Reminds me of the warriors I died with.” He shuffled forward, still seeming a bit off. Soap arranged for three people under the guise of a party to arrive and then set up the TV. Ghost sat right next to him, almost touching him. Both of them refused to lean into the other, so they stayed at a sort of stalemate. Normally that is. 

Ghost leaned into his shoulder, leeching the warmth out of him. 

Soap froze, not used to this. He moved just a little and Ghost started to pull away, so he gently tugged him back. It was… cozy. Even if Soap felt cold. He must’ve shivered because Ghost grabbed a blanket and then pulled him closer so he was leaning into his chest. The situation actually made him more cold, but Soap didn’t want to tell him that he was the problem. Eventually, he did start to warm up, answering one of questions at least. Ghost can be heated up. 

Soap imagined Ghost in a little cup in the microwave and bit his cheek to keep from laughing at the idea. Ghost watched Buffy, always looking excited when she came on. Now that he was so close, Soap could also feel the twitches in his muscles when she fought, as if he wanted to leap into battle with him. 

Soap knew of course that Ghost had been a warrior. Apparently, a very prestigious one. But it just… didn’t fit with the Ghost he had in his head. The man was dangerous, honestly he was the scariest of people in the house on first glance. But once he got to know them, Ghost didn’t really seem that scary. It was hard for him to see him fighting through hoards of people, all while human. To imagine him ripping others to shreds with his sword instead of one person at a time with his teeth. 

“Ghost. Can I ask you a question? Since you asked me questions earlier?”

Ghost shrugged. “Won’t promise I’ll answer, but sure.”

“What were you like as a human?”

Ghost sighed. “Better.”

Soap didn’t like that answer very much. “I like how you are now.”

“I was… different. Promise not to judge me too harshly? I know rules have changed.”

Soap didn’t really understand but he agreed.

“I had many wives. Using wife gender neutrally. Some were men, some were women, some were neither.”

“You had a harem??”

“Guess so? I don’t know. I had many though. I was also born during the warm period, so food was abundant. I never dealt with a famine while alive. Only heard of them distantly. My job was a conqueror. Bringing new lands back to my King. Met a few Scottish people in my day, though they only spoke Gaelic.” His hand came up, touching Soap’s face. Tracing the lines of his facial hair and then his lips. “Nice people. Food was good.”

Soap couldn’t breath. “Any of your wives…”

“A few.” Ghost looked guilty. “I never hurt them. Not physically. Never mistreated any of them. Lots of men in my time did. My country was not the best of women, but I… I never…” 

“I believe you. Don’t worry.” Soap smiled. Because he did. Ghost would never.

“Johnny. You’re too good. Why do you want this?”

It sounded an awful lot like why do you want me. 

“I want to be a vampire because…” Soap hesitated. “I…”

Ghost shook his head. “You deserve better.” 

“But I want this. You promised.” Soap grabbed his shirt hard, feeling Ghost tense. 

“I did. And I’ll make good on it.” Ghost made eye contact with him and it burned. It bubbled and singed and Soap wanted to kiss him. Wanted to mouth at the fabric. Wanted to feel his hands on him. 

For a moment, just one, Ghost looked like he intended to do that. His hands grabbed him hard and pulled him closer. 

“GHOST THE FUCKING DOG IS BACK.”

Ghost turned away when he heard Alejandro’s screams. He laughed and scooped Soap up before dropping him back on the couch. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Soap wished Rodolfo hadn’t reattached Alejandro’s head. 

The window opened and a lady slid in. “Hey! Are you the familiar?” She was clearly not a vampire since she just fucking waltzed in. 

Soap went to yell but she quickly put her hands up. “Wait! Wait!! Please, don’t get them just yet. Alex is keeping them all distracted.”

Soap frowned but quieted down. She was tall, about his height and looked to be from the middle east. She was really pretty. 

“I need your help. Badly.”

Soap frowned. “How could I help you?”

“I have a friend who’s been forced to be a familiar.”

“Oh, a thrall?”

She paused. “A thrall??”

“Yes. A person forced to service a vampire. It’s a whole thing. Anyway, she’s a thrall I guess. And I need your help to free her, you know, since you’re pro familiar rights?”

Soap frowned. “I mean… I’m pro equal rights, but I wouldn’t say I’m really out there advocating for familiars specifically.”

“But the bats treat you so well??” 

Soap wanted to know what vampires were being so cruel that this was considered top tier treatment. “Let’s ignore that. Look, I can talk to Ghost so we ca-”

“No! This is why I came to you directly. I only want to talk to you about this. I don’t trust them.” 

Soap saw her teeth. Sharp back teeth, longer canines. “You’re a werewolf?”

“Yes.”

“Is your friend a werewolf?”

“No. She’s human.” 

“And your name is?”

“Farah! Very nice to meet you by the way. Sorry I had to barge in like this, but its a life or death scenario. Tomorrow morning, can you meet me at our pack house?”

“Tomorrow morning meaning in a few hours or like… actually tomorrow morning?”

Farah gave him an unimpressed stare.

“It’s an important distinction!! I’ve had this problem before.” Soap explained. 

“Actually tomorrow morning.”

“Thank God, I had stuff I needed to do.”

Farah twitched. “Please just… meet me.”

“Will do!” 

She looked up and suddenly threw herself back out the window. Ghost came back in and saw him. “There you are. You okay?” He crossed the room and quickly touched him. It was clinical, clearly just wanting to make sure he’s okay. 

“I’m fine. Don’t worry. Did you get him out of here?”

“I did. Let’s watch more later.”

Soap smiled. “I’ll leave it where it is.” He frowned as soon as Ghost turned around, noticing him scratching at his ears again. How odd. He hoped he was okay. 

Soap checked on Price to see how he was doing. Only to see him at the fence, talking to the neighbor. He sidled up. “Oh, hey Graves.”

“Hey Soap! Didn’t tell me you guys had family visiting.” He smiled and kept glancing at Price with something close to suspicion. Soap chanced a look at Price, surprised to find him so… calm. Smiling expertly to hide the teeth. 

“Soap also didn’t tell me how cute the neighbors are.”

Graves blushed. “British. Like your accent.”

“I’m sure it would sound much better betwe-”

Soap took his cross necklace out under the guise of fiddling with it. Price ended what he was saying with a wheeze, clearly trying to not make his disdain noticeable. 

Soap smiled. “Nice to see you again. I’ll be sure to keep an eye on him.”

Graves just nodded and looked at Price again before leaving. He glanced back at Price before going back in the house. 

“You bastard.”

“Don’t sexually harass my neighbors.”

Price hissed at him and left angrily. 

Soap cleaned the bodies out of the basement and stretched. Thanks to Alex’s help, there was no other cleaning to do. Ghost would probably be in his room. 

He was not. There was however some noise in one of the spare rooms. 

Soap was stupid enough to look inside said room.  

Alejandro had Ghost against the wall. The two of them chest to chest. They were touching all over each other and half of their clothes were strewn about. 

Ah.

Ah. 

Made sense. Alejandro and Rodolfo in an open relationship. Vampires were needy creatures. 

Ghost groaned and nuzzled into Alejandro’s throat. Alejandro’s hands tightened on his hips to pull him closer. 

Very needy.

Soap still felt… slightly hurt. He wasn’t sure why though. Because Ghost was with someone else? That was… stupid. 

Ghost’s hand sped up and Alejandro spoke to him, right in his ear so Soap couldn’t hear him. Ghost tensed up and pressed tighter to Alejandro, his grip would probably bruise. Soap could faintly hear them both panting, the fake need to breath coming out. 

“There ya go, Simon. Feel better.” Alejandro teased, forcing his head back as he mouthed at his throat. 

“Go fuck yourself.”

“There you are. I knew you were just in a bad mood. Just need to a pick me up.” Alejandro purred and pressed him back against the wall. He continued rutting into Ghost’s hand as he lifted the fabric to properly bite his throat. Then, he slid it further up to kiss him properly. 

Ghost’s free hand slid up into his hair, combing through him before he whimpered, shaking as he came. Alejandro followed right after, sinking his teeth into Ghost’s flesh. Ghost snarled at him for that and yanked him back. 

“Sorry, sorry. You taste nice.”

“I taste foul. Like all vampires do. Now get out of here.”

Alejandro licked at the mess on his hand and Soap quickly backed off. If he got caught, that would… 

Would it be bad? Probably not honestly. Maybe for Ghost. To be seen like that without his consent… 

It just not hit Soap what he had done. He watched his housemates fuck. Or at least jerk each other off. Like a perv!! He watched them like a perv!!

Soap quickly left as quickly as possible, all but fleeing the situation. This was awful. Terrible. Disgusting. He grabbed his cross necklace and tried to figure out how he was supposed to look Ghost in the eye later when he put him to bed. 

Difficult was the fucking answer. Ghost was in a much better mood than earlier and Soap knew why. It drove him crazy. 

If Alex hadn’t interrupted, would that have been him? Maybe Ghost would’ve kissed him? Even if it was just a need based thing, it would’ve happened. 

He left the room in a daze. 

“Say a word about that to anyone and I’ll kill you.” 

Soap jumped out of his skin before whirling around to look at Alejandro in the shadow of the hallway. He looked menacing, something he very seldom did.

“I didn’t mean to watch okay? And I promise I’d never want to get you in trouble with Rodolfo.”

Alejandro sighed. “Rodolfo is well aware of what I do. I’d never go behind my husband’s back for anything. As much as I enjoy Ghost, not even he’s worth that. I’ll kill you because Ghost will be upset. He let his guard down and I let you watch.”

“Let me?”

“You think I didn’t smell you? The cologne you wear because you think it covers up the scent of decay from the bodies, the savory scent of your blood and skin. Not to mention your heartbeat. It sped up when I lifted the mask. Did even more when I kissed him. I know it wasn’t me that had you like that.” Alejandro smiled a little and Soap’s heart sped up. His fangs were bloody. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

Alejandro kept staring at him before moving closer. Soap backed up instinctively. Rodolfo didn’t scare him quite as much. They had slept together a few times. Hard to find him scary. Ghost wasn’t scary. Never really had been. 

But Alejandro? Alejandro still scared him. He got closer until they were pressed to the wall like he had Ghost earlier. “Do you want to know what it felt like?”

“What what felt like?”

“Kissing him. I can show you.” Alejandro leaned in closer and Soap’s breath caught. 

“I…” Soap couldn’t get enough breath in his lungs to respond. 

Alejandro pulled away. “Tell me if you change your mind.” He grinned. “Sun just rose. I need to get to bed before Rudy notices I’m gone.” 

Soap stood there for a long time, just focusing on his breathing.

[ravenmichaelisstuff]

NSFW SoapGhost headcanons

(Top!Soap x Bottom!Ghost) I wanted it to be wholesome

Ghost isn't very loud in bed, but men- does he whimpers and repeats Soap's name like it's a prayer.

Soap however talks during sex all the time. From telling Simon how good he is for him, to describing the one thing ghost did that day that made Soap desperate to touch him.

They discover that way that Ghost has a praise kink.

Ghost is in denial, but Soap uses this information quite a lot.

Soap started to praise Simon in public, just to watch him scramble under his balaclava. No one ever noticed, but Soap knew what he was doing.

When they get together they don't have sex for quite some time. Simon had problems with simple intimacy so it was lots of work to get to where they are now. It was lots of conversations, setting boundaries, showers together, and just getting to know each other in this new intimate way.

Soap waits for Ghost to be comfortable

and when they both are, Soap is the most caring person in bed while Simon trembles not only with excitement but because he never felt so desired and cared for.

Ghost likes to cuddle after, but sometimes he also puts his balaclava back on. Just if things get a little bit too overwhelming and he needs this layer of privacy.

Soap also likes cuddles, but more often than not he will first clean them up and open windows to let some fresh air in. He made it his little ritual.

They rarely have rough sex, rough anything really. They have enough of roughness in their lives. So usually they go for soft.

When they do, if they do- there is a lot of talking beforehand. Even if Ghost hates to talk about what he wants, he appreciates Soap's blabbering about boundaries and colors.

So... yeah. I hope someone likes it <3 I can make more if I get any inspiration. If you know me, no u don't.

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes ending author's notes

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Chapter 8/?: Grasping

Sasuke awakens abruptly, nausea clawing its way out of his throat like a soup of sepsis that’s been left percolating on a stovetop for too long, finally boiling over and soiling everything.

Stomach churning, he tries to aim it at the floor - he’s gotten better at doing that, over the years - but he doesn’t quite succeed. Hot bile, acidic with mostly digested dinner, coats the side of his bedding and part of his sleeve.

He coughs, gagging on acid and torment and hyperventilation. Then his stomach lurches again, and he turns to retch another round at the floor. Part of it floods his nostrils, stinging, and he rasps more.

That triggers another round, after which he waits a minute, sharp coughs punctuating the stillness, familiar at this point with what his stomach’s settling feels like. He shrugs off his shirt once it does, and makes his way to the kitchen, hacking on a foul aftertaste and vomit-inducing visuals flashing before his eyes.

A glance at the clock tells him it’s half past midnight as he gulps water, snorting in a manner very undignified to clear out his nasal passages and soothe the putrid taste overwhelming his insides. Then he chokes more of it down, feeling the beginnings of a pounding headache.

There are times when having a near photographic memory is not a good thing. He is very tired of recalling crackling electricity, of stumbling over body after body with lifeless eyes. Men, women, children, all with charcoal irises like his.

And teammates, with irises decidedly not like his, luster flattened to single dull colors.

And himself, at the end, deranged and dispiteous, standing where Itachi had stood a long time ago, looming over remains as if he himself is the final obstacle to defeat before it just ends, the culminating villain in some fucked up fable. All at once, he’s a child again, gagging on a demented form of truth, left to stew there for years and years and years, rotting him from the inside out.

He's noxious. He knows he is. He wishes he could spit himself out along with partially digested yakitori.

Sasuke takes another sip of water as his vision blurs, trying desperately to focus on the wood grain of the cabinets and not daring to close his eyes, lest another flash snake its way into his ocularity and undo the mild soothing the water is providing. He coughs again, throat raw. Then his mouth starts watering, a telltale sign that he’s going to throw up again, so he walks carefully to the bathroom, bottle in hand and trying not to jostle his stomach more than is necessary. Switching on the light and flipping up the seat of the toilet, he makes it just in time.

This round it’s mostly just water, and it burns a little less. The murky brown color he’s faced with seems very reflective of what he feels inside, ignominy and wretchedness and self-loathing, no substance at all, just a bitter aftertaste of that which was left behind on a wood floor a lifetime ago. There had been saliva then, too, seeping from his mouth to the floor in his cowardice.

He swallows once, a gargantuan effort. Then he takes another sip of water, studying the text on the label to try to distract himself, vile and unsettled as he is.

He doesn’t deserve Sakura, not after what he’s done. When his vision starts to blur again, he can’t read anymore anyway, so he looks at the mangled mess left of his left arm instead.

He deserves that, a maiming to fit the crime. He wishes he were a better man.

Slowly so as not to further disturb his stomach, he lies down sideways, pressing his cheek to the coolness of the floor. He feels disconnected from everything, at a loss for proper coherent thought, a mess of misery sprawled on a tile too clean for his own rancidness.

Nothing matters for a long time. He just stares into nothingness, a mild burning in his throat and eyes on a void of pure white that he doesn’t belong in, thinking about how it matches the skin tone of bodies that have been drained of all their color. It’s like he’s barely there, nothing seeming real except the hollow feeling in his chest and the buzzing sensation tempering the edge of his consciousness, like his brain has been stuffed with cotton but parts of it are burning away to nothing. Everything of substance singes away in a controlled burn, destined to always have gaping holes of meaning scorched away at random wherever the fire takes hold.

He doesn't know if there ever even was anything in the first place, deep down. Maybe corrosion is a terrible metaphor, because what's left, at the end of it? Layers and layers of useless shale and sandstone and limestone, packed atop Precambrian filth that’s been decaying there for what feels like centuries. Or magma, set to burn anything he touches.

Or electrocute it.

XXX

Suddenly it’s hours later, and a bird is chirping outside, twitters resounding through a metaphysical tunnel of distortion. Gradually it shifts into an audio that doesn’t sound quite as echoed, accentuated by light filtering in through the miniscule bathroom window.

This happens, sometimes, the nightmares and the absconding into abeyance where his brain seems to shut off, a resulting loss of significant chunks of time. Not sleeping, just staring at something dully for a while, stuck on the same cycle of repeating thought. The memorial stone is a trigger for it, he thinks. It’s why he dreaded going there, upon his return, although it's complicated. Occasionally, visiting it seems to bring feelings that are almost positive, where it feels like he’s reaching out to reclaim tiny shattered shards of what used to be his heart. Mostly, though, it’s just mourning. The reading of names may be what compels the worst of them; sometimes he thinks if he looks too long, he’ll learn things he doesn’t want to know.

Exhausted, he drags himself to his feet and begins wryly picking up the pieces, chest hurting from heaving. He throws his bedding and his shirt haphazardly into the washing machine, drowning them in soap before he grabs cleaner to do the same to his floors.

It smells disgusting, like it’s been petrifying in his stomach for years. He supposes that makes sense; a lot of things have.

Once the surface is clean, he gets in the shower, not caring that all of the hot water is being used for the laundry; the icy cold helps wake him up. He’s fatigued, lethargic, but he knows better than to try to go back to sleep at this point.

As he fights shivers in the towel afterwards, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks awful. Pale and sickly, repulsive, purple sallow staining his skin the same color as the Rinnegan. His normal eye is bloodshot, vacant charcoal that pollutes everything it touches. He lets the black of his hair shift over his Rinnegan eye in a manner he's well accustomed to by now.

His remaining eye inches to the corner of the mirror, the front of the medicine cabinet.

He carefully procures a cough drop, and then makes sencha tea, hoping the caffeine will dull his headache. There’s a part of him that still feels like he’s hardly there, like he’s a ghost just going through the motions. When he takes a sip, it feels good on the throat, but the vomiting earlier has partially singed away the surface of his tongue; he hardly tastes it.

Sasuke then takes the photo from when they were Genin to the living room, grasping onto it for dear life in more ways than one. He alternates between studying it and gazing out the glass, to the cherry blossom tree across the street.

An hour passes, slowly, sitting there thinking about what he does and doesn’t deserve, a mess of thoughts swirling down the drain of his mind. Then another. The luminescence of the day begins trickling in more, green buds across the street gaining back their pigment.

He’s not sure if he should even go to Sakura’s still, because he feels like he’s going to make even worse company today than he usually does, as tired as he is. But he’s weak, and he selfishly wants her; there’s an equanimity only she can provide, the swingback of a pendulum briefly through a sense of normalcy, and he needs the chance to look into jade eyes, to see the light hit them, to ascertain that the chatoyancy has not been dulled. And she’s not dead, despite his inner psyche screaming at him that she would be, had Naruto or Kakashi arrived just a second later. He needs to thank them for that, when he gets the chance, though the timing has never felt right to bring it up.

And he loves her. He's not sure if his love is worth anything, contemptible as he is, but it’s the main reason he can make sense out of the absolute mess that is his inner thought process this morning. So he goes.

XXX

It helps. He’s enormously exhausted, and the light of day hurts his eyes, even once he’s inside and is only absorbing its rays from the diamond window, but it helps.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets in a voice like honey as she opens her door to him, dimple on open display. She really is so lovely, multi-faceted jade sparking with life that nearly instantly calms some of his anxiety.

He is briefly concerned about what he looks like to her, today. He checked prior to coming over here, brushing his teeth thrice in the hopes that his breath wouldn’t be bad, that he could drench his innards in enough clarifying mint to be even remotely deserving of a small amount of her affection. His eye was a little less bloodshot at that point, but overall he still looked like hell, sickly and pallid.

“Sakura,” he murmurs in response, voice hoarse from being put through a ringer of his own making.

There is a prolonged moment in which she examines him, wearing an analytical expression that reminds him of clinician Sakura. Then the spell is broken, as if she’s forcibly turned that part of herself off, and she’s stepping aside and telling him softly, “Come in! I made onigirazu.”

He steps inside her entryway, setting his book on the console table momentarily beside where Hazel Wood lies, ready to be returned. He then shifts out of her way so he can remove his shoes. He’s not particularly hungry, but he’s glad it’s something fairly simple and heavy on the rice; he should be able to eat it fine.

He follows her inside, appreciating the subdued luminosity of her lamps along the way. The blankets are already laid out on the couch, a promise of simple warmth and companionship that he is very much looking forward to.

As his eye adjusts and he enters the kitchen, ready to grab a plate, his gaze locks on remnants of sliced tomatoes atop a cutting board he recognizes, though it’s familiar to him from his own apartment, not hers.

It’s exactly the same design as the one Naruto gifted him.

A fire roars to life in his ribcage as he freezes for a split second, an exhausted icy hot appreciation. It’s an implication that means the world to him, and particularly well timed.

She wants him around, to help prepare future meals.

“I put some sliced tomatoes in yours. I hope it’s okay,” Sakura says as she hands him a plate, not addressing the elephant in the room at all, as if she just needed a new cutting board and happened to pick up that one, though he knows that cannot possibly be the case; he'd seen at least two in her cupboard, before. “Would you like tea, or maybe some water?”

He nods stiffly, vision a bit blurry, then comprehends the second question.

“Water is fine,” he manages thickly.

They sit in front of her window, supple sunshine streaming in. It’s not too bright here, angled just right.

“...How was your morning?” He asks after taking a sip of water, voice still gravelly. He is beyond content to be sitting here, just looking at her, so much better than a picture.

“Good. Ino and I walk or jog in the early morning on Sundays, if it's nice. Hinata comes sometimes; she did today.” She chews a bite of her rice sandwich.

Sasuke blinks; she hasn’t mentioned that yet. Another chunk of her schedule falls into place. “...Where?”

A half smile blooms on her lips, dimple pushed into being. “Sometimes we run laps around the village, but usually there's no real destination; we just walk and visit.” She takes a sip of her own water. “It’s nice when Hinata comes; it tones Ino down a notch.”

He would snort, if he was in a different sort of mood.

“We went to the southeast part of town today,” she continues. “Ino wanted to see a new building they put up. Her mom has a big order of flowers to deliver there later this week.”

Flowers. In the chaos of the night he’s had, lily bulbs fell to the wayside of his mind.

Sasuke carefully takes the first bite of his own food. It’s good, as he expected; a mixture of salmon, tomato, and salted rice, simple enough to hopefully help settle his stomach. He can kind of taste it.

He chews slowly, reverently, alternating between eating and taking small sips of water as she chatters animatedly. “The flower shop's orders are really taking off now. Ino’s usually busiest once May comes. Hopefully things stay peaceful, so she can stay in the village for the most part; her mom can always use the extra help.”

They wash and dry the dishes together, afterwards, a routine that is beginning to feel familiar. She still doesn’t say anything about the cutting board, but Sasuke greatly appreciates the way it feels in his hand when she gives it to him, weighty and with a designated home under her roof. It slides into place easily in the cupboard with the two others.

They read for a while on her couch again, wrapped in their respective blankets; Sakura keeps her apartment fairly cool. It’s cozy in a way that makes his head feel funny, like he could fall asleep in minutes if he really tried, lulled by the soothing scent of berry and cleanliness. He wonders if it would be restful, if he did. Usually once enough time ellipses, well into the next day, his brain cuts him some slack, though it could be that he's just too exhausted from being up most of the night for the neurons to fire up again to such a frenzy.

Sasuke finishes the last chapter of his book sluggishly and contemplates the ending, a lengthy description of the fisherman gripping the solid railings of the dock with both hands as he comes ashore for the first time in months.

When he flicks his gaze to Sakura tiredly, she’s a third of the way through a new book, titled Among the Ruins: Post-War Reflections. It appears to be a memoir; he assumes it must be one she’s purchased, as it doesn’t have the library label. Perhaps it’s new, picked up this morning while she was out, or it could be one from her bookshelves. He would like to peruse the titles she has, sometime. He drowsily wonders which war it’s about.

He takes a careful breath and just revels in it, being here with her, mere feet away with his eyes closed but able to sense her presence, worn out with thoughts that have edges as frayed as he is. He would like to stay for dinner, too. He thinks it’s perhaps becoming implied that they’ll eat together if she doesn’t have other plans, but he doesn’t want to be rude or overstay his welcome.

Sasuke hopes he can stay awake. Maybe he shouldn’t have said no to tea earlier; the additional caffeine might have helped. He could offer to make them both some, he thinks fuzzily, but then he starts wondering if that would be odd or overstepping. It’s her tea, and her kitchen, and her cups.

Then he sleepily remembers the cutting board.

“You can take a nap, you know,” Sakura murmurs kindly, soft words echoing a little in the stillness of her space. “If you’re tired. I don’t mind.”

He blinks his eyes open, vision adjusting as he realizes he nearly dozed off.

She’s smiling from the other end of the couch. “I can make dinner later, and wake you up when it’s ready. You should rest until then.” She pauses, then adds, “I can grab you a better pillow from my room, if you want.”

His brain catches up to his auditory processing, and then his ears warm.

Oh.

The offer is tempting, though he doesn’t want to be rude. If it were any other day, he would force himself to stay awake, to spend more time with her. But it’s not any other day, and he’s drained, enervated in a way that makes him want to give in. He should ask, to make sure it’s okay, but he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t.

“...Here?”

A flush inks its way onto her cheeks as her expression turns thoughtful. “Yes. Or... you can use my bed, if you want.”

Sasuke forces his gaze away from hers, because his face feels extremely warm all of the sudden. “...I meant… here, at your apartment.”

“Oh.” Sakura laughs in a way that sounds nervous; he hears her fiddling with the book in her lap. “I, um… just meant whatever’s most comfortable.”

When he hesitantly looks back to her, she’s red, too.

“...What will you do?”

She gestures with her hand in a waving motion to indicate it's fine. “I can read, or do some laundry or work stuff. It’s no trouble. Really, Sasuke-kun.” Her blush deepens. "...I would like you to stay… And to have dinner later. If you’re free."

He swallows before slowly nodding his acquiesce, and then Sakura is up and heading to her bedroom in a blink of mismatched eyes. Muffled footsteps pad back moments later, a pillow with a lavender pillowcase clutched in her hands.

Her bedding must be a variant of violet, then, a pastel contrast to the black of his own. He is curious about the color of her bedroom walls all over again, but then she’s handing him the pillow, and he’s too tired to continue thinking.

“...Thank you.”

The smile she wears is so soft, treasured. “You’re welcome.”

He’s out within a few minutes of laying his head on the pillow, drowsing eyes barely catching the lamps flickering off one by one as she meanders around her space.

The pillow smells like her, too, cogent in its beckoning. He sleeps like a rock.

XXX

Sakura nudges him awake hours later, leaning forward to rest her upper body against the back of the couch. The scent of miso and roasted tomatoes drifts into his nostrils while lively jade peers down at him. The light coming from her window has dimmed quite a bit. It must be well into the evening; she let him sleep for a while.

“Dinner’s ready,” she murmurs softly, wearing an expression that is incredibly fond.

He stretches slightly as he rises from her sofa, working out a crick in his shoulder and thinking that he feels much more rested. Sasuke is about to head to her kitchen to get his own bowl, until Sakura turns towards the table, and he sees that she's already set out food for both of them, green market light switched on overhead.

There's onigiri, too, and a steaming cup of sencha placed on his side that he's sure is decaffeinated.

His side.

The realization, albeit a good one, disarms him.

He has a side of her table. And a side of her couch.

Sakura recites a story Hinata told her this morning as they eat, about how Naruto initially buried every single flower bulb in their garden beds six inches deep instead of reading the directions, so they had to dig everything up and salvage the instructions on the package from the trash to replant.

“He mixed them all together, too, instead of planting them in sections like a normal person.” She laughs, and his lips turn upwards in shared amusement. “She said she hopes they didn’t miss one. Iris and echinacea can sometimes multiply out of control. She was happy she didn’t add bee balm to the list, too, or they’d really be in trouble; those can grow anywhere, even in gravel.”

The soup and tea feel good on his throat, and the rice is filling in a way that would be difficult to throw up, absorbent of moisture and chunking together to expand in his stomach until he is full, in more ways than one.

He can taste again, the richness of tomato and miso and calming ubiquitous green on his tongue and in his heart, thoughts of flowers and their idiot teammate helping to cast aside his earlier melancholy.

Sasuke loves her so much in that moment that it physically aches, her voice a balm that puts the rawest parts of him at ease.

"Thank you," he says quietly at the conclusion of the meal, grateful in ways he's not sure he'll ever be able to put into words.

Her response is simple, gentle, pure. “You’re welcome.”

As they wash and dry the dishes together in the dim light of her kitchen, Sakura tells him softly, “I put leftovers in containers for you in the fridge. Please take them with you tonight.”

He nods as his eyes sting with appreciation. When he turns to put away the teacups, he blinks to clear them as she wipes down the sink one last time for the evening.

As she sorts through her movie selection afterwards - it’s her turn to pick - he asks, “How is the poison antidote coming?”

Sakura glances at him curiously for a second from where she’s perched on the wood floor, rifling through the lower cabinet. “I think we might have it solved. Blarina toxin from a southern short-tailed shrew, and then possibly lionfish toxin, laced with algal bloom cyanobacteria. The lionfish toxin is part of the trouble; it’s such a trace amount that it was hard to identify, not enough to cause swelling on the exterior body like you’d see if you were stung by one in person. We’re still running tests, but the neutralization seems to be working on the mice so far.” She blanches a little. “Or, rather, the mice we have left. It’s diminished our stocks; shrew venom is particularly deadly to them.”

Sasuke knew it was likely to kill several of them, but not quite to that extent. He’s interested in her work, so he asks, “How many?”

She turns back to sift through her cabinet as she answers, pulling out another movie to examine. “A gland-full of venom is potent enough to kill up to two hundred of them. It’s why it took us longer than usual; we had to give them the absolute tiniest dose in order to not kill them within hours. I guess it makes sense; they’re one of the things they eat in the wild. The dose in the poison sample was high, though, venom from multiple shrews. A single bite usually isn’t enough to do any harm to humans, but when it’s quadrupled in dosage and laced with other things, it’s more severe.”

“...What’s the treatment?”

Sakura rattles off the extremely complex answer as if it’s nothing. “An antihistamine, steroid, botulinum toxin, and an antibiotic. We’re also giving them blood transfusions and flushing out the blood as it comes to the exterior machine, to get rid of the cyanobacteria. Kind of like conventional water treatment… just more complicated. More steps, filtration, and obviously we can’t use chlorine, so it takes longer.”

Sasuke blinks somewhat in awe. She really is so intelligent.

“...That sounds lengthy.”

She shrugs, movie still in hand. “It is. It’s why we’re not one hundred percent sure if we’ve solved it yet; the lionfish venom is still the weak link, and will be until we can see that the other portions of the treatment have worked to isolate it.”

“...I’d like to learn the process.”

A smile plays at her lips and a flush inks its way onto her cheeks. He supposes it was a roundabout sort of compliment; he could have worded it better, but she seems to have understood him anyway. She does about a lot of things, he thinks.

“I can bring home a kit, sometime, and teach you the basics. It could be useful.”

He nods; he would like that.

There is a long pause as Sakura bites her lip before further examining the movie case in her hand.

Then, she asks, a tentative expression on her face and peeking at him to gauge his reaction, “Want to watch a bad one?”

Sasuke wonders if she knows he would watch any movie with her, if it means he gets to be in her company like this, saved from a room with white tiles or dark wood.

“...Sure.”

She wasn't exaggerating; it is truly terrible, riddled with plot holes so nonsensical that it’s almost funny. The acting is bad, too, though perhaps that’s more to blame on the script rather than the actors.

“Even the camera work is awful,” Sakura says at one point, gesturing towards the left side of the screen. “If you look in the background here, there’s an extra that just… walks into the wall.”

He watches, and sure enough, behind the main characters, a girl walks directly into a corner and just stands there.

He snorts, genuinely enthused in a manner he would not have thought possible hours ago. Sakura laughs at the other end of the couch. It’s a sound he could listen to forever, sweet and chiseled into his heart.

They play an extensive round of go afterwards, venturing well into the night with the plinking of small pieces into place. It’s nearly eleven when she finally walks him to her doorway, two containers of tomato miso soup and onigiri in her hands. As he pulls on his shoes, Sakura sets them by his library book on the console table.

“Would you want to read tomorrow afternoon?” She asks as he rises to his full height.

He nods. “...I’ll meet you here.”

Her dimple makes a reappearance. “One fifteen?”

He inclines his head again in agreement, then decides to ask. It’s becoming easier, now that she has said yes so many times.

“Dinner, after?”

Her smile widens. “Of course. I was thinking gyudon. Light on the sugar. You could…” She bites her lip and shifts a bit. “...You could help me cook, if you’d like.”

Something turns over in his belly. “...Okay.”

She glows at him. He swallows once before reaching out to skim her freckle, enjoying the feel of her cheek against the pad of his thumb.

And then her fingers against his fingers, holding him there against her cheek, soft and steady.

Then he leans down, and his lips are on hers, a breath exhaled in unison as her entryway falls away. Her free hand twists around his neck, delicately brushing the fabric and a fraction of his skin in a way that nearly makes him shiver. It’s a long moment of quietus, a finishing stroke to a day that could have gone very differently.

It is also the longest kiss they’ve shared yet, and it is over far too soon.

He’s pulling away to look at her, letting his hand drop away, when she wraps her arms tenderly around him.

He can hardly breathe, taken off guard by the absolute sensation of comfort he’s enveloped in.

She doesn’t say a thing; just hugs him tight, her fingertips spreading across his back and face pressed to his sternum. Berry invades his olfactory senses.

Slowly he lifts his arm to carefully return the hug, swallowing a tender sort of truth, a kind that goes down easy, the evidence and action of her affection. He can feel Sakura’s heartbeat against his chest, a tempo teeming with life.

They stand there together in her entryway for a long time.

XXX

He sleeps wrapped in a clean comforter, and though it’s not for very long, it is dreamless.

He’s eating leftover onigiri when he receives a mission summons, barely past seven in the morning. He finishes his meal and pops a cough drop in his mouth before departing for the Hokage’s office.

It’s a nice day, he thinks as he walks, coming to a decision as he admires vernal greenery lining the streets. The sun is just lifting over the horizon, painting everything pale amber.

“Sasuke,” Kakashi greets as he walks in; he’s the first one there again, apparently. “Good morning.”

“Kakashi.”

Their old sensei smiles at him in the strange all-seeing manner he has. Sasuke notes the presence of a new picture frame present on his desk, replacing the one he’s given him.

He is extremely grateful to have that picture to grip onto in his darker moments. Sasuke considers thanking him then, for Iron, but then Naruto is barreling in noisily.

“Whaizzit?” He yawns raucously, as if he just woke up, sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes. They are multi-faceted, too, even in their barely aware state, and Sasuke inwardly breathes a sigh of relief, normalcy shifting fully back into place as the door clicks behind his teammate.

Then Naruto registers that Sasuke is present. “Eh? Teme?!” Cerulean scans the room as if he’s searching for something, then he frowns, directing a lengthy glare Kakashi’s way.

“If you've called me here at seven in the fucking morning for anything that isn’t a Team Seven reunion mission, I’m going to lose it.”

Ah. He was looking for Sakura.

“Afraid not,” Kakashi answers cryptically from his desk, and Naruto’s sleepy glare tightens. Then the Hokage smiles, as if something is incredibly amusing. "Guard duty. Kotetsu and Izumo deserve a break. Things are slow this week, and we have the extra numbers.”

The copy ninja skillfully dodges Naruto’s sandal as it flies towards him. “You’ve got to be kidding. You woke me up for this? You could have told me later in the day or something!!”

“Future Hokages don’t receive special treatment, and it’s professional to give more than twenty-four hours notice if possible.”

Naruto grumbles. "All week?"

Kakashi grins. "Tuesday through Friday."

Inwardly, Sasuke twitches.

"I should specify; nine to six, Tuesday through Friday."

Outwardly, Sasuke twitches.

It's not exactly her work schedule for all four days, but it lines up closely enough that it's fairly obvious what Kakashi’s doing.

Naruto barely reacts; just snorts in a way that is caustic, as if he finds the times unsurprising. "Cool. Can I go back to sleep until it’s time to kick teme’s ass now? Hinata-chan and I were cozy."

Sasuke rolls his eyes; when they spar in the mornings, it’s typically between eight and nine. He’ll have around an hour's extra sleep at best, though he supposes he’s not in any position to judge at this point, given his nap on Sakura’s couch yesterday.

Kakashi’s smile widens, mask wrinkling. "Sure. Dismissed."

They both watch on in faint amusement as Naruto stumbles sleepily out of his office, neglecting to collect his missing shoe.

“...Some things never change,” the Hokage murmurs, sighing.

“...No, they don’t.”

“Well, anyways, before you go…” Kakashi turns to him, tapping the pen at his desk absentmindedly. “How are things?”

Sasuke blinks, recalling leftovers and a new cutting board and the feeling of Sakura’s arms around him.

And kissing. Mostly kissing. Probably too much, if his neck’s sudden warmth is anything to go by.

“Good.”

A lone visible eye crinkles at the corners. “Great. Don’t hesitate to let any of us know if you need anything.”

He lets the words hang in the air for an extended few seconds before nodding slowly.

"I was thinking…” Kakashi continues, gaze flicking down to the photograph on his desk. “...Perhaps we could make Team Seven dinners a monthly thing. It would be good, don’t you think?"

“...Yeah.”

A dark eye locks on him again. "Sai could come, too."

Ah.

"...Sure." He really should make an effort to get to know him better. His replacement seems nice enough, peculiar as he is.

"Wonderful. Let's plan on the first Saturday of every month at six, shall we? If we're all in the village, that is. I’ll let him know when I call him in later this morning."

“Okay.”

A long moment passes, then Kakashi is procuring the shoe from the area behind his desk. Sasuke notes that he holds it as far away from him as his arm will allow.

“...I don’t suppose you’d return this, when you see him later?”

Sasuke says nothing.

“...Though I suppose I could assign it as a mission to some Genin.” Then he's sighing, setting it on the farthest edge of Naruto’s work area. “Too bad I just gave an assignment to my last two.”

Shooting him a withering look, Sasuke departs the Hokage’s Office. He gets the distinct feeling as he goes that Kakashi is incredibly pleased with himself, solidified by what he calls after him.

“Tell Sakura I say hi.”

Guard duty is easy in theory, but spending thirty six hours with the dobe may be… a challenge. He supposes if the reward is being able to see Sakura after she works most of those days, he'll take it. He's sure Kakashi won't keep him in the village forever; eventually duty will call him away for extended periods of time.

It solidifies his decision; he should take the opportunity of being here to plant something.

He stops by the market vendor on the northern end to buy two packages of lily bulbs on his way home. The market is fairly slow, so there are few other people around.

The packages feel good in his hand, lighter than he expected.

Sasuke works through a section of one of his other books before Naruto shows up on his doorstep, still appearing for all intents and purposes half asleep. Their spar ends in another draw; luckily there are no cracked bones this time.

He eats more leftovers for lunch after, appreciating the taste.

XXX

Sasuke feels at home in Sakura’s kitchen, cutting scallions easily while she broils beef and prepares the egg mixture for gyudon just a few steps away. The meal comes together quickly between the two of them, savory with a sauce that is heavier on the mirin and sake than the sugar.

Food they prepare together somehow tastes even better. It’s late when they finally sit down to eat dinner, gazing out through glass at the streets below as they take their first bites.

The sauce is perfect; not too sweet.

“...I have guard duty this week,” he mentions after a while.

“With who?” She asks, though her lips twitch upwards.

He rolls his eyes. “...Guess.”

She bites her lip, and he tears his gaze away from her mouth and up to her eyes. The green is filled with mirth, twinkling with illuminated flecks.

“Good luck,” she says sincerely. “What times?”

He glances away, ears warming and wondering if Kakashi has mentioned anything to her about them being… together.

“Tomorrow through Friday, nine to six.”

There is a long pause. When he peeks back at her, she’s blushing.

“...Kakashi-sensei is nosy.” Sakura takes another bite of her food, looking shy for some reason, and suddenly Sasuke is certain that their sensei has said something to her, perhaps on multiple occasions. He wonders what.

“...He is.” He thinks, then adds as an afterthought, “...He says hi.”

They do the dishes together and play two rounds of chess. Sakura wins once, and the second round is another stalemate, though he suspects he was close to beating her.

It’s close to nine by the time they’re putting the board away. As he works on packing up the last of the pieces to store in their allocated compartment, he notices she’s gazing out the window, scanning the sky as if distracted.

The way she’s angled puts the freckle on her cheek in plain view, pale hair loosely tucked behind her ear.

Then she turns to him, pink flooding her complexion, and Sasuke realizes he’s been staring, the remaining few pieces still clutched in his hand, frozen in midair in his distraction. He hastily finishes putting them away as his own face warms. Sakura rises from the table to put the box away, footsteps echoing softly through her living space.

He looks outside quizzically for a moment, embarrassedly trying to will the color away from his face and wondering what she was looking at. It’s a clear evening, calm without a cloud in sight.

"I was wondering if…"

His vision snaps to her expectantly across the room, and her cheeks flush darker; he can see it even though it’s dimly lit, shifting from one foot to the other. She seems nervous.

"If you would maybe want to… go stargazing for a bit tonight?"

His pulse quickens, pushing at the seams of chambers and ventricles in a way that makes it feel like the vines have twisted their way in, taking hold of whatever they can clutch.

She apparently does still like that sort of thing.

And she wants to go with him.

He nods immediately, struck speechless with elation before he manages to form the question, "...Where?"

Her expression is one of relief. "I was thinking just outside the village. There’s…” She looks away, smiles. “There’s a place Ino and I go to sometimes; we went today for a bit, after training. There are wild lilacs blooming right now.” She shifts her gaze to him again. “It's supposed to be a little cooler, but the sky’s clear. We could bring tea in a thermos; I have two."

Heat creeps up his neck as he agrees, heart stammering in his chest a little, because he’s started thinking about it now, and stargazing together is very clearly romantic in nature, amongst flowers even more so.

Sakura brews tea for the both of them as he distracts himself by slicing a lemon for hers. When he glances at her surreptitiously, she’s still blushing, and jade eyes snap away as if this time she’s the one that’s been caught staring. That makes his heart pound, to the extent that he’s glad she’s a few feet away, because it’s so loud that she might hear it.

They meander to the edge of the village as evenfall settles, into the forested area just beyond the gates. As Sasuke trails behind her, divagating through subtly flattened pathways between the trees, his thoughts wander to bygone seasons.

There once was a pond, three quarters of a mile outside of the village, beyond where the Uchiha District used to be. It wasn’t officially a part of their grounds, but it was remote enough that it wasn’t easily happened upon by anyone other than their family, off the beaten path and through thicket and thistle as it was.

Itachi used to take him fishing there.

He thinks they’d gone four or five times in all, but he remembers it well, because he had been terrible at fishing, not a shred of patience. His brother caught most of them, but he would sometimes set the hook before passing off the reel to Sasuke to help him learn. It was quiet, peaceful in the way that only the wilderness is, away from the pressures of expectations. Wildflowers poked up everywhere in the later summer months, situated on a hill towards the far side of the pond. They picked some together for their mother, once; Sasuke clutched them in his hands while they made the trek back to the village, Itachi carrying their bucket of perch and bass.

It was nice in the autumn, too, warm tones flooding everything. One could sit in the swaying overgrowth flush with falling leaves for hours taking it all in and still not see it all, an overwhelmingly pure sense of peace, made heartier by the taste of freshly grilled fish later in the evening.

The walk had seemed like it took forever back then, on short legs looking upward. He’s never returned to that place, not once, since he was eight. It would hurt too much, for different reasons now than when he was twelve.

He remembers passing wild lilacs then, too, on the way there and back. He supposes they probably thrive in the chaparral throughout Fire Country, if one cares to traipse through the foliage to look for them. He stumbled upon many on his journey, just passing through on roads less traveled.

The small clearing Sakura leads them to reminds him of the pond a little, wild and flush with fading hues, framed by fragrant lilacs in bloom as she said, but there are no memories tied to it yet, so it’s better. Huge bushes of them grow unaided here, wispy purple redolence scattered by the wind into the earth's cracks, ushered in by whispers through the trees.

The wilds are not so far from Konoha, really. Like the cherry blossom tree on the hill, it's a good reminder that some things can grow easily even on rougher terrain.

Sasuke sits rather close to her, so they can drink their tea together. The sun slips just below the horizon, a cloudless sky awash in a shifting gradient. He catches jade as he takes a drink, appreciating the taste, a small bit of warmth on a cool night.

The way she’s looking at him makes his heart rate accelerate again, a serene expression that implies there is nothing she would rather be doing right now than be here.

With him.

Eventually stars begin inking into existence overhead one by one, the last bit of sun lingering just on the horizon, a muted blur of violet bleeding into black. Things are slightly clearer here, beyond the boundaries of the village, no glass or light pollution to obscure the retinas.

Once she finishes her tea, Sakura lies down the same way she does on the hill, so he does, too, trying to calm his heart rate, because he is very close to her, just within reach. The forest breathes around them, coating everything in a lilac perfume.

He used to think about her, when he looked to the stars, feeling worlds away and wondering if she thought of him that day. Being next to her is better, revered, the calm din of an evening he has craved for a long time.

When he turns to steal a look, her eyes are already on him, and there is something about that moment, as the last light fades, being here with her, that makes his chest go aflame.

And then Sakura turns slightly, reaching out towards him with her right hand, and he blinks.

She sweeps his hair away from his Rinnegan eye, a thumb gently skimming his cheek as he has hers, before her hand falls away. Though they are cloaked in the gloaming of dusk’s darkness, enough he hopes to hide the warmth that has crept into his face, there is adequate light left to see her expression, so tender, jade eyes desaturated to dark sage.

He feels seen in a way that he hasn’t felt before, recalling soft words in an exam room.

Not me.

The sky is fully lit in short order, beautiful and dark with only a tiny sliver of the moon visible. It is truly lovely, Ursa Major, Leo, and Hydra scattered before them like a painting a million years old, ageless messengers traveling from who knows where, as he did. It took many steps to get here to her, scattered revolutions passing wide arcs around the sun, yearning for a day to close the gap, to feel like he was close to ready.

It was worth every single one.

A question is on the tip of his tongue, so he decides to ask it, to give in to the impulse.

“...Any poems?” He wants to learn the words she likes, what kinds of meaning she applies to things, intelligent as she is. Sasuke imagines the inner workings of Sakura’s mind to be quite complex, teeming with all of the things she’s read, research and fiction and nonfiction. He would like to know her favorite pieces of poetry, what she holds dear in her own heart.

She shifts slightly; he thinks she must be looking at him for a split second.

There is a lengthy silence punctuated by crickets before she finally answers, “A short one,” voice hushed like the breeze around them; if he wasn’t so close to her, he wouldn’t be able to hear.

He shifts his gaze to her on his right, barely able to make out her silhouette in the dark.

“Take notice of what light does - to everything.”

The words sink into him like rain on freshly tilled soil, triggering a bricolage of recollections. Instantly he is reminded of light through the window of his bathroom, stirring him from a pit of self doubt and guilt. Then light through the windows of Sakura’s apartment, cooking and doing the dishes together in her kitchen. A nap, comfortable on her couch as day fades into dusk, lamps switched off for a period of much needed rest. Flowers, grown by a doorstep with the sun’s rays seeping in through diamond patterning. The shadow of a jasmine plant, inked onto her cheekbone, and neon lights reflectant atop pale pink hair.

The intricate stitching of an uchiwa fan, thread catching iridescence as she holds it daintily in her hands as if it is something important, to be cherished.

Her eyes when she is happy, hints of gold flecks, catching like fractals of color atop shifting seafoam.

The way white nerine lilies looked drenched in sunlight, on days that are decidedly not summer monsoons.

Stars are a form of light, too, and despite being far away, they are refulgent in their luminosity, a beauty that cuts through murk and offers much for contemplation; the gaps of darkness between them are what allows people to make meaning out of them, constellations strewn together.

He is home, surrounded by spring. It is something to behold.

“...Did you write letters to Naruto?” Sakura asks after a lengthy period of reflection, so softly that her voice is almost a whisper.

The concept is so ridiculous to him that he would snort, if not for the moment they are sharing right now and the way she asked it, no hint of a joke in her tone.

So he answers seriously, just as quietly. “No.”

There is a long pause.

“...And Kakashi-sensei?”

Ah. He understands what she’s really asking. “...Other than missions, no.”

It’s hard to tell, but he thinks he sees her fingers grip in the grass next to her, gently as if in reflex.

Sasuke tries very hard to swallow his doubts.

When they were on missions as Genin, she used to lay sprawled out like this, hands spread next to her. So did Naruto. It bothered him then, because he liked his folded together on his stomach and he was very particular about personal space, which they both invaded.

Sasuke doesn’t have another hand to fold his with anymore, though, and he’s less concerned about personal space with her than he used to be. The darkness helps bolster his confidence, too, nyctophile that he is; she won’t see the heat that’s spreading to his face here, lit merely by distant flickering stars.

Take notice of what light does - to everything.

The luminaries above them offer only a little of it, yet it's a transfixing sight, something of the epochal and the divine present that he has been drawn to for years.

So he reaches out to skim her hand with his, a tentative sort of constellation in itself, recorded in points of contact and palm prints on the skin rather than etched in alembic light in the sky.

There are soft fingertips, a knuckle gently gliding by. Then she’s interlacing her fingers with his, and suddenly it’s not tentative at all. It’s leal, steady, her small hand in his as if it has always belonged there, the scent of flourishing blooms wafting around them and painting everything in his head lilac starlight.

Her thumb brushes his skin once, twice, thrice, achingly gentle.

He should have reached out sooner, but he supposes they’re young, still. There is a lot of time ahead of them. The stars will align eventually, slow in their revolutions around common centers of mass as he is in letting people in. She accepted his apology for being late already, fine fingertips clutching an uchiwa fan with a touch just as gentle as now.

If he can only hold her hand in the dark, maybe that’s enough for now, a single star he can reach. He hopes he'll reach the others eventually.

Hours pass with her hand in his, and he is a small bit closer in revolution by the time he walks her home.

Lilac and raspberry and starlight coalesce against his lips when they collide with hers, an allegorical perfume he could easily get drunk on. He skims the freckle again, tenderly osculant, and realizes that is the start of a constellation, too, a novitious star burning brighter every time he reaches out. Kissing makes three.

Her hands around his neck make four. This time he does shiver, but he doesn’t pull away.

Sakura’s lips are so soft.

XXX

He plants the lily bulbs shortly after they say good night, under the cover of the caliginous dark that shepherds in the dew of the morning, tiny drops of moisture beginning to collect on nearby blades of grass. The stars are still out, bright enough to be beautiful but dim enough so that he can’t read the names.

Sakura would help him if he asked, he knows, but he doesn’t think he’s quite ready for that yet. He settles for trying to make his touch as gentle yet sure as hers, an elegy of calloused fingers digging carefully through the dirt, grasping and placing lily bulbs one by one. There are four bulbs in total, so he plants two on each side, nine inches apart, allowing them to poke up through the soil slightly and frame the stone; he reread the instructions when he stopped by his apartment earlier. It’s a different brand of corrosion, manually digging up layers of dirt rather than hoping they slough off, but it’s progress, and it doesn't require digging too deep.

There has to be something beneath the layers of sediment, he thinks, to feel the way he does about her. He hopes that what he feels is enough, that his slow revolutions will be worthwhile for her, in the end.

I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.

Being in Konoha is not easy, after everything, but being with Sakura is.

When he’s lying in his own bed a short time later, he recalls the love in her fingertips against his. It lulls him to sleep.

[pressedinthepages]

Clean

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

also thanks to friends in the Cake Shop for the encouragement, and to @sometimesiwrite for the nudges in the right direction :D

Prompt: *Bathtub*

Relationship: Lambert/Essi

Rating: Teen

Content Warnings: fluff, non-sexual nudity, brief thirsty thoughts, first kiss

Summary: Lambert is in desperate need of a bath, and Essi is more than happy to lend a helping hand.

“Gods above, Lambert, you smell like you just crawled out of the depths of hell.”

Lambert shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Not hell. Just a nest of nekkers. Not exactly known for their sweet, floral scents.”

Essi sighed and set her lute down at the foot of her bed. Lambert’s bed lay across the room, yet his was untouched. “Here,” she said, striding to the corner that kept a small wooden tub tucked away, “let me get one of the girls downstairs to fill this for you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lambert scowled as he untied the knot keeping his gambeson closed, “I’m used to the shit monster smell.”

“Just because you’re used to it doesn’t mean that you need to wallow in it all night. C’mon, your poor nostrils must be burning.” Essi spoke quickly and clearly as she turned the tub on its side to roll into the middle of the room.

Lambert took a deep breath (yes, through his mouth, shut up) and stubbornly crossed his arms. “Cool it, bard. We don’t need to waste the coin when I can just rinse off in a river when we get back on the trail tomorrow.”

Essi let the tub slam down onto the floor and matched Lambert in posture, her own arms crossed and her head cocked as she observed him through her very bright eyes. “It’s not a waste of coin, Lambert. We have plenty, you’re just being an ass.”

“This is not a new phenomenon-”

“Dammit, Lambert! Let me do this one thing for you. Please.”

Lambert paused, casting a scrutinizing eye towards Essi. Gods, she was almost shimmering, passion brewing from her very being. And yes, while Lambert may have been one of the most stubborn bastards to have ever walked on the Continent, he was also tired. And Essi seemed sincere, not wanting to do this for him for her own benefit, but actually just...for his.

Weird.

“Fine,” Lambert groused through gritted teeth, “but you make sure that they make it hot enough. If I’m taking a bath, I want the damned full experience.”

Essi nodded with finality and let a gentle smile turn the corners of her lips. “Would you like for me to see if one of them would come help? I can go and give you some privacy, if you’d like-”

Lambert sputtered as he watched Essi slide her shoes on. “N-no. Don’t do that.”

Essi shrugged, “Alright. You said you wanted the ‘full experience’ which, for men, usually involves a woman’s hand.”

“Women don’t typically take kindly to Witchers in their tubs,” Essi scowled at Lambert’s words. “Besides, I just need to get clean. I don’t need all the fancy stuff.”

Essi peered over at him with an odd look on her face. Lambert couldn’t really place it. Not pity, not amusement, nor abashedness. Just...odd. “Whatever you say, Lambert. Would you still like some time for yourself? I really don’t mind stepping ou-”

“Stay. I don’t wanna kick you out. Besides, it’s cold out. You should keep by the fire.” Lambert...wasn’t really sure where all that came from, but he could tell that it wasn’t the answer that Essi was expecting either.

Essi looked over her shoulder to him as she set her hand on the doorknob. “Alright, Lambert. I’ll see what I can round up for you.”

Lambert could hear her feet bounce down the steps towards the tavern below. He sighed to himself and continued on with removing the outer layers of his armor. The gambeson was first to hit the floor, left to the side so that he could properly clean it later. Yeah, he thought as he raised his arms above his head and caught a whiff of himself, maybe I did need that bath.

He slipped off his gloves next, flexing his newly freed fingers a bit as he threw the gloves to the floor. The boots were toed off at the door and his potions belt was set next to them. He was just contemplating the ties on his trousers when he heard approaching footsteps with a familiar cadence.

Essi knocked before she entered, as she always did whenever the two of them traveled together. Lambert never really understood it, but he also appreciated it nonetheless. The Path was not made with privacy in mind, so he cherished every little bit that he could get. He called her in and she kept the door propped open behind her.

“The innkeeper’s daughter will be up in a few moments with the water, she’s got it heating up now.” Lambert kinda lost himself in the high pink planes of her cheeks and the glow behind her crystalline eyes before the words registered in his brain.

Lambert nodded and stepped back so that Essi could set an armful of towels down on her bed and rifle through her pack. She emerged with a handful of little glass bottles and a soft scrap cloth. He quirked a brow and tried to look over just what she had snuck in here. “What’s all of that?”

Essi chuckled and glanced back over to him. “What does it look like? You said ‘full experience,’ so I brought it!”

Lambert shook his head and smirked, “I also said you didn’t need to worry about all of that. Besides, I don’t do all of the smelly soaps, it’s too much for my no-”

“Yes, I know. That’s why I chose these. Here,” Essi uncorked a small bottle and held it at arm’s length, “try this one.”

Lambert stepped forward and leaned down, just barely sniffing the contents of the bottle, fully prepared for an assault on his senses. He furrowed his brow and inhaled deeper, only just barely catching a trace of earthy spices on the tail end of the air. “That’s...not too bad. Where did you find this?”

Essi smiled wide and turned back to the other glasses on her bed. “You know, I don’t spend all of my time with Witchers. I have a friend back in Oxenfurt who is an alchemist, and they like to make soaps and such. I asked if they had anything that might not be too aggressive for your nose, and they didn’t. But they did have a few ideas, so they finished up this batch by the last time I stopped in. I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to give them to you, and now seemed like a good enough time as any, and-”

Lambert shook his head and held out his hand, palm up. Essi stopped rambling and carefully set the assortment of bottles into his grasp. “Essi. I...I can’t pay you back for this, not right now. I can’t just drop coin on this kind of stuff-”

“You don’t have to pay me back, Lambert. It’s a gift. One that you very much deserve.”

Lambert felt something weird rising up in his chest and tug behind his stomach. “I-hmpf. Thank you, Essi. It...it means a lot that you would think of something like this for me.”

Essi reached out and placed her hand gently on Lambert’s arm. “Of course. You’ll have to tell me what you think of them, and I can pass the message back to my friend for their next batch.”

Lambert ran his thumb back and forth over the smooth glass in his hand. He could feel the warmth of Essi’s skin radiate from her palm and through his linen shirt, and he wanted so desperately to be able to find the words to thank her properly. “Essi, I-”

A knock on the door startled them both and Lambert cursed himself for getting so caught up that he didn’t even hear the poor girl climbing the stairs. He pulled open the door and stepped aside for her to clamber into the room with a large pot. She upended it into the tub, letting steaming water slosh around and immediately fill the air with the thickness.

“Anything else that I can help you with?” The young woman asked kindly, crossing her hands in front of her and looking up at Lambert. He shook his head and let her out of the room, closing and bolting the door behind her.

Essi smoothed her hands down her trousers as she looked Lambert up and down. He felt her gaze rover over his skin and felt a not-unwelcome prickle at the back of his neck. “Well, are you gonna bathe, or were you wanting to just get in like that and call your laundry done?”

Lambert actually let out a bark of laughter at that one, his heart warming when he heard Essi laughing a bit herself. “No, not gonna waste this hot water on my laundry. You mind if I go ahead then?”

Essi shook her head and took the bottles back out of his hand. “Go on, it’s not like I’ve never seen a naked man.”

Lambert felt the ghost of her fingers across his palm before he reached up behind his neck to grab onto the collar of his undershirt and lift it over his head. He wrinkled his nose as he chucked it to the side, apparently now making a pile for his laundry too. While Lambert wasn’t exactly ashamed of his body, he knew that it could be...distressing for humans. Scars and burns decorated his skin and, while he was leaner than his other Wolves, he still had muscles that shifted and danced as he moved that were never really paid attention to by others. He turned away for Essi and untied his trousers before pushing them down his thighs, and while he may have caught her heart beating a bit quicker than before, it was probably just his mind.

Lambert kicked away the trousers to rest with his shirt and carefully covered his manhood with his hand before he turned back around. As he faced Essi once more, he watched in real time as her eyes drank in his body, lines crawling up and down and around, making his head swim with the sudden feeling of being seen. Not necessarily just looked at, but something more, something deeper. Something he didn’t have a name for.

Essi blinked a few times and swallowed thickly before meeting Lambert’s eyes from beneath the curl of her bangs. “Well...hmm. You uh, you should go ahead and hop in before it gets too cold.”

Lambert caught the flush of her cheeks and how her fingers sort of fidgeted at her sides, drawing his attention away from her eyes. Lambert tried to balance carefully as he stepped into the tub, one arm still occupied with keeping himself covered from Essi’s piercing gaze. Lambert’s foot broke the surface of the bath and he felt the heat crawl up beneath his skin as he fully stepped in. The water would have been scalding to a human, but to Lambert? Oh, hot fucking water was pure bliss.

He shuffled a bit as he sat down into the tub, finally finding a position with his head leaning back on the rim and his knees bent and poking above the surface of the water. He sighed as his muscles relaxed into the heat, and he closed his eyes and just let his mind quiet for a few moments. Though, he could hear Essi fiddling with something, her hands as restless as her mind, it seemed.

“Essi?”

“Hmm?” Lambert smiled a bit and peeked open one eye when he heard her voice, clearly a bit caught off guard. Her hum had been a little higher than normal, and a bit too quick.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I could use a hand with washing my hair-”

“Oh!” Essi jumped up and clambered for the array of bottles that she had spread back out on the bed. “I don’t mind at all, if you’re sure…”

Lambert hummed his assent and closed his eyes once more, listening to Essi patter about the room for a moment before coming to rest behind him. He heard a stool be set down and the gentle shifting of fabric as she sat atop it. “Right then,” she murmured, keeping her voice low and soft, “should I use that one soap I showed you, or a different one?”

Lambert shrugged as he sat up, his body warm and loose from the bath. “Maybe do that one for my hair, and I can try a different one for the rest of me?”

Lambert ducked under the water and ran his hands through his hair, rubbing down his face and along his jaw as he resurfaced. He felt the rivers of water trail down his spine and heard the telltale pacing of Essi’s heart fluttering in her chest.

He smirked as he chanced a glance over his shoulder to her. “Gonna just stare at my back all day?”

Essi, to her credit, hesitated for only half a heartbeat, just enough for Lambert to know that he had, in fact, caught her doing just that. She then huffed good-naturedly and reached out for his shoulders. “Well, if I could reach you, that would be ideal.”

Lambert hummed as he leaned and felt her hands guide him by the shoulders back to resting at the edge of the bath. He heard her take a deep breath, one that he knew was to steel the nerves. He found himself wanting to do the same, but for his own.

“Comfortable?” Essi murmured, her hands still resting lightly on the junction between Lambert’s neck and shoulders.

“Mhm,” Lambert nodded and let his eyes close. He could feel the pulse of Essi’s blood swirl beneath her fingertips, and the huffs of her breath ghost over his skin. The warm water soothed his muscles and led him down into a pseudo-meditative state, still aware of the world around him, but able to focus in on little bits of sensation as he wished.

He felt Essi’s hands leave him as she reached for one of the bottles at her side. As she pulled out the stopper, Lambert caught another whiff of the same scent from earlier. That dark, musty, earthy scent, raindrops pillowed on moss. It was accompanied now by honey and verbena, the light air wafting down from the thick golden tendrils of Essi’s hair.

Essi poured a dollop of soap into her hand and set the bottle back onto the floor before lathering her hands together. “Alright, I’ll start with your hair. Still good?”

“Yeah, fine,” Lambert hummed as he felt her fingers drag up along his scalp. He just barely held back a moan from escaping his throat as she lightly scratched back and forth through his hair, working the soap into soft, fragrant bubbles that trailed down over his forehead.

Essi began to hum, low and quiet, just barely a sound trailing from her lips. It lilted and bounced along the air with no clear direction, no endgame. Just...to be. She watched Lambert’s shoulders relax, the line of his spine dipping down further into the water and the dark hairs on his chest catching suds as they fell from the damp ends of his hair.

Once his hair was properly scrubbed, the scruff that it was, Essi let her hands follow the trail of suds down his neck to his shoulders, massaging tight and tired muscles as she went. Lambert did not succeed in holding back the groan that creaked from his throat as he crumpled slightly.

“Want to pick another one of the soaps, or should I pick for you?” Essi murmured, still smoothing her hands gently back and forth along the line of his shoulders, squeezing the muscles beneath with every pass.

Lambert hummed and shifted in the bath, the water sloshing around as he adjusted his hips. “You can pick. I trust you.”

Essi smiled as she turned to the little collection of bottles by her foot, grabbing a little bottle scented with lemongrass and sage, dabbing a small pool into the palm of her hand and working up a lather, spreading it along his arms and onto the top of his chest. She paused when she realized she wasn’t certain just how much more she could cover without… well, crossing some lines they’d never really discussed. They were friends, had become quite close in their travels. Essi knew that Lambert trusted her, just as she did in return. But some things just...hadn’t been addressed between them.

Essi scooted around so she was face to face with Lambert and washed down the line of his arm, working the suds and watching his chest rise and fall with long, deep breaths. “Alright...legs next?”

Lambert peeked open an eye, glancing around as if he were worried they’d be caught doing something inappropriate. He cleared his throat and closed his eye once more. “Y-yeah. Yeah sure. Fine.”

“Are you sure? I could not if you’d rather—”

Lambert limply waved his hand, “Nah, you’re fine. Go for it.”

Essi nodded and got to work, spreading the lather up and down his legs, massaging his feet and calves, working up to the tender muscles just above his knees.

“Oi!” He jerked away suddenly and Essi withdrew, worrying she’d accidentally hit on a tender scar or an injury from earlier. To her relief and amusement, Lambert smirked, “Tickles.”

“Sorry,” Essi snickered, “want me to move elsewhere?”

“Nah, you’re fine. Just uh-just don’t be too light there or else you may wind up with my foot to your face. Not on purpose mind you, but-”

“Alright, alright,” Essi laughed, kneading her thumbs more deeply into the skin of his thigh. Lambert’s head thunked back against the rim of the tub.

“Gods, woman. You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” Lambert sighed as he wiped his hand down along the line of his jaw.

Essi shook her head with a snicker, “Oh please Lambert. Don’t even start with m-”

“You and I both know that I would absolutely not be in a warm bath with a very pretty woman washing me just the way I like if not for you weaseling your way into my Path.” Lambert once again wasn’t sure where that came from, but Gods know it was true. Every little bit.

Essi’s cheeks went bright red, “Nonsense, Lambert. I never weasel anywhere, and certainly not onto the path. But I’ll take the credit all the same for being pretty and stubborn.”

Lambert hummed and waved his hand around dramatically. “Bah, semantics. You know how I hate when you get caught up in word play-”

Essi scoffed with a great smile on her face, “Oh, don’t you dare lie to me! You love my word play, you and that sharp mind of yours. Admit it, you’d be bored to death otherwise.”

“Someone’s taking a lot of credit this evening. Never mind the nest of fuckin’ ogroids I just destroyed so an entire village could resettle.” Lambert opened his eyes and sat up, letting his leg fall back into the water. He braced his hands on either side of the tub and-oh fuck, Essi was now much closer than anticipated.

Lambert watched her throat bob as she licked her lips and swallowed, her eyes darting quickly down to his mouth and back up once more. They sat frozen like that for a moment, a hair’s breadth away from pushing into uncharted territory.

Essi cleared her throat and looked up at the suds threatening to drip down into Lambert’s eyes. “Perhaps you should rinse, then I can make sure that everything’s clean?”

“Uh… yeah-yeah, sure.” Lambert plunged his head under the water and was grateful for a moments’ grace from whatever the fuck that was. He emerged and pinched the water clear from his nose, scrubbing at his hair and blinking profusely—he hated going under water.

Essi watched him scrub away the last remaining drops of water from his beard and fucking shit why-

“Here,” she said, reaching out (Essi, keep it together. What exactly do you think you’re doing here-) “Let me scrub your chest one last time. Just to be sure.”

“Ah, it’s okay, you really don’t have to-”

“Do you not want me t-”

“No! No, I mean if you want… I just don’t want you to feel like you have to if-”

“I don’t mind!”

“It is… nice. I mean, your hands are—” Fuckingshitfuck “—you’re good at this,” Lambert gestured broadly, hoping to alleviate the feeling of having his entire foot in his mouth. Lambert shifted forward so that Essi wouldn’t have to bend and reach quite so far, painfully aware of her hand slightly outstretched and reaching for him.

Essi smiled and shook her head. “Thanks, I think. You’re quite good with semantics, though you seem to be running in circles tonight.”

Lambert huffed good-naturedly as he felt Essi’s hands, still warm and soapy, smooth over the broad plane of his chest. Essi hummed appreciatively as she worked the soap into Lambert’s skin, working circles into the hair dusted across the toned muscle. A smile pulled at her lips, her cheeks rosy with the still-hot water and the kind atmosphere that she simply radiated.

“What is it, songbird?” Lambert couldn’t help the little smile that graced his own face while Essi kept her eyes trained steadily on her own hands on his chest.

“I-well. I’ve always loved a man with some good hair on his chest.”

Lambert’s heart quickened from it’s normally slow pace as he felt Essi’s hand still on his chest, and he looked up into her soft blue eyes. She leaned in, just barely a tilt of her head, the always troublesome curl of golden hair falling down into her eye. Lambert reached up, his hand dripping with water, and gently pushed the curl back behind her ear, his fingers glancing over the impossibly soft skin of her cheek.

Essi closed her eyes and let herself hope, just for a moment, that she knew where this was going. She heard Lambert sigh and she blinked up, finding him closing the distance between her with a quiet, “Oh, what the hell.”

Their lips met with Essi’s hands still on Lambert’s chest and his hands in her hair. It was nothing more than a simple peck at first, a sweet push into unknown waters. But that didn’t last long, for she felt Lambert’s hands tighten in her hair and pull her close, licking insistently at the seam of her mouth.

She granted him access with a gasp, working her tongue with his and running her fingers down and around his chest, her fingers teasing the water line. Lambert tasted of woodsmoke and spice and cherries and Essi’s head swam as he kissed her intensely. Gods, Lambert kissed her like she imagined soldiers coming home from the war kissed their wives: methodical, thorough, devouring her soul with teeth and tongue and his hands grasping onto her so tightly that it could’ve hurt if he hadn’t keened lowly into her mouth.

Lambert shifted back, breaking apart from Essi for a gasp of air. She followed him though, pressing their lips back together and clambering into the bathtub, settling in his lap. He laughed into her mouth and settled his hands on her waist, “Essi, what the fuck? You’re gonna get all we-”

“Oh shut up and kiss me again.” Essi ran her fingers through Lambert’s hair as she leaned down, kissing up his jaw and meeting his lips once more.

Oh, this is gonna be fun.

[pazvizslaplasmathrower]

His Champion - Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Permission Granted

Masterlist

Series Summary: The Empire has fallen, however momentous this might be for the galaxy, it has little effect on you: one of the last living members of the Guardians of Breath. Separated from your teacher years ago, Imperial scientists have been on the hunt for you, desiring to take advantage of your Force abilities. Without any leadership your pursuers still continue their hunt for their own malicious intent, causing your to crash land on a small hidden island on the planet of Stewjon. Small foundlings of the clan, find you, quite unsure of this fallen stranger.

Chapter Summary: After an intense sparring session with Fenri, Paz insists you go clean up. After a small moment, you find yourself giddy and dazed with delight.

A/N: I’m so stoked for this series! I had a lot of fun writing this! Thank you to @askalphapazvizsla and @fenrivizla. Sorry this is so late. I have been really depressed lately. I should be updating more frequently.

Word Count: 1916

Never before in your life had you any memory of such gentleness. Even as a baby and a youth, your own master had not treated you with such sincerity. Of course he was kind enough but now in the arms of your husband, this was a whole other world. In the present moment, he had you in his sculpted arms, carrying you through the hideout until you reached the fresher closest to his own quarters. Once inside, he stooped lower, letting your boots gently grace the floor until you could stand on your own. When you slipped from his hold on your own accord, you could not help but miss the cautious pressure on your body.

“Do you need any further aid?” He asked softly, his head cocked to one side.

“N-No.” You mumbled, suddenly finding your boots quite interesting.

Paz righted himself, toying with a loose section of his armor. “Very well, though I will bring you a warm towel and something to change into.”

He left without another word, sparing a brief glance  your way. You knew his eyes must have been warm to make you so heated. Hastily you peeled off your dirtied clothes, shucking off your boots in the process. Once in the shower, you turned on the water, savoring the delicious feeling of cooled water washing away the dirt and grime of melee. Using the practical soaps and oils provided, you felt the most clean you had ever been in a long while. Refreshed by the smooth sensations., you dreamily slipped out of the present, focused entirely on your own bliss you failed to hear the voice of your husband calling for you, instead he opened the door a crack and placed the towel without peeking inside. Only when you exited the shower did you notice, a small panic quickly rose and was quelled. Quickly, the shower's cleansing spell worse off as you grabbed the towel, wrapping it as much as you could around your body.

“Y/N, I have some clothes for you. Would you like me to hand you them through the door?”

“N-No!” You said, pushing a hand up against the door.

For a moment your husband was silent. “Well then what will you change into? Just the towel?”

Sweating furiously, you had the urge to elbow the man. “Tch, of course not!”

“Then you plan on changing back into your dirty clothes?”

Sighing you bit the inside of your cheek, moving to open the door just a bit, only imagining what sort of clothes this man was going to give you. Very suddenly a wonderfully strange but soft fabric was placed in your hand, quietly, you closed the door taking a better look at the attire. It wasn't anything extravagant yet not simple. Other than the basic small clothes, Paz Vizsla had gifted you with the softest black leggings you had ever felt, the sides embellished with dark patters, so only the wearer might notice the subtle beauty. It's companion was  just as smooth, though a darker blue, perhaps a shade to match Paz's own, the cuffs of the shirt lined with threaded designs. However, much to your embarrassment, the collar was fashioned in such a way that it left the mark your husband gave you on full display. This apparel was not completely unlike what you wore a Guardian of the Breath. Sure what you were used to was a bit more flowing and humble, but what you held in your arms now was just a bit more form fitting and suited for something more exhaustive than meditation. Who knew one could look quite becoming while dressed for a possible bout.

It was peculiar how perfectly all the garments fit your body, not a piece too large or tight. After looking yourself over in the small mirror above the sink, you gingerly opened the door, Paz being only a few feet from where you had left him. Pursing your lips, you stepped out in front of him, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor while you could feel his heart stop for just a second. An uncomfortable half minute passed by before you absolutely had to say something.

“Thank you for this gift.” You smiled shyly. “It is very comfortable, and I like it...very, very much.”

“Oh!” Paz breathed, though it was more of a wheeze. “I'm glad. I made it myself! And there is plenty more where they came from, I've placed them in your quarters.”

“Wow, that is very generous of you!” Your head spun with the warmth coursing through your body.

“Hm, you seem lightheaded, are you feeling alright?”

Taking you completely off guard the Mandalorian slid off one of his leather gloves, placing the back of his hand against your forehead. At the contact, all thought deserted your mind, leaving your ears ringing, taking in just the feeling of his skin on yours.

“Kriff, it feels like you're burning up.” He mumbled, slipping his glove back on.

A dizzy grin spread across your face, and you could still feel the ghost of where his hand had once been. You had to actually resist the urge to go and grab his hand.

“N-No, I think I'm just feeling a bit...flustered.”

“Are you sure?” He asked tilting your chin up so you would meet his gaze. “Your eyes seem somewhat glazed over...”

Shaking off the effects of his touch, you stretched your body, though you still felt somewhat dazed.

“Really, I'm actually fine!”

Paz Vizsla shook his head. “I don't want to take any chances. Let's have something to eat and then you need to rest.”

The finality on his voice was so prominent it left no room for you to argue. Obediently, you followed as he led the way.

***___***___***

“Here, Percy prepared this himself.” From the doorway of the small mess room, you could see the young boy peeking; he immediately retreated once you spotted him. You looked fondly at the plate your husband had placed before you, the fare quite interesting. Different from what you could salvage while on the run and much different than the food your master fed you from their planet, Kashi. Foodstuffs from that planet were so light. Since the dynasty that dominated the planet were strictly isolationist, it left no room for foreign meals, leaving you with a steady sea-faring diet.

Now in front of you was a bowl nearly overflowing with a medley of vegetables and meat. Leaning over slightly, you took in its aroma, suddenly captivated by the delicious smell.

“May I ask what it is?” You asked sheepishly.

“Tiingilar.” Paz answered, sitting across from you on the floor.

You felt a bit out of place being the only one to eat at the present time, with the young boy peeking from the door and the Mandalorian watching you carefully from across the low table. Still, the twisting of your stomach was becoming too much to bear, and you had to admit your own hunger. Even though the utensil offered was far different than the ones you were accustomed to, you simply brought the bowl up to your mouth and took a cautious taste. At the moment the food entered your mouth you were bombarded with a heavenly host of shocking flavors, each layer as complex as the last.

“Whoa!”

“Y/N? Do you like it? Please tell me you like it!” Percy begged, coming over and kneeling at your side.

Instead of answering, you brought the bowl up for another taste, devouring the contents quite hastily. Finished, you placed the bowl down hard.

“What was the best kriffing thing I have had in forever!” You exclaimed, beaming at the boy.

“Really?!” He squeaked. “It wasn't too spicy?”

You shook your head, “Nope. It was perfect. Thank you very much.” Smiling, you ruffled the boy's fluffy hair. Ecstatic at your answer, Percy bounded off to tell his sisters of his victory. Once he had left you noticed Paz was once again staring right at you. Well, you guessed so as his visor was in your direction.

“He is very talented.” You remarked, feeling sweat start to bead on your forehead.

The man stood, towering over you like tsunami about to swallow a small ship. But, he offered you a hand, which was taken with gratitude. Surprisingly, Paz gently pulled you to him and scooped you up in his arms.

“Paz!” You yelped. “My legs work perfectly fine!”

He laughed shortly, walking calmly until you were back in your quarters, letting you down on your bed.

“Well, as much as I should thank you, I am perfectly capable of walking on my own!”

Your husband crossed his arms. “I know that, but you are my omega.”

“Well...yes...” The mark on your neck suddenly felt hot.

He sat on the edge of your bed, keeping a polite but close distance. “You have to understand, Y/N, this is in my nature. As an alpha. As your husband. I now live for you. For my clan.”

“I...I realize that.” You took in a deep breath in hopes it would settle your nerves. “I just...I've always lived either being relied upon, or alone.” Raising your eyes, you stared into his visor. “This is new for me. I-I feel scared.”

The words came out like a reverent confession with your husband perhaps offering absolution. Even to your Master, the one you had lived alongside the longest, you had never before mentioned any feeling of fear. If there ever had been a moment where you were filled with fright, it was suppressed with more pressing matters taking precedence. With you r master and their heat, his needs always came before your own once you were able to guard and guide on your own. This was foreign territory. Not only as a matter of culture, but your sudden presentation as an omega had truly taken the air right out of your lungs, leaving you breathless and desperate for respite.

“Of...Of me?” He inquired, a hint of sadness in his voice.

Quickly you shook your head. “No! No! Well at first you were quite intimidating but now, I couldn't be afraid of you.”

He sighed in relief, letting his head fall back for a moment.

“This is strange to me. Life has never favored me much, making each day more exhausting as the last. So now with all of this...I have no idea what to expect. I don't know now to be.”

You hugged yourself, trying to feel a semblance of calm and ease, but it did not come on your own.

“I...May I hold you?” Paz asked, turning down the light in your quarters.

Trying to loosen the tension in your body, you accepted. Slowly, the Mandalorian shed his plates of armor, leaving him just in his helmet and woven flight suit. Once done, he slid closer, pulling your body flush against his chest. His scent was overwhelming, overtaking your senses, though not in an alarming way. Instead, your heartbeat slowed, body relaxing against his, reveling in the sensation of his bare hands gently gliding over locks of your hair. Something started to dominate your desires, and you turned in until you laid your head on his chest, nuzzling him on your own accord. At that, Paz shifted his grip with no intention of letting go.

[heartofsnark]

A Hope County Christmas (Part Two): Seed Family Dinner

Notes: Second chapter out, wooooo! Note to self never start on a christmas fic after christmas, you just end up stressed. Also, the first chapter has to my shock been getting a lot of love over on AO3, which I really appreciate, thank you to everyone who likes and enjoys my weird garbage. 

Summary: It’s Christmas time in Hope County and as one might suspect, it can be hard to find any Christmas spirit to spare with Eden’s Gate waging their holy war. Junior Deputy Dahlia Hale fully suspects this holiday will be spent just as every last day has been spent since they tried to arrest Joseph Seed. But, between the Rye’s incurable optimism and the Seed’s…fascination with her, she can’t say she expected this.

You can read part one right here!

Word Count: 4678

Warnings: Non-consensual touching (It’s not inherently sexual, Faith basically washes Dahlia but still), bathing/washing, drugging, kidnapping. Polyseed. Jacob has a pet Judge Wolf and John has a pet cat, cause idk, I like that shit. 

The radio cuts out and Dahlia groans, rage and wrath bubbling in her veins. She can’t have one normal fucking day.

“That John Seed, I swear to god, he can’t take a fuckin’ hint.” Nick is already pissed, just the mention of John Seed does that to him.

“Could anyone else hear John stroking it, or was that just me?” Sharky looks around for confirmation.

Dahlia is already up, her movements and body language drawn tight as she yanks the sweater off over her head, grabbing her uniform shirt and jacket that are strewn on a chair.

“Where are you going?” Kim asks, face twisted up with worry, eyes soft.

“It’s John, if he wants to me, he’s gonna get me. I stay here and your place is gonna be swimming with peggies before you know it. Just ‘cause the Seed got some sick fascination with me, doesn’t mean I gotta ruin everyone else’s night.”

“Fuckin’ let ‘em come, we’ll blow ‘em to smithereens.”

“All they need is us all drunk and vulnerable, none of us are in any state to fight,” Dahlia says with a sigh, handing the sweater back towards Kim.

“Keep it, you can wear it again next year.” That little notion of hope, of a future with more Christmas parties makes Dahlia smile.

“Thanks.”

“But…can you ride your bike, right now? You’re not exactly sober either.”

“Doesn’t matter if I ride or walk it, as long as I get some distance between here and me. I’ll be fine, you don’t hear from me in three days, you all know what to do.”

She gives her friends a half-hearted wave, trying not to let the anger and stress show through. One day, all she wanted, one fucking day.

The cold air hits her flushed face and she sighs, tucking the sweater into the trunk space under her motorcycle seat. She lights a cigarette both for warmth and stress relief as she pushes her bike away from the Rye home. If she were sober and more energetic, she’d be crafting how to escape his capture team. John’s are always the easiest to avoid. Once she managed to evade them three time, liberating a cult outpost and helping a defected peggie before they nabbed her. John was fuming and she was grinning. But, she’s not sober and there’s not much to do.

She’s a considerable distance away, surrounded by woods. Engines rev, his capture party getting close. Dahlia sighs, at least the Rye’s will have a decent party without peggies ruining the damn thing. A white truck with the familiar cross designs pulls up. She recognizes the cultists in the front seat, a face constantly showing up when she’s kidnapped.

“Hey, Teddy,” she greets him.

“My name is Theodore.”

“Hey Teddy.”

“I’ll never understand what the father sees in you.”

“You and me both, bud.”

“You’re not running today?”

“I’m drunk man.”

“Of course, you are.” He aims the gun, loaded with bliss bullets, at her.

“Do we really need the bullets today? I’m not even running!?”

“Shooting you is the most fun I have anymore, so yes, we need the bullets.”

“Seriously, I-OW!” The bliss coated bullet sinks into the meat of her thigh

Within seconds her vision starts to swim, colors distorting and her limbs growing heavy before she falls back on the ground. Theodore hovering over her.

“Dickhead,” she slurs out before the world goes black.

 Dahlia blinks a few times as she slowly comes back in consciousness. There’s still a haze to her brain, but she feels more sober than she did before she was kidnapped. A soft familiar humming is drifting through the room, the same one that echoes through the Henbane. She tries to get up out of bed, but can’t hardly move her body. No ties or restraints, her limbs just to heavy to move despite her head feeling clear. The cult is always fucking around with new strands of bliss, she’s no longer surprised at the things it can manage to do to her.

Slender hands wrap around Dahlia’s wrists and she’s gently tugged up into a sitting position, she’s on a bed. Her legs now over the edge of it, Faith smiling and staring into her eyes.

“Hello, deputy.”

“Ugh.”

“It’s our first Christmas together, aren’t you excited?”

“Ugh.”

“I know, you’re still clinging to your sins, but don’t worry, we’ll show you the path. With love and patience.”

“And kidnapping.”  That earns Dahlia a stern look, like she’s a toddler who just stole a cookie before dinner.

“You still don’t understand and that’s okay, none of us are giving up on you. Now, you need to get washed up for dinner,” she fiddles with a glitter glue clump in Dahlia’s hair and lets out her soft little melodic giggle, “as pretty as this is, this is an important day, alright.”

Faith yanks Dahlia forward and off the bed, bliss heavy limbs making the deputy just fall against her. Her fingers knot in the white fabric of Faith’s dress, all her weight pressed against the taller woman. The youngest Seed sibling just giggles and pets Dahlia’s hair before leading her forward on shaky legs.

There’s a simple clean bathroom, steam rising up from the bathtub filled with water. Faith softly hums as she leaves Dahlia leaning against the sink for support, testing the temperature of the water. The soft steam twirling in the air around her face. She truly is beautiful, despite everything, Dahlia can recognize that the Seeds are attractive. Crazy assholes, but attractive ones.

Faith returns to Dahlia, their six-inch or so height difference feels like so much more when Faith looks down at her, pale hands pushing under her leather jacket. The deputy doesn’t have the strength to fight it, jacket hitting the ground. Then Faith is doing the same with the uniform shit, a noticeable twinge of anger in her expression when she sees the Hope County Cougars button next to Dahlia’s badge. Her hands skim slowly and teasing as she works through each layer, getting closer and closer to Dahlia’s skin.

The herald pulls Dahlia’s shirt up over her head. No bra and her chest is completely exposed. Green eyes looking over her breasts and Dahlia braces herself, expecting greedy touches and groping. Embarrassed by the way warmth builds in her center with anticipation. But instead, Faith simply hums and starts to undo Dahlia’s jeans. In moments she’s stripped completely naked, exposed in the bright light of the bathroom. No way to hide herself.

Faith gently leads Dahlia towards the bathtub, helping her into the hot water. She sits down and tries to pull her knees to her chest, but finds her limbs still not responding. Despite the situation, she finds herself relaxing into the water. The heat a welcome relief from the chill outside.

Things stay surprisingly innocent. Not that Dahlia wants it to not be innocent. But Faith’s touch never seem to deviate beyond softly washing her. Humming as she scrubs soap into the deputy’s skin, washing away the dirt and crafting mess. Sudsy hands exploring Dahlia’s legs, thighs, stomach, arms, and back. Constantly nearing her more sensitive spots, but never touching them.

She’s not proud of the whine she lets out as Faith washes her back, somewhere between cleaning and massaging. Faith shampoos and conditions her hair, the sensation of fingers working over her scalp makes her let out a soft sigh. Once she’s cleaned, Faith gently helps her stand back up.

A soft white towel rubbed and fluffed over her body, all still completely innocent. Faith seeming to find some contentment in just babying Dahlia, which would be great if not for the cult stuff.

“You keep looking at me like you’re expecting something, silly,” Faith voice teases by Dahlia’s ear, breath ghosting over the wet skin. Heat flushes up Dahlia’s cheeks.

“Ugh.”

Faith only giggles before she finishes drying Dahlia off, maybe it’s the heat of the bath or just the drug running its course, but she’s starting to regain a bit more control over her limbs. She can curl and move her tingling fingers now, which is something.

“The Father let me pick out the dress for you to wear tonight, it’s going to look so pretty on you.”

“Ugh!”

Dahlia expects something like Faith’s favorite dress, delicate modest white lace and flowers. But, while it’s white and has some lace touches, it’s less modest. Thin little straps instead of long sleeves, the deep neckline scalloped in a way that shows little peeks of skin between her breasts, and a band of lace beneath her chest that her skin shows through. The entire dress reaching the middle of her thighs. She’s thankful the building they’re in seems to be well heated.

Faith smiles wide at Dahlia in the dress, reaching for a white bliss flower that’s been place in a vase near the sink. She tucks it back behind Dahlia’s ear, the fragrance tickling the deputy’s nose.

“Absolutely gorgeous.”

“I miss my pants.”

“C’mon now,,” Faith pulls her wrists out and Dahlia expects to just be lead again, but instead she grabs rope from under the sink and binds the deputy’s hands together, “just in case it wears off, can’t have you running off in the middle of dinner, now can we?”

“Yeah…that’d just be a shame.”

Dahlia is dragged out to what looks like a dining room, the table has a cloth strewn across it and some sort of centerpiece but that’s all. Faith brings her to one of the chairs and ties her ankle to the legs of it when she sits down.

“Be back in just a moment,” Faith murmurs and presses a kiss to the top of Dahlia’s head before stepping out.

There’s the soft sound of clattering and messing around in the kitchen. Her limbs are starting to tingle, feeling slowly coming back. She starts trying to rock back and forth in her chair, if she can somehow break the chair she can manage to get away. Dahlia tries bouncing and jostling herself, the chair starts to tilt back and she’s hopeful it will break under her when she falls back.

It doesn’t.

She’s just on the floor now.

And she’s pretty sure the dress has fallen in a way that’s showing more of her than she wants shown.

Dahlia cranes her head to the side; there’s a large stone fireplace and her breath catches in her throat at what’s in front of it. A Judge Wolf, it’s eyes now trained on her. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

It’s a trap, it’s all been a fucking trap just to leave with a fucking wolf to get teared apart. The large lumbering wolf stalks towards her and every muscle in her body tightens. She screams as it presses a wet nose against her throat, sniffing at her, no doubt preparing to rip it out.

“You just had to bring that mongrel here,” John’s voice rings out, “shoo, shoo.”

He shoos off the Judge Wolf like it’s a puppy and it listens, John then grabbing the back of her chair and placing it upright.

That tingling of movement coming back to her fingers has started to shoot up to her forearms, she can clench and tense the muscles there. Her toes have followed suit as well, she can now wiggle them freely.

“You’re allowed your damn cat,” Jacob grumbles, the absolute mountain of a man looks borderline ridiculous as he sets food out on the table. The gesture so domestic and tame for the sadistic soldier.

“Yes, but this is my home, Chanel lives here. Judge does not.”

“I don’t know which is worse. Naming your cat Chanel or naming a Judge Wolf, Judge.”

“The hell else am I supposed to call ‘em.”

“Chanel is a perfectly respectable name.”

“Two Seeds pissed off in one sentence, new record!”

“No fighting, this is a time of togetherness brothers,” Joseph chides as he walks in, helping place food on the table with Jacob.

“Yes, Joseph,” John immediately backs down and ducks his head in shame. Meanwhile Jacob just shrugs, unfussed.

Dahlia focuses on watching Judge, the Judge Wolf, though she doesn’t even bother to name any animals she befriends, so really who is she to well, judge. The wolf is bigger than most of them, but decidedly better behaved. All of them are trained, but the ones she’s encountered out in the Whitetails have been more feral, would have attacked her on sight. But this one, Jacob’s personal Judge Wolf seems to be more restrained, but she knows too well that it would likely take one cue for them to be ripping her apart.

“Hey, Judgey, you wanna chew through these ropes for me?” She waves her wrists before the animal; they make a snorting sound before laying back down in front of the fire. She’s slowly getting more and more mobility back.

“Really thought he’d help you?” Jacob looks at her like she’s stupid, humorless dickhead.

“Just like his owner, fuckin’ asshole.”

Jacob flicks the back of her ear, making her yelp, no doubt if it wasn’t for Joseph, he’d be doing a lot worse to her. Hell, if it wasn’t for Joseph’s insistence that she’s their soulmate…or something like that, Jacob would have probably killed her by now.

“Jacob,” Joseph says in a low, stern tone.

“What?” A shit eating grin pulls at his lips, the gesture boyish and almost cute despite who’s doing it. It’s rare that Jacob shows many signs of enjoying, well, anything. But, the rare times she’s seen all the Seeds in one place, he seems infinitely more at peace and happy.

Joseph just shakes his head, his own gentle smile on his face, choosing not to scold his older brother any further.

Faith sits down on one side of Dahlia, John on the other, Joseph across from her, and Jacob beside him. Joseph’s intense blue gaze is already on her and she stares down at the plate that’s been place in front of her. She hates meeting his eyes, it’s weird.

“We’re so happy to have you here, Deputy Hale.”

The Seeds despite everything, still don’t know her first name, only knowing her last name thanks to their brief encounters prior to the reaping. Most of them settle for calling her deputy or some asinine nickname, Joseph is the only one who ever uses her last name and it always feels so strange. It’s never said with derision or vitriol the same way Deputy is constantly being growled or barked out at her over her radio. There’s always a warmth, a familiarity, that feels so out of place given everything that’s occurred. It makes her happy and uncomfortable all at once, so she reacts the best way she knows how.

“I’m very unhappy to be here.”

“It’s important to celebrate with your family,” John says, his hand coming down to rest on her thigh, just beneath the dress. His touch is warm, too warm, her stomach clenches, her heart flips, and her skin crawls. A mess of disgust and desire, she doesn’t want to deal with.

“I already was, at the Rye’s house, when you so rudely interrupted.” It’s the truth, the resistance becoming her family over the past several months. But her intention isn’t a declaration of her familial love for them, she wants to piss off John. They want to drag her into this fucked up family dinner, she’s going to do her damnedest to ruin it.

John’s hand squeezes tight, fingers sinking into the flesh of her thigh and she sees his jaw clench. Anger boiling up in his bright blue eyes, he leans in closer, nose nearly touching her own.

“Those sinners are not your family; we’re your family and you will come to accept that, sooner or later.”

“If I was a member of your family, I’d blow my brains out.”  

“John, this is not the time to indulge in your sins,” Joseph warns him, and John lets go of her thigh, the skin still warm where his touch lingered.

“I’m sorry, Joseph.”

“The deputy will come to see the truth in time, we must guide her with love and patience.”

“Love and patience,” she parrots back in a mocking tone, Joseph gaze is stern and disappointed, she grins. One of these days she’s going to wear through his patience and actually piss him off.

“Holidays such as Christmas has become corrupted and commercialized by the modern world.”

Joseph starts to speak as he serves food and she can’t help but groan, waiting for another spiel about how technology is the devil and Thomas Edison was a witch. Granted he was an asshole idea thief.  

“As a society, we’ve strayed from the real purpose of celebration, focusing on consumption. My family is one of the few, who truly understand that these times are meant to appreciate each other, to celebrate that the Lord has seen fit for us to let us share these moments with one another, after years of spending them apart.”

Dahlia bites her lip, staring at the plate that being piled high with food. She read the Book of Joseph, an attempt to better know her enemy. But sadly, with knowledge came empathy. She knows what the Seeds have been through, how their family was torn apart. As fucked up messes as they are, she can understand that the holidays and time they spend together would feel so much more important to them.

A part of her feels bad, this is important for them. And for the most part, they genuinely believe in the shit coming out of their mouths, she thinks. The only one not convinced she’s meant to be with them, part of their family, or whatever is Jacob. But he wants Joseph and John to be happy, which sadly means encouraging this. So, to them this is genuinely an attempt to gather the whole family. Like parents trying to get their moody teenager to have Christmas dinner with them.

However, they still kidnapped her and have hurt countless people.

Once food is on everyone’s plates, Joseph takes his seat again, she’s still avoiding his intense stare.

“Let us say grace.” He joins hands with Faith and Jacob, Jacob and John join hands as well. Leaving a tied-up Dahlia as the kink in the chain. She raises an eyebrow.

“I mean, I can’t be blamed for this.”  Though, god knows they try to blame her for everything else.

John settles for wrapping his hand around her wrist and Faith follows suit on the other side. The Seed family bows their head for prayer and Dahlia stares down at her food.

She’s reminded of days sat at the table, her stepfather thanking god for the meal while she was begging any god listening to give him a heart attack. Though, somehow, she has decidedly less anger and vitriol towards the Seeds. Her thoughts more centered around getting them in a facility with good mental health resources.

Joseph’s words drift in one ear and out the other. Being nice enough to not interrupt doesn’t mean she’s willing to pay attention. Its thanks, for letting him have this blessed day after enduring so many trials, or something to that effect. She’s busy pulling and tugging one of her ankles, slowly loosening the ropes around that ankle.

“Amen.”

“Amen.”

“Happy to see there’s no mac n’ cheese, heard how well that went last time…”

“That mac n’ cheese was perfect, Nick is just dramatic,” John blusters, face flushing red and she can’t help but laugh, just as she’s slipping one foot from her binds. Thankful she was tucked in close enough to the table that neither of the youngest Seeds can peer down to see her legs.

“Guess I know who’s to blame for that one.”

“We usually don’t allow John in the kitchen,” Joseph admits, a soft teasing smile on his lips. No longer The Father, leader of Eden’s Gate, just an older brother teasing his baby brother.

“Be better off letting Judge cook for you,” Jacob comments, grinning at his flustered younger brother.

“I can cook when I want to!” John tries desperately to defend his cooking skills.

Dahlia’s laughter only gets stronger, belly aching. Despite his flustered attempts to defend his mac and cheese, John’s smiling. Jacob and Joseph chuckling while Faith is giggling. All during which Dahlia’s using her free foot to help work the ropes off of her other ankle, loosening them.

“Awwww, poor little Johnny can’t even make macaroni, so sad.”

“You know, dep-yoo-tee.” He tips her chin up with his fingers.

“Must you say it like that.” She slips her other ankle out and resists the urge to kick John, she’s not ready to escape, not yet, not with everyone around. It’d be too dangerous, probably.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think your taunting is just your way of showing you care.”

“Well thank god, even you’re not that stupid.”

“John, stop hogging the deputy’s attention,” Faith says, and Dahlia can hear the pout in the older woman’s voice.

“I’m not hogging anything; I’m simply having a conversation with her.”

“You’re literally forcing her to look at you and no one else.”

John’s jaw clenches, he can’t really argue with that, now can he. The youngest brother of the Seeds reluctantly let’s go of her chin.

“Was that so hard?” Faith taunts her brother, playing with Dahlia’s hair.

The Junior deputy could probably escape right now. There are forks and knives available that can be weapons, she can’t out strength Jacob, but she can outrun him and he’s unlikely to trigger her brainwashing when the only people here for her to kill is his family.

But she doesn’t.

She decides, instead, to try to eat, since the food doesn’t seem to be killing anyone else and the smell is making her stomach growl. All she had at the Rye’s party was sweets and she’s not sure how long she was out for, so she might as well eat. That makes sense, right?

Besides, there will be better opportunities for escape, they’ll leave her alone at some point.

Her wrists are bound, and she finds herself struggling to managed to bring to fork to her mouth. But the hunk of turkey and stuffing just falls to the floor, Dahlia glaring at it.

Judge is there in a second, munching up her failure to feed herself.

“Jacob, get your mutt,” John says, trying to get Judge to leave, but he’s not listening this time.

“Leave Judge be, he’s my favorite living thing in this room,” Dahlia tells John watching the wolf finish up the table scraps, before placing his large fuzzy head on her thigh. Unnaturally bright silver eyes gazing up at her, she reaches down with her bound hands and gently scratches the rough fur behind its ear. To her surprise it doesn’t growl or pull away from the affection, instead leaning into it.

“The Judge Wolves are killing machines that run on pure instinct, not puppies for you to cuddle,” Jacob warns her, voice low and gravelly, but there’s a small grin on his lips.

“He sure isn’t turning down the ear scritches.”

“Here, deputy, it’d be easiest if I helped feed you,” Faith offers, scooping up food on a fork and holding it up delicately to Dahlia’s mouth. Her cheeks flush red, something about it just feeling ridiculous.

“I could probably, just.” Dahlia tries to take the fork from Faith’s hand, uncomfortable with the idea of being fed. Faith gently smacks away her hands.

“Don’t be silly, here.”

Dahlia reluctantly accepts the bite of food, it’s really good, she can help but smile as she swallows down the mouthful of perfectly cooked turkey and potatoes.

“Holy shit, that’s really good.”

“Language,” Joseph chides and she snorts out a laugh, his tone reminding her of Virgil.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Jacob grumbles, his mouth full of food, is he the one who cooked it?

“Ugh, your wolves have better manners than you,” John criticizes his older brother.

“Fuck off.”

“Language.” Joseph is smiling as he chides them and Dahlia hates that she is too, they’re just a family giving each other shit, enjoying each other’s company. Another time and place she’d be envious, wishing she had a family like them.

“Here, try this,” John says, offering her another forkful of food.

“I was feeding the deputy, John,” Faith grumbles when Dahlia’s attention is once again stolen away from the youngest brother, Dahlia happily accepting the food.

“I’m allowed to feed her as well, Faith.”

“Not when you’ve been stealing her attention this entire time, here, deputy.” Faith turns Dahlia’s face just as she swallows down the food, already shoveling more food into her mouth.

“Actually, you’d probably like this more.” She’s still chewing when John retorts and is shoving more food into her mouth.

This continues on and on, Faith and John tugging her attention back and forth, shoving food in her mouth. Judge licking up any bit that falls. Dahlia is struggling to choke down the inordinate amounts of food continuously being shoved in her face. It’s ridiculous and she finds herself laughing too, eventually leaving her a coughing and hacking mess when mingled with the food.

“You fucking choked her,” Jacob says, chuckling and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“See what you did, Faith.”

“I was attempting to take care of her, you were the one being greedy.”

“You’re like two little kids fighting over a toy,” Dahlia manages to say once she’s cleared her windpipe of stuffing.

“Don’t let John fool you, he’s not as young at heart or in reality as he’d like you to believe.” There’s a catty smile across Faith’s face, mischief in the glare she throws John’s way.

“Are you accusing me of being a liar? That’s rich, given your history, sister.”

“Jacob, why don’t you take Faith and John with you to start washing the dishes?” Joseph suggests, clearly trying to end the bickering before it escalates. Jacob groans and Dahlia realizes that yes, the meal is over, John and having still managed to feed themselves while fighting over feeding her.

“Come on, ya brats,” the oldest Seed tells them, as he starts to pick up dirty plates. Faith and John reluctantly follow suit.

“I am not a brat,” John attempts to defend himself a final time as the three of them take the dishes back to the kitchen to be washed. Leaving Dahlia and Joseph alone at the table, even Judge having left to follow the others.

Intense blue eyes, on her like always. She stares down at her lap, now would be a good time to make a break for it. Joseph isn’t all that physically intimidating to her, but she doesn’t do it. She doesn’t now why. But she doesn’t do that.  A shift of movement catches her attention and she watches, ready to bolt if need be, as Joseph makes his way towards her.

“What are you?”

Joseph shifts her chair to the side, and she tenses, he’ll see that her ankles are no longer tied up. He pulls up the chair that she’s now facing, moving it as close as he can because he’s Joseph Seed and personal space is a concept he’s never heard of. The Father of Eden’s Gate sits down before her, close enough that their knees touch.

“I probably let that go on longer than I should have, I apologize. It can be hard not to let them indulge in their more childish impulses…after everything my family has gone through.”

One of his hands works into her hair, cupping the back of her skull and gently bringing their foreheads together.

���Yeah…”

“I’m sure you can understand that…thank you for staying.”

“You didn’t exactly give me much choice.”

Something between a chuckle and a huff of air reverberates in his chest, the sound rich and warm. She curses herself for the smile that tugs at her lips.

“You and I both know you’ve escaped far stronger binds… thank you for giving my family this night.”

“You do know that as soon as you go to help them, I’m gonna escape, right?” She meets his eyes, as difficult as it may be for here. He sighs and she can see concern darkening his eyes. Moments like these, she has to remind herself of the pain, the suffering he’s caused, otherwise…

“I know that you think the path you’re on is the righteous one, that you’re saving people. But, the time will come where you’ll see how misguided you truly are…”

“I-”

“And when that day comes, you will crumble and fall under the weight of just how many people you damned with your ignorance and sin. But, just like New Eden, something beautiful will emerge from your collapse.”

She clenches her jaw and Joseph stands up, hand still on her head as he gently kisses the top of her head. The soft compassion of it conflicting with the weight of his words. He starts to walk back to the kitchen to help with the dishes.

“You can’t ever just talk like a normal fuckin’ person, can you?!”

[plounce]

do you have any molly or widomauk fic recs? You have good characterization taste & I miss him and need to recover from seeing caleb/nott/molly as a relationship tag

well after that gutpunch of a closing line, here are my offerings:

… under a cut because there are a LOT. rifled through my bookmarks and subscriptions for this. hope you like these! my ultimate personal faves are bolded. newer additions are starred.

massive widomauk indulgence (oneshots & completed fics)

take your kid gloves off - oh this is SUCH a fave!! teacher au. really good mature emotions… still has the pining that makes fic great but it doesn’t feel soap opera-y as some do. read this please.

my only sunshine - soulmate au! i can be very picky about soulmate aus but this one really agreed with me. follows canon where it can. this was great!! very tender and sweet and hurts at the right parts and is so good at the right parts

twisters chasing storms - written in the week between ep 25 and ep 26. beau centric with side wm. the remaining members of the m9 have to deal with doing what they must to get them back. kind of dark but just like. oof. i reread this a bunch. really good character work in this. (violence warning)

Caleb, huddled on the cart over Molly’s books, says what Beau has been thinking all along: “Jester and Fjord and Yasha were not terrible. This—” and he gestures around at all of them, “—is a terrible combination.”

“That’s slander,” says Molly. “I’m a good person. And—you know, you’re—you’re not all great, sure, but you do good things. I like you.”

The rest of them look at him.

“Okay, that was weak,” he admits.

any clever ideas? - molly and caleb make out in the evening nip in order to dissuade cree from talking with molly. it is SO GOOD and just. rules. it hits those trope buttons perfectly. i LOVE this one 

strictly ballroom - UNDERCOVER AT A FANCY DRESS BALL… DANCING… PINING… JEALOUSY… this is SUCH an indulgent fave and i just enjoy it so much. this is a FUN read. THIS is what i enjoy fic for

discover us safely destroyed - an interesting character study from the zadash arc

our early days - pre relationship. figuring each other out and being tender and protective. taking care of each other. (violence warning)

the crossroads - caleb falls in battle and has a conversation in limbo (without knowing he’s in limbo). very bittersweet and so like… OOF

hopscotch - a lot of the m9 body swap. good character stuff. the differences in molly and caleb’s brains in terms of memory capabilities is… ouch! ouch!! it’s really good. “you’re my friends. i trust you.”

let’s dance - this one is an older one one, and cute! dancing!

comfort walks softly on little cat feet - h/c. an older one, and very sweet.

strange light - a good coda to the cali ep, which was hard to find. measured characterizations with some molly details i adore - his love of theatrics, and keeping copies of lucien’s wanted posters that he’s torn down and using them for kindling.

a street cat named frumpkin - a cute little modern au with side wm! hooray for kitties.

familiar comfort - frumpkin pov. implied wm. really super excellent. i LOVE frumpkin pov stuff

until you set your old heart free - modern with magic… established relationship… molly gets rezzed and returns home… ohhhhhhhh. oh my heart 

take me back into your arms - molly gets rezzed! tam lin setup! hell yeah! power of love babey!!

kiss me once, kiss me twice - a series for kiss prompts!! so sweet. this one has some really heartwarming modern au installments that i just adore

something new for me and you - this one recently wrapped up! a good multichapter, probably the peak modern urban au in the tag. very detailed and has some very good themes about like… feeling love and feeling deserving of relationships and having to grapple with being bond to the people you’re close to. ALSO has background claysol which you KNOW i’m a BIG SUCKER for. very charming!

*indelible - modern au! tattoo parlor stuff, which can be very hit or miss for me, but this was such a sweet, lovely au with a lot of like. recovery stuff in it? for both of them. very nice.

*meet me in the woods - OOF this has such such delicious piiiining… yearning! molly Noticing caleb’s hands and the two of them slowly growing closer. it was such a sweet read and i enjoyed the whole thing like a soft blanket.

*boats and birds - i love this! such a great snapshot of molly (swinging from the ropes on the ball eater, and being a bit reckless & unlucky in his circus tricks - that’s my bitch!), and such a lovely, telling interaction between him and caleb. i loved that “did you just tell a joke? well, it was a good one” bit, and i love fics that revisit it with a bit more future tenderness. this is the line that won me completely over to this fic:

Because Molly is an idiot and likes to pretend that he has a chance of breaking through the ten layers of trauma Caleb wears like a second skin to find the person underneath and convince him he’s worth something, he takes a minute to appreciate the view.

*matryoshka - immediate fixit after molly’s death, which rules. molly’s ghost gets to carpool in caleb’s body before they rez him. i think this scenario was written enjoyably but with appropriate weight as well, which could be very hard to find. pre-relationship, which i always enjoy - i love me some people meandering towards feelings. it also has some very interesting lucien theory tidbits sprinkled in, which i enjoy.

*cat magnet - molly gets turned into a cat for a hot minute and cuddles up to caleb. short and fun and not weird (thank goodness).

*devil’s tongue - i’m always a bit bashful/hesitant about reccing explicit stuff, but this one has such excellent and caring characterization that i feel correct in putting it on this list. the best explicit ship fics always have an element of knowing that the characters aren’t losing their personalities once they get in bed, and this one has both characters as like. people. the d/s stuff does not overwhelm the characters or the fic and is very light - you see that these are real people in an equal relationship trying to help each other feel good (and i’m a judgmental bastard about fic, so you can take my word on this). AND it has some linguistic stuff about infernal as the actual plot, which i can be a sucker for.

*a thin line - molly gets injured, caleb sews him up, they dance around a conversation before actually Talking About Stuff and becoming closer. excellently written h/c. this is an early wdmk fic, but actually writes the characters pretty well in hindsight! op rules. it’s interesting to see what the author manages to get right, and the backstory elements they made up are still engaging and consistent for the molly & caleb they have written.

*heartfrost - molly lives au, taking place around ep 72. molly is resistant to fire, so he’s vulnerable to cold. he has a bad time with that, and with grieving for yasha as well. caleb takes care of him. this was just sweet h/c whump, and reading molly getting his feelings validated by caleb was *kisses fingers* very good.

*limerence - caleb accidentally casts a spell that makes everyone who sees him fall in love with him - except the party lesbians and… molly, for some reason. isn’t it strange that a love spell doesn’t alter molly’s behavior towards caleb??? synopsis aside - i really enjoy how this fic took the fact that molly canonically wouldn’t pursue caleb because he sees caleb isn’t in a good place to have that; molly’s respect for consent with regards to relationships shines through here and agh i love him. also, i am beau in this fic.

**VWOOP! (every time a bell rings, a tiefling gets their wings) - a really interesting take on the soulmate au involving true name stuff (the author has some notes at the end about “true names” which made me :) about the concept in terms of identity and meaning, so dw about deadname snarls yk). wings! soulmates! friends with benefits that accidentally evolve into feelings!

**the fool, reversed - i’m a hack who loves to see molly slotted into present canon just for fun. this one has him being abducted with yasha by obann, and in dealing with the trauma afterward accidentally discovering his incorporeality bloodhunter powers. good stuff.

**the skin beneath the facade - this one is so self indulgent and i love it. fake dating at a fancy party! kissing! POISON! A CAT! fun fun fun read.

WIPs that i am subscribed to and really enjoy, and are good reads already: 

the prophet of tortham - LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS ONE… god i just love it. molly scrambling to be the best scammer he can and rolling miracuously well, while trying to solve a mystery! very perceptive caleb and perfectly slow burn widomauk. it’s an au where molly pretends to be an actual fortuneteller to a lord that the rest of the m9 work for. i’ve been adoring this one so far, such a great molly.

there’s a ghost in my lungs - vague future canon! the m9 finds molly again, but the empire put a bunch of stuff in his head and the gang seeks to cure him, all while getting tangled up in a town plot and festivals. very good widomauk pining. side note: the “winter soldier au” tag has nothing to do with marvel at all besides the basic premise of what’s up with molly, but for the vast majority of the fic he is himself (changed somewhat after what he’s gone through, but his wonderful self). i’ve been keeping up with this one for a long time and i’ve been loving it.

Caleb blinks, as if coming out of a Frumpkin trance. Beau knows better, though, she’s seen him staring at Molly like Molly’s a lighthouse in the dark, and he’s a man paddling desperately back to shore.

we circle by night - a far-flung-future caleb travels back in time and accidentally averts molly’s death! and there’s a splintered timeline. slow burn widomauk starts kindling but caleb’s dealing with uh… pretending he’s not an older and higher-level wizard inside a canon age caleb body. VERY good. love it.

fractured moonlight on the sea - molly is a selkie and doesn’t know it!! i looooooove this so far and can’t wait for more, this is such good like… pining for stuff you don’t know, romantically and sealwise.

map to alexandria - modern music au! very good writing of like. human emotions. very good relationship themes. this is my good buddy mauve @phantomsteed‘s fave fic!

the gay and wondrous life of caleb widogast - this is a modern with magic childhood friends road trip au! it is also fjollygast, and i really enjoyed it. extremely good and well-written pining and relationship drama, that luckily has been resolved. from what i’ve detectived, it seems like it’s been put on permanent hiatus after canon has diverged a lot from what the author was working from. but it stopped at a very good point and is a fave. extremely delicious pining.

wilderswans’ 30 day nsfw challenge - this is such a great series with a lot of character work and like… stuff about intimacy and it’s really good and tender! early relationship. really sweet and well-written!

**the names that make us - soulmate au! with twists and turns. starts out as bren/lucien and will become caleb/molly. looking forward to it.

molly focused:

true north - molly and yasha relationship stuff… i love them. platonic soulmates. a grand adventure!

visions in lightning, voices in thunder - yasha and molly again, but this time more of a snapshot. implied wm and by. yasha’s aasimarness interacts with ukatoa’s dreams in a nasty and cool way. this one has a line that alwaaaaaays gets me right in the gut

“I’d keep an eye on him, if I were you. There’s still some sharp edges to him.”

Molly chuckled. “I’m well acquainted with sharp edges.”

Yes, and you cut yourself on them all the time, Yasha thought to herself. If he cuts you, will you bleed for him?

also if you haven’t… you should read my high school au oneshot where beau and molly are siblings ;) if you want some numbers to back my self promotion it is the 9th highest kudos’d wm fic on ao3 atm… AND it’s a oneshot. blue gatorade rights

OH and as an edit: here’s my more serious in tone wdmk fic, canticle. it is very good and self indulgent. molly character study and repressed pining. ep 25/6 divergent au, as one does. inspired by twisters chasing storms, recced above.

[jedimasteramell]

haunted (greyscale heart)

Flystep // Marshal Harbinger AU // Very Not SFW

For @smuteczekbiczo and @technologicalnoiz because Im in way too deep with Jed/Danny. Uhh Idk, it was an excuse for angst and smut, 2.5K words.

---------

The embers hissed at the waters contact. White-grey smoke overtaking the cloying black as the flames sputtered for their last raging grasp at life, turned to thick, ashy sludge, the firefighters finally subduing the charred remains of what used to be an apartment building. So many lives upturned, so many possessions lost and lives of the unfortunates just the same, both now nothing but smoke rising into the Los Diablos sky. Yet as the rest of the team escorted a broken and defeated Pyre away from his wreckage, Marshal Harbinger’s mind was years away, back to the memories of a younger man and softer person, staring at the ashes of another ruined building.

Funny how fires were as renewing as they were destructive.

The incessant click of cameras and drone of voices indicated the arrival of reporters on the scene. The Public Privacy Law may have prevented photos of the victorious heroes and humiliated villain, but they still lapped up the images of destruction, eager to twist the loss of lives to garner whichever opinion they wanted. Jackals and ungratefuls the lot of them.  

“Marshal Harbinger, Marshal!” The voice is from one or all of them, a swell at the LDPD lines trying to break through for the newest scoop. With difficulty he tore his gaze from the slurry of smoke and charred slag to the unruly group of journalists and TV correspondents. Camera flashes blocked the faces of the crowd, not that he cared to recognize them beyond being human. His face fixed itself into less of a scowl to something more appropriate for television. After all these years, they still loved their golden flyer, conveniently forgetting that angels had always been more Harbingers than Heralds. 

He held up two fingers to silence the crowd, and almost like mind control, the clamoring stilled. “The situation has been contained, the culprit in custody.”

Despite his move to turn away, that opened up the floodgates for questions.

“Is it true Pyre is behind the recent arsons?”

 “How do you rate the work of your new team?”

“Are the Ranger’s working on preventing this from happening again?”

Harbinger started. “That’ll be all-”

“A lot of lives were lost today, would you have handled it any better back when you were Herald?” 

The question gives him pause, a jerk to his navel from the ring of his old name. Harbinger scanned the crowd, hard gaze landing on a man with warm brown hair, green eyes, and a cocky smile that was awful and familiar all at once at once; recognition like a punch to the gut. Jed. He mouthed the name he hadn’t dared say aloud on years. It couldn't possibly be an yet-  

He blinked and the ghost disappeared, leaving an eager but confused reporter in its place, recorder outstretched waiting for the answer. The man looked nothing like the longed-for haunt of his imagination. This was why he never looked at a crowd to long, he’d always see him there even after all this time. He could almost see Jed shake his head and narrow his eyes that way he did when his better moods caught Herald off guard, turning and tossing up his hand in goodbye. Funny thing about fires… The smoke must be getting to him. 

“Marshal…? Sir?” They still hung on the silence, waiting for an answer. “Would you have acted any different?”

Stern and stony as the blacked concrete behind him, Harbinger fixed the assembled with a long, impenetrable gaze. “No.” 

****

The stench of smoke followed him home, clinging to his uniform, his hair, his heart, greasy and dark; a slow and progressing cancer through his veins and the worn pieces of memories, rank and debilitating. 

Even after he stripped himself of his suit, leaving the midnight navy mesh a shedded second skin on the floor, the scent clung to him, trailing him to the shower, cold tile underfoot. When was the last time he floated? The thought crossed his mind, impassive and without true concern. Flying was in his blood, the fight to be free an inescapable part of his nature now, yet for the longest time he’d been grounded. Years now, since the first fire that still smoked from the cracks in the man he’d been. 

Daniel surveyed the person who wore his face the mirror. Harbinger had a harshness to him, lines angled like the charcoal faces in his old sketchbooks. Anger, disappointment, loss... heartbreak, scored and scarred him older than he was. He used to be scared of who he was becoming, but perhaps Harbinger had simply been in him the whole time.

A darker side, another facet, what you turn into to survive…

He has to tear his eyes away before the reflection shows the hard blue slipping into furious green. His heart twinged with an old pain, an understanding too little too late. 

Everything they had long since up in smoke. 

His hands left ashey prints on the pristine sink, he still smelled the fire on him, still ached from the scars, earned and given. Fingertips trailed to the brand of teeth on his thigh, sending a shiver down his spine. Daniel dug his nails against the scars, the pain a relieving rush to the against the deadened experience of his new normal. He felt himself twitch, and he swore under his breath, voice raw and unfamiliar from inhaling the smoke. He didn’t dare face the scowling shame in the mirror. Fuck, he needed a shower. 

Scalding water and scented soap stripped away the grime and the stench of the smoke that clung to his skin and his hair. He pressed his hands to gleaming walls, spray running rivulets down his neck and chest. It wasn't much for his mind to wander. A toothy grin, the way he'd laughed at the crown of suds, fiery eyes pulled back from those distant futures they stared to. A kiss, then another, teeth at his throat, a knee shifted between his thighs, the gasp at the cold tile at his back- 

Daniel's eyes shot open, the kiss of cold real having backed himself up against the shower wall. The flush on his skin had little to do with the hot spray and entirely with his growing hard on.

Allowing himself the gift of a few heavy-handed palms, he focused on the uncomfortable coolness of the tile to keep from slipping back in the memory, and in the shower itself. He dragged at his hardness, biting his lip to stifle the sounds despite not having anyone else in the apartment. An intrusive thought broke through, husky and amused. *Heh, floating really made this a whole lot safer.*

He cursed his memory, even as he jumped in his hand. Now he was just wasting water, giving in to the inevitable. A moan stirred from his lips, wet with steam and flushed from biting them, his hand moved in practices pulls, rough, harder than he needed to be, just to get it done and get on with his night- *Not here.* A little voice interrupted, trickling in from shadowed corners of the ceiling and the dark recesses of his mind. *You know the beds a better bet.*

“Shut it.” Harbinger growled at the ghost, though he stilled his hand regardless at the suggestion, a blunt nail across his slit that made him hiss and bite into his lower lip. He should ignore the suggestion, finish himself before the hot water ran out, not give into the cloying memories that clung to him no matter how hard he scrubbed. 

The bed it was.

While the mattress had changed, the size had not, yet the bed felt bigger sleeping in it alone. Dan laid back, tried to relax against the pillows, shut his eyes and think about anyone, anything, but Jed. His damn hair stuck uncomfortably to the back of his neck a distraction that persisted through the several uneventful minutes of heavy-handed pumps and his body’s refusal to climax. With a frustrated huff, he stared up at the ceiling. 

Empty. He was empty. Hollow, used up, unfulfilled. At least the physical need he could satisfy tonight.  

In the din his fingers fumbled for the bed stand drawer, finding the small bottle and then his toy, one used more oft than the other. He wrapped his mouth around the now-tasteless silicone needing both hands to unscrew the cap on the lube. His tongue traced the familiar nubs on the head of his toy, the semi-soft purple cock lacking all the fun textures and tastes that he'd come to enjoy with a real dick. But it didn't have to be human, it just had to get him off, and he groaned around it all the same as the first of his lube-slicked fingers teased into himself. 

He sighed around the toy, closing his eyes to enjoy the sensation. One finger wasn't nearly enough, and Dan was forced to shift to his side, spreading his legs further for the second to join. He tried and failed not to recall how this felt with a partner, the anticipation, the want for them to tease deep enough to stroke his spot and relieve him of everything but the moment they were sharing. He thought of freckles and scars, of jokes about tying him down to not float away. A third finger flexed him wide in time to his hand once more on his erection. 'Just fill me.' He whined in his mind, though no one could hear, and the embarrassment of his need flushed his cheeks as much as his cock. He removed his fingers with a further keen, loathing the return of the emptiness even as he relished what was to come, spit dripping from his lips around his toy. This'd be easier on his knees. 

It was a slow shift, reaching underneath himself to work the toy. He ground the sheets between his teeth, face framed in fallen hair, another layer to hide the subtle shame. His hand slipped, slick from the lube, forcing the tip against his prostate and just for a moment he could remember the calloused hands in perfect imprint, warm breath and that huff that always hid the laugh tingling the hair on the back of his neck.

*I like you like this Dan.*

It’s only after he groaned that Daniel realized he had mimed the words himself, not stirred them from memory. He flushed with a kind of shame. Was this where he’d fallen to? The man he’d become, empty, waiting, wanting? The toy pressed against his prostate again and chased away that line of thought. He went back to biting his sheets, reacclimating himself to the fullness, moaning unrestrained when he finally felt it slide fully into place. 

*That’s it, that’s good, fuck you're still gorgeous.* The voice in his mind crooned, urging him on. 

He wrapped his free hand back around his erection striking up an unsteady rhythm working the toy in counter to his motions. Daniel had to shift again for better access, to keep himself from sliding. His shoulders strained and hurt from the angle he made them work, groaning into the mattress as he fought for a much needed release. It wasn’t enough, and he had to work himself faster, knowing all too well he’d hurt tomorrow, but he didn’t care, in that moment the hand on his cock wasn't his own, the piece stretching him wasn’t a toy, and he was still young enough to float thanks to the heady excitement that pooled below his stomach, back when all these sensations were new. 

His breathing came in heavier gasps, muffled by the mattress as he spat out the sheets. He tilted his head, looking along his long-since scarred chest to his leaking cock and the hand pumping it. Daniel flicked a nail against his head and he then bucked his hips into his fist, surrendering himself fully to his memories. Hot hands, hotter mouths, the taste of sweat and skin and orgasm, freckles, scars, new positions, new hopes, new love. 

“I’m gunna-” He rasped, proclamation interrupted by a fresh moan. He wouldn’t last, he never did like this, burying his flushed features back in the sheets.

*Don’t hide your face, sunshine. I want to see you.*

“Jed.” He whined, loudly, and that was enough, coming across his hand and onto his sheets in the final release of a body wound far too tense. He bit his lip, holding his breath to savor every final shiver, the warm rush of post orgasm, and had he focused more he might have sworn he imagined a soft laughter slipping away as his body unwound.

As Daniel lay there spent for several long minutes, listening to the settling of his heart and evening of his breath, sweat cooling and his skin clammy, he finally realized he no longer heard the voice from his memories, the whispers of sweet nothing had faded into the silent corners in the shadowed bedroom. He grunted removing the toy, thighs trembling at the sudden emptiness and limp cock responding with a half-hearted twitch. Tired fingers fumbled for the towel to wipe himself down and with an effort he heaved his tired body through the greys of his room in search of fresh laundry.

Maybe tomorrow it’d be easier, back to the hum-drum of playing Marshal for Los Diablos, back to staring at the featureless faces that would leave or vanish or warp until they were as jaded as his was. Maybe tomorrow he’d stop being haunted by a long list of regrets and metaphorical basket full of too-little-to-late’s. 

Harbinger crawled back into his bed, shoving aside the soiled sheet, and staring up into darkness. For a moment he yearned for the rough voice, the ghostly kisses, and could almost remember what it was like to feel his heart floating when those lovely, lost, eyes settled on him and not the what-ifs over his shoulder. 

But like ash in the wind, the memory blew away, sending Daniel into a deep and blessedly dreamless sleep. 

------

A shade of a man walked through an endless forest. The black trunks around him immovable as soldiers standing at attention, heads turned towards the near-starless sky. He didn’t glance up at the inky twilight, held no lamp for light, footsteps making no sounds against the soft debris of leaves and needles that carpeted the wood.

He didn’t need a map, spoke no words, legs taking him on a familiar trail visible to no one, weaving deeper and deeper into a clearing in the center of the muted, elegiac weald. The grasses rippled with an unheard wind and the empty cage at the far edge had long since given way to nature’s reclaim.It was only here that he finally looked up, the two paired stars overhead the only bit of light casting the world into greyscale instead of pitch. His smoke-made expression was inscrutable, the line that would have served for his mouth unmoving. 

At last something seemed to confirm with him, some unknown message from the stars and the figure shook his head. He turned and paused at the edge of the clearing, for a heartbeat, or maybe an eternity, but with no sign or sound to keep him, he stepped out of the pale glow, and was swallowed up once more by the darkness.

[blankdblank]

My Pearl Pt 5

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 -

Tags –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @abiwim, @jotink78, @c-s-stars,  @evyiione, @deepestfirefun, @queenoferebor,  @here2have-fun, @onewithleaf 

…

All around you in the kitchen after you washed your hands you stepped to the bare station feeling all the free Durins peering at what you were doing. The apples Fili had prepeeled for you were claimed in your hands as a caramel sauce was started. Easily you diced and added the apples into the mixture while Thorin followed your instructions on the dough you guided him through how to kneed and stretch it properly before you spooned some of the mixture into the center before you tucked it into a ball and added them into muffin tins you added into the oven. The remaining bit was hastily tasted and passed around by the cooks around you all wondering how the strange mixture of ingredients could taste.

Growls sounded from the stomachs of the chefs around you when your dessert was taken out of the oven and carefully plated in a small bowl you coated with barely a sprinkle of sugar then handed over. The simple appearance of the dough puff made you roll your eyes at the questioning glance before you mumbled to Thorin, “Is everything I prepare going to get that look?”

With a smirking glance at you he caught Dis’ eye saying, “It’s finished.”

With another glance at it she turned and carried it out to the table as Frerin claimed an extra fork and stole a bite of one of the extra puffs and let out a pleased hum after adding the sugar himself. Each of the Dwarves around you sectioned it off and enjoyed the remaining puffs, leaving the last for Dis who smirked at you and said, “You should have a list of desserts we add in through the week.”

Your lips parted as she turned to share the thought with her Mother who was watching the customer through the window in the doorway and signing back their response with a growing grin. In a glance up at your right Thorin caught your eye smirking as he told you, “A well deserved chance to keep your practice up.”

After a nod you turned and helped Thorin put out the next set as more of the tables had caught a whiff of the desserts. By the hours end you had made four more helpings and passed the recipe on to Diaa before you joined Thorin to head back home again when she reminded him of your need for rest. In the car again Thorin stole another smirk at you asking, “So, lunch and a movie still?”

You nodded, “Sounds good.”

He smirked and started the drive back again then asked, “Amad reminded me of your saying you couldn’t work tomorrow?”

You nodded again, “I have an appointment.”

He glanced at you, “Something serious?”

You shook your head, “Just a usual yearly check up.”

He nodded, “Did you want me to get Frerin to take my shift again so I can take you?”

You shook your head, “I don’t think the stirrups and paper gown will be more enjoyable with an audience.”

“Oh, your women’s check up.”

You nodded, “Plus the extra enjoyable mammogram.” He glanced at you, “They take the breasts and squeeze them between two plastic plates to get the image.”

“I can make sure they are more gentle if you wish.”

“Gentle doesn’t get the images they need.” Making him sigh, “Thank you though.”

He smiled at you when your hand and head rested against his arm.

..

Back at the house you both eyed the now washed clothes that were resting across the island in your closet beside the stack of shoe boxes you walked to and eyed the empty closet. Reaching out you grabbed the first shirt and added them to the rack above your worn shirts as Thorin added your jeans to the cubbies to the left of them you asked him to add them to. After, you hung the dresses to the rack on the left of those without anything under it allowing them to hang freely. With a smirk Thorin turned and opened the first box of shoes and passed you the pair you set up on the racks before he grinned larger at the lingerie carefully placed in a basket on the island you moved to at Thorin’s not so subtle smirk eyeing his choices.

Each of which you tried on for him with the final pair being stripped off you on his path to your bed where he spent hours seeing to your pleasure and comfort. With yet another meal in bed from him in the middle, he scrolled on his phone through a few ideas for the fur wrap he wanted for you, asking for your opinion on them. With his choice selected and ordered it was now a waiting game leaving his phone on the night table to roll you over for another round at your teasing nips at his ear, ending with him wrapping you in his arms when you dozed off again.

.

Morning came with a shared shower and your pulling on your clothes with Thorin wrapped in a towel for the walk to his closet to get ready himself as you pulled on a pair of your new jeans and a t shirt. Finally you added your sneakers and pulled your hair back into a high ponytail on your path to join Thorin in prepping the breakfast Fili and Kili arrived for once again seeking another ride. A gentle peck later you split up for the morning with Thorin hoping you could make it to the Stone for lunch at least, should it go quickly for you.

Lunch came and went and as Frerin arrived for his shift Thorin drew his phone from his pocket dialing your number. Under furrowed brows he listened through Dwalin and his Nephews gathering around him curiously to the sound of cars whizzing by as you managed to fumble your phone open and shouldered it as you tightened the bolt you were working on, “Hey Thorin.”

“Where are you?”

“Um, over by Atlan square. Had to stop in at a car shop, damn brakes gave out.”

His lips parted as his stomach dropped before his blurted out inquiry making the entire kitchen freeze for a moment, “Are you alright?!”

“Ya.” A thunk was heard and you mumbled, “Damnit.”

“What is that sound?”

“Hm? Oh I’m putting my tire back on, just have one more to go.”

“You’re fixing your brakes?!” Without giving you a chance to answer he asked for your location precisely and headed to his car with Dwalin and the boys in tow and Fili now chatting with you assuring you were safe until they arrived.

The empty parking lot came into view with you parked across from the car shop that the mechanics were watching with arms crossed commenting on your ease at the task and especially the car pulling up beside you making them flinch back inside pretending to have not been aware of your place there at Thorin’s tensed rush to your side. On a jack your Jeep was resting as you finished adding the final pad and turned to reach for your tire after setting down your tool into the well used tool box beside you. Curiously he eyed the spread of tools and the oil coated rag you’d used to wipe off your hands beside a bottle of water and a blue bottle of soap for scrubbing off oils and grease while he asked, “Please explain this to me. You’re not even a hundred feet from the mechanic’s shop!”

Wetting your lips you stood and said, “Ok, I know there’s rules but I’m not going to have anyone just look at me and assume I’m a clueless wallet on legs. I spent fifty years working in body shops through my training courses and internships. I pulled in and those assholes wanted to charge me $3000 for a simple brake pad and rotor swap!”

Kili rubbed his neck, as Fili simply looked at your jeep trying to imagine what it actually cost as Thorin replied, “You have the card I gave you?”

You met his eyes, “Thorin, the parts are only $400-500 at the most for an hours job. I might not seem like much but they eyed the car spotted my earrings and smirked hiking the price that high! Just because I’m supposed to be taken care of doesn’t mean I’m going to allow anyone to abuse that or your generosity by assuming I’m an idiot. It’s a simple job, all I have to do now is put the tire back on and pump the brakes and I’m good to go. If it was something more serious I would have argued with them but it’s just a simple swap I can do in my sleep. Besides, I know a couple guys that’ll take the old scraps for a couple hundred.”

Unable to help it he smiled at you proudly as Dwalin glared at the men peeking out from the shop at the group through Thorin’s rolling the tire closer to you as he rumbled, “Next time please call at least before you start taking apart your car so we can keep watch.”

With a soft victorious giggle you knelt grabbing the tire and raising it, revealing the formerly relaxed muscles in your arms flexing, revealing the dips between the easily missed layer of protection you had making the task look as strenuous as lifting a pen from a table. Easily the lug nuts were added and tightened by hand before you lowered the jeep and finished it with the tire iron asking “Who wants to pump the brakes for me?”

Fili hastily raced around climbing inside grinning at his brother, who was just a bit too slow to miss out on helping. A few presses later you closed your tool box and carried it back to your trunk, with Dwalin adding the soap and water bottles. On your left however Thorin raised your sleeve checking what he hoped he hadn’t seen. The large thumb sized bruise drew a growling question from him, “Did they do this?!”

You peered at your arm then looked up at him shaking your head, “I had to get a shot.”

He raised a brow and Fili stated, “But it’s huge!”

You nodded, “It was a big needle.”

Thorin lowered his voice to a comforting tone, “What sort of shot would leave a bruise this big?”

After a glance at the boys you met his eye with a sigh, “It’s for my birth control.”

Kili’s brows furrowed as he asked, “Don’t they have pills for that?”

You nodded again slowly, “They made me really sick, I tried a couple.” You looked up at Thorin again, “It’s only four times a year.”

Looking you over he took in the irritation of the simple fact the process left such a mark on you but relented, understanding that it was what you and your Doctor had chosen as the best option for you. “How did it all go?”

“As well as it can, I suppose. Should get the call about the scans tomorrow.”

Kili peeked around the jeep as you closed the trunk, “Scans?”

“Just a mammogram.” Making his lips part, “It’s an annual thing, just, the full check up.”

He nodded and Thorin smiled passing him your keys as he gently nudged you to his car, saying, “Let’s get you home.”

The boys followed Thorin’s car while Dwalin shared about their shift from the back seat, only to ask after a glance at you, “Are you sore?” You turned your head to meet his eye, “Dis’ mentioned it before, being sore after.”

You nodded, “Bath usually helps.”

After a stop at Dwalin’s you were parked in the driveway of Thorin’s and accepted your keys and hugs from the boys before they took the short walk home again leaving you to be curled under Thorin’s arm for the walk inside. Through the doors Thorin watched you remove your shoes and walk to your house as he followed after, physically hurting at your seemingly sunken mood. “Is there anything I can do?”

In a glance back at him you replied with a tired smile, “I think just a bath, and, could we watch a movie after?”

Thorin nodded, “There is a tv in my bathroom if you wanted to use mine.”

“I’ll grab some clothes.”

Turning from you he went to his bath starting to fill the tub and switch on one of your favorite films just as you entered the room spotting his towel and film he’d set up for you with a soft smile. Wetting his lips he said, “I’m going to make us something to eat.”

“You don’t have to.”

He smiled at you, moving to be closer to you and brushed your bangs behind your ear, “You don’t have to eat, but still, I’m going to make us something.” You nodded and watched him leave the room. Turning around you stripped and lowered into the hot water easing your sore body adjusting to the pokes and prods and uncomfortable spreader you tried to forget by focusing on the opening credits.

With a plate of snacks in hand Thorin entered again and sat beside the tub leaning against the edge resting his arm on it and faced the film. Through it he kept glancing over you eyeing your sinking demeanor, “Was it the plastic thing?” You looked at him, “Dis said the plastic thing is the worst part.”

“It’s tolerable. I’m really ok.” His eyes scanned over your face, “I just get, I feel like I’m sinking after I get the shot. It goes away by morning, just all the hormones at once. I didn’t know if I should say it in front of the others, cause an uproar, and bring all the clan over at once.”

Gently he brushed a stray wet strand of curls back around your high bun with an adoring smile, “Anything else I can do?”

Wetting your lips you asked, “Could I sleep with you tonight?”

His hand moved to stroke your cheek sweetly, “Of course My Dearest Pearl, any time you wish.” Focusing on the film again after a weak smile you shared the snacks then climbed out dried off and pulled on your tank top and shorts over one of the more comfortable pair of lingerie Thorin had bought you. As Thorin tossed the wet towel into his hamper he drained the tub and shut off the tv and led you into his bedroom. Your former spot on his right was swapped for his right due to your bruised arm. Snuggly he curled you against his side planting a kiss on your forehead as you mumbled, “Just a warning I might fall asleep.” As he switched the film on in this room making his smile grow back.

“When you do I’ll hold you tighter. Get as much sleep as you wish My Dearest.” Planting another kiss on your forehead.

Slowly as the film played on you wrapped around him tighter making him hold you tighter in return, forcing back his tears at his inability to help you through this in any other way until he was on his side tangled with you completely and finally fell asleep himself after a long slew of Khuzdul sentiments muffled in your hair between his gentle pecks.

Pt 6

[skeletorific]

Okay. I'm not sure if this has been asked yet, but...what's it like to hug one of the skeletons? Any AU is fine, pick your faves.

Oohh shit this is a recent one but I’ve had it in my head for days

UT!Sans: Its rare he’ll hug you impromptu (unless you’re dating). When he does its usually to say goodbye. One armed squeezes that are warm, but fleeting. His hoodie smells like old ketchup that quickly overpowers whatever detergent Papyrus tries to use. 

On rare occasions, when you’re upset and just need some comfort, they last longer. His hand rests on the back of your head, lightly stroking your hair as he hushes you. The layers of clothes soften the sharp edges of his bones and he gives off an unusual amount of warmth for a skeleton. Something to do with his magic storage. He’s quiet, just letting you process and trying to let you feel his presence

When you are involved, its usually from behind. His ribs pressed against your back, his head tucked into the crook of your neck as he breathes you in and asks you how your day went. He likes feeling your heartbeat, slow and steady, letting him feel how calm you are around him. His favorite sound to fall asleep to. In fact he might just drop off while you’re standing there. Sans for fuck’s sakes we’re in the kitchen-

UT!Papyrus: Frequent, platonically or otherwise. Especially when he gets excited. When’s he’s managed to finally get the puzzle how he wanted it and he just picks you up and swings you around, yelling about how great it is and how happy he is to share this with you. He smells largely like laundry soap, with a little bit of MTT brand cologne. He can be a bit poky but fortunately, he’s a fan of soft sweaters which can dull it a bit.

When you’re upset it’s much less violent. In fact, chances are seeing you cry is going to set him off too. He picks you up and takes you to the couch, your head on his chest and his knees forming a natural wall between you and the outside world. He talks rapidly, assuring you that it’s going to be alright, that you and he will get through this.

Oddly enough he’s not much for impromptu cuddling. He’s more of a get up and go kind of guy and while he’s more than happy to set aside some time to cuddle he doesn’t do it much spontaneously. Still, lots and lots of really good hugs.

UF!Sans: He will literally only hug you if you are either dating or in deep emotional distress and no one else is around. Not very touchy feely. Even when its the latter its almost unbearably awkward. He doesn’t know where to put his hands to make this not weird and he just gently pats your back and waits for you to let go. Given how damn fluffy that hoodie is I cannot recommend letting go for a while though. He smells like mustard, smoke, and metal from the scrap he always carries in his hoodie

When you’re dating its a whole other story. Any time alone is spent resting on his chest. When you’re within reach you’re safe. Also, what can he say, he likes touching you, like squeezing you at odd moments or stroking your hair, speaking in low murmurs and feeling your warmth wash over cold bones. He’s usually got a bruise or two and a couple hairline fractures which can make it a somewhat risky process, but for him its more than worth it.

When you’ve just been under threat, or when he hasn’t seen you for a while, they’re tight and inescapable. His ribs are pressing in deep and it hurts a bit but you don’t really care. Arms are locked tight around you and his mouth is by your ear, breath ghosting along your neck as he whispers assurances or welcome homes.

UF!Papyrus: Not a hugger, even if you are dating. Seriously, not about that life.

Two exceptions. One, again, emotional distress. And holy shit is it awkward. Edge is seriously not much for the “emotional comfort” friend. He’s shifting awkwardly, patting your head and muttering things like “THERE, THERE”. And holy shit are his bones poky. The battle body is NOT helping. He smells like dryer sheets, metal, and dust

Second exception. When you’re both involved In bed, when he thinks you aren’t awake, he’ll end up curling around you, face buried your shoulder and arms gently drawing you to his chest. Breathing you in, enjoying the unusual closeness. He’s touch starved and will never admit to it, so this is one of the few times he’ll allow himself a little license. He’ll occasionally whisper praises, soft words, things that take him months to say to your face.

Once you start to wake up he’ll let go, backing off a little to preserve the illusion of space. If you were awake the whole time….congrats on the blackmail material, he will give you literally anything to make sure you tell no one

US!Sans: Like his Tale counterpart he likes giving hugs frequently, and he’s got that extra Sans Squish™ that makes it even more comfortable. Or at least it would if Blue didn’t often severely underestimate his own strength. Seriously, people have ended up with bruises. He gets excited.

Blue is one of the few skeles who know a single fucking thing about decent cologne and at all times smells faintly like citrus. He likes keeping packets of lemon tea in his bandanna because it makes things smell clean. 

Cuddling or moving around? WHY CHOOSE? His favorite is to have you piggy back so you get the closeness without the limitied mobility, but he also like you to koala with him and loves cuddling while he does more busy work or reading. Touch can work as an extra stimulation that helps him focus while he reads or writes.

US!Papyrus: Gods he loves hugs and has no fucking clue how to ask for it. Like, seriously, just go up and hug him, chances are he’s not gonna push you away. And he’s actually not bad at them if you can get over the overwhelming cigarette aroma. Got a perfect knack for exactly how long it can last before it gets weird as well as a good tightness ratio. 

Once you start dating he likes sliding his hands down and scooping you up by lifting your thighs and hitching your legs around him, carting you to the nearest couch for naps. When he’s forced to get out of bed he is seriously weak for you just koala-ing him and clinging to his torso while he does what he has to. Stretch gets cold pretty easy and this is a nice layer of heat. When you’re doing stuff he fucking drapes himself on you and won’t get off no matter how much you ask, shit-eating grin the entire time.

SF!Sans: He tries to pretend he doesn’t like hugs but he’s got a lot of Blue in him yet. Do yourself a favor and don’t try to initiate it unless you’ve got a pretty well established relationship, he’ll shove you off none too gently, growling.

If he does initiate it its usually in a fit of jealousy, whether dating or not. He’s trying to shove it down the others throat that this is his human, not theirs. The hugs way too tight and painful, and go on way too long. He’s glaring the entire time. When will this nightmare end.

But something changes. You walk in on him, upset over something. The stress of it all weighing on him too heavily. Rus has been out longer than he said and isn’t answering his phone. Any variety of reasons, and you can tell that he’s in a vulnerable place. You ask him if there’s something you can do….and he just grabs you. Wrapping his arms around you from behind, tight but not the usual bone-crushing fare. His face is buried in your hair, and you can’t see his face but you can hear the hitch in his breathing, feel his chest heaving shallowly, and know that he’s trying his best not to cry. 

Don’t try talking to him, he needs silence right now. But he holds you quietly, clutching you like an anchor for twenty minutes or more. Finally, he releases you, cheekbones slightly flushed and muttering thanks before getting up and leaving the room.

SF!Papyrus: Not the cuddly type but he likes keeping you close. One arm hitched around your waist is usually enough, a reminder to others the consequences of messing with you. Its also a way to keep you at hand for emergency shortcuts. 

Hugs with him are slow and quiet. Long moments in the kitchen, late at night, with your head tucked under his chin and him rocking slightly, feeling you pressed against him. Like Stretch, Mutt reeks of smoke, but also dust. He’s warm though, and gentle, pressing your full body against his and letting both of you just feel each other. He especially likes to hold you while you’re wearing this jacket, looking down and seeing that face poking out of the familiar black material just makes him feel all kinds of good inside. 

[mithrilwren]

Ink

tomarcus, tw; allusions to (but no actual) self-harm. You can also read on Ao3 [here]! Look out for part 2 once I finally get a good night’s sleep and regain some energy.

You are halfway to dozing under the dim dashboard light of a used sedan, with rain thundering on the rooftop and highway chattering beneath the rusted suspension, when you notice the markings on Marcus’ arm.

At first, you think it’s a trick of the light. The shadows of running droplets on the windshield scurry like tadpoles from the crook of his elbow down to the small of his wrist, and between the shapes sharp black lines shift, almost out of reach. You blink a few times, trying to clear the spots from your vision, and refocus.

His sleeve is rolled to a wrinkled coil just below the joint, and in the space between muscle and veins you can see the markings clearly now – twisted lines poking out from beneath the white fabric, jagged spikes deepening the creases in his skin. Each stroke hints towards a larger pattern, just out of your sight.

When Marcus eases the steering wheel around a curve, the sleeve shifts down an inch and the markings disappear from view.

Eventually, you let yourself sleep, curiousity pricking at your mind with the same insistent beat as the raindrops on the roof above.

You do not ask him, but you watch more keenly than you did before.

---

It’s a full twelve hours before your journey abruptly pauses to allow for a decent sleep in a real bed, and a sorely needed shower, and a meal that doesn’t come pre-packaged from a gas station display case. The stop is at Marcus’ insistence, not yours. You want to keep moving, and he tells you to take a breath. That’s been the rhythm of the last eight hundred miles of road and you think as you watch him fumble with the room key, red eyes bleary from the week’s second all-night drive, next time I’ll be the one who says ‘enough’. If you’re in the business of noticing things now, you may as well multitask.

Night comes, and you wait for Marcus to shed his button-down and throw it in the bag of all the other clothing to be washed when the two of you, bachelors till the end, finally remember to pick up more soap. You haven’t forgotten about what you glimpsed, and though the curiousity isn’t quite so burning now, it still lingers at the back of your mind. But despite his obvious exhaustion, Marcus sits at the table instead of shucking his shirt and collapsing onto the bed, and by the time you finish brushing your teeth, he’s produced a book from some hidden duffel pocket and begun to read.  

The world’s most boring game of chicken ensues, and you’re not sure if Marcus knows he’s playing, but it’s clear from the start who has the upper hand. Your stamina is weak at best, having taken the latest shift behind the wheel. Marcus can’t be much better off, but he keeps turning the pages. You swear you can see the paper quavering beneath his touch.

Sitting on the bed is a mistake, lying down with one arm across your eyes is a graver one, and just when the telltale slump of Marcus’ shoulders hints that the end might be nigh, you make the worst mistake of all. You think, just ten seconds won’t hurt.

When you open your eyes again, all the lights are off, and Marcus is gone.

---

This isn’t the first time you’ve woken to find yourself alone in a hotel room like this.

The first time, you’d searched the whole complex, frantic, fearing the worst. After a half hour of desperation, you found Marcus on the far side of the parking lot, legs hung loosely from his stone divider perch, watching the cars fly past. In the end, you left him to wait out the dawn without disturbing his quiet contemplation. By the third time, you learned that Marcus always does, in fact, always come back by morning’s light.

It doesn’t stop you from worrying.

When you emerge from the shower and pull your last clean shirt over dripping curls, Marcus is closing the door with his heel. In his arms, he carries two styrofoam containers of something that smells syrupy and comforting, and a small bottle of detergent. He’s still wearing the same shirt as the night before. The sleeves are rolled all the way down to his wrists.

He washes while you eat, and you don’t have any reasonable excuse to follow him into the bathroom, so when he emerges in something new and dry and unrevealing, with a bundle of wet clothes beneath his arm, you consign yourself to wait another night for your answer.

A few hundred miles of highway pass by, scenery shifting from rolling hills to dark evergreen shade. You notice his eyelids beginning to droop, and you call for a stop. He stares at you, eyes narrowed with a weighty mix of disbelief and confusion. He asks if you’re sure, and you say yes, of course. Something else slips into his expression, despite his obvious attempts to hide it – a sort of cautious gratitude that stirs up a sickening ache deep within your stomach.

Guilt, you think. That’s what this is.

That night, you don’t even bother trying to spy. It feels intrusive, and you’ve already seen more today of Marcus than he wanted to show.

---

You couldn’t be sure at the beginning, but with each passing day you become more convinced that Marcus is actively hiding his arms from you. It doesn’t take much longer before your mind begins to flip through the possibilities. They present themselves in the ghosts of past parishioners, each with a demon tearfully confessed in the hushed safety of your office. Three likely suspects emerge from the mist: track marks, bruises, cuts.

You don’t think Marcus is the type to shoot up-

(But can you say that for certain? How long have you known him, really?)

And no one, neither human nor demon, has been near enough to have lain a hand on him-

(Can you be sure he hasn’t disappeared more nights than the ones you’ve noticed? Can you account for every hand that might have brushed his skin?)

As for cuts-

(There would have been some other sign. You would’ve noticed before now.)

(Wouldn’t you?)

---

You expect there to be an intervention of some sort, eventually – the sort of shoulder-clawing, tear-laden soap opera scene that would end with him angrily tearing his shirt from his chest and baring the answer to all your questions. You almost crave it, that emotional release. It might finally drain you of all the tension that comes from wondering, and worrying, and wondering if you should really be worrying at all.

Marcus is a grown man, and it’s not your responsibility to watch for his every need. That’s something it’s very easy to tell yourself, when you aren’t actually looking at him, and noticing all these little things, like the way his always-slim fingers have gotten impossibly thinner, or how he’s stopped shaving quite as often as he used to. You’re looking so much these days that it’s a wonder Marcus doesn’t catch you but somehow, whenever you look at him, he’s always looking away.

The mystery ends so much more quietly than you anticipate. You wake one night, and the air feels wrong. You open your eyes, expecting to find yourself alone again, but instead you discover that the little lamp on the far side of the room is on, and cast in its soft orange glow is Marcus, clad in a familiar white undershirt, with a book open on his lap and a pen pressed to his skin.

You raise yourself up gently, so gently, but he still spooks at the sound of your stirring. The hand holding the pen makes an aborted movement towards a sleeve that isn’t there, then comes back to rest awkwardly over the edge of his arm. He turns his gaze to the window, away from you, and you can see he’s not breathing properly. He’s not breathing at all, if you’re honest, and you wonder now how it’s possible to have spent so many nights in close company, gone through so many life-altering ordeals, and still managed to end up this frightened of each other.

You finish sitting up. He still hasn’t moved, hasn’t breathed. Like an animal caught in an open clearing, if I don’t see you, you can’t see me. You press forward, not wanting to take advantage of his sudden paralysis, but too spellbound to do anything else but move.

There’s an empty seat across from Marcus, and you take it. He finally flicks his eyes in your direction: first to your face, then the wrinkled collar of your t-shirt, and finally to where your hands rest, clasped at a polite distance from the centre of the little table. Too late, you realize you’ve assumed the same posture you would while counseling – open shoulders, placating smile, studiously relaxed and inviting. He sees right through it in an instant, and his jaw tightens. Your moment is slipping away. You drink in what you can, while you can.

The book in his lap is the Bible, the same battered copy he’s always kept, the one filled with notes and underlines and sprawling figures. Tonight, it’s open to a page from the book of Job, and in its margins and around tightly-packed verses carefully inked vines twist and weave. Boughs laden with delicate leaves in dark clusters separate to outline a few words and phrases – on my eyelids there is deep darkness, though there is no violence in my hands – and remerge to form weightier masses near the edge of the text. There, the thicket of penstrokes is so dense that it’s as though the page was bordered from the start.

And then you look to his arm, and you see where the same vines grow from the bend of his elbow. They weave with the same fervour, circling freckles instead of verses, and beneath the vines you can make out the faint stain of older markings, not yet fully rubbed from the skin, in layer upon faded layer. No hint of track marks or bruises or cuts. Just ink, in a pattern as elegant as any pressed to paper.

It’s a… strange habit, maybe, but it’s nothing that unusual. Nothing shameful. Nothing that he needed to hide from you, and you take his wrist and guide his arm to rest on the table, wanting to show him so.

“These are beautiful.”

His calloused fingers twitch against your skin as you trace a path of leaves around the curve of his forearm with a light touch. When you glance up, a grin you hope is warm and non-judgemental on your face, he’s looking at you. He’s finally looking at you properly, and with such a stricken expression that you almost draw back and apologize for overstepping your bounds, only…

Marcus is breathing again. Short, staccato breaths that slow, ever so slightly, as your fingers shift to the next trail of ink. You don’t stop.  

It’s almost meditative, moving from one line to the next, tracing every path and listening to the changes in Marcus’ breath. You feel, rather than see, his chest rise and fall, until you find that your own breath follows the same cadence. He still hasn’t said a word, and that should be desperately uncomfortable, and you really have no idea what you’re doing, but he doesn’t ask you to stop, and you don’t ask yourself why you don’t. You let yourself drift. Marcus closes his eyes.

A door slams somewhere outside, and you break from your reverie to realize that your careless touch has smudged the farthest reaches of the pattern, where the ink was freshest. He silences your embarrassed apology with a small smile that’s just a little too tight around the edges to be believed.

“Don’t worry. It’s an easy fix.”

Marcus takes the pen from where its fallen, forgotten, and begins retracing the ruined portions. The end result is far from clean, once-crisp lines now forever marred, but he seems satisfied, and excuses himself to the bathroom once he’s done. He doesn’t come out for a long while.

You don’t speak about it again, not for weeks, but you catch glimpses of new designs as they fade and reappear. Different patterns each time, but always the same motif: something wild and untamed, branching outward.

Sometimes, now, he notices you staring – or maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, when your eyes meet, for a moment, you always catch a glimpse of that same paralysis before his gaze softens and he looks away.

He stops rolling his sleeves down, at least. You choose to believe that means more than the way he still avoids your glance. You have to believe it. If the two of you aren’t moving forward, where does that leave you?

You’ve never been very good at standing still.

[lpdwillwrite4coffee]

CHILDREN OF LILITH CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Boz turned a plate over in his hands, inspecting it for stray food particles or soap residue he might have missed when he rinsed it. Deeming it up to his standards of cleanliness, he dried it and stacked it with the others in the cabinet. He sighed, glancing around the dimly lit kitchen. Such utter quiet made him uncomfortable but anything other than silence felt disrespectful.

Boz had turned off the radio the moment Griffin had called to tell them about Kaelin. He couldn’t bring himself to turn it back on now.

When he’d relayed Griffin’s message, Lisa had barely said a word. She’d paced for twenty minutes, chewing her thumbnail until she bled, and intermittently attempted to arrange the dishes Boz had cleaned before he got fed up and suggested she put her organizational skills to use in the upstairs bathroom. She hadn’t protested, and Boz guessed she had wanted to be alone from the start, but didn’t want to be away from him in case.

In case Griffin called back. In case things got worse. In case she really couldn’t handle being alone after all.

He made it a point to check in on her every thirty minutes. Just in case.

Several times Boz had stopped mid-scrub, dish in hand, to reach for his phone. The urge to make contact, to see if Griffin or Nikki needed anything from him, was overwhelming but each time he pulled his cell from his pocket, language failed him, and after staring at the screen for God-knows how long, he always ended up putting his phone back and returning to the sink.

The crisp click of the lock broke through the enveloping silence, and Boz spun around.

Griffin trudged inside first, with Nikki close behind him. Both were soaked, and exhaustion clung to them just like their wet clothes. Nikki was wrapped in Griffin’s coat and her damp hair hung limp around her face. Her eyes were red and swollen; a sharp contrast to her pale skin and lips.

Cold and defeated, they paused just inside the main room, and Boz held his breath.

The bathroom door flung open and Lisa jogged down the staircase. She halted on the third step when she saw them and gripped the banister to steady herself.

“You’re back,” Lisa breathed. “Nikki, I…” She faltered. “I’m so sorry.”

Nikki gave a weak nod, and hoarsely whispered, “Thank you.”

“Is…” Boz swallowed. “Is she…”

Griffin shook his head. “Kaelin’s stable,” he answered. “She’ll be in the ICU for a while though.”

Boz exhaled a shaky breath. “Do you need anything?” Boz asked, looking to Nikki.

Her stare drifted to the side as she jerked her head ‘no’. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.”

Nikki slipped the coat off her shoulders, holding it out for Griffin to take. She glanced up at him, but her gaze didn’t linger and she turned, heading up the stairs past Lisa.

No one spoke until they heard the door click shut.

Lisa released the banister, stepping into the kitchen. “How bad is it?”

“Bad,” Griffin said, going straight for the coffee pot. “The doctors won’t know the extent of the damage until she wakes up.” He paused, remembering what Doctor Katz had told them. “If she wakes up.”

“If?”

He glanced over his shoulder, and Lisa frowned as understanding hit her. Griffin started to reach for a mug, but one was already held out for him. He blinked, looking at Boz.

“It’s fresh,” Boz said, nodding at the coffee. “I just made it.”

“Thanks.”

Lisa ducked into the adjacent hallway and he heard the door to the laundry room open. Moments later she returned with a pile of neatly folded clothes.

“Here,” she said. “I finished washing your clothes from earlier today-”

“Lisa, how many times do I have to tell you, you don’t need to do my laundry,” he argued, but there was no heat in the words.

“I washed Nikki’s too,” she said. “And Boz’s-”

Boz’s head jerked up. “Say what?”

“-It’s not like you’re a special prince I’m doting on.” She pushed the clothing at him and waved her hand. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up and dry off?”

If Griffin was ever going to be thankful for Lisa’s mothering tendencies, it was that moment. He did as he was told, both too tired to protest and also increasingly uncomfortable in his wet jeans and tee shirt. Saying he would be right back, he trekked up the stairs into the bathroom, kicking his boots off as he shut the door.

For the first time all night, he noticed how cold he was, and he didn’t take long to decide on a hot shower. Twisting the knob, he let the water run while he peeled damp layers from his skin and dropped them into a heap on the tile floor.

Stinging pain through his skull brought him to a stuttering halt. The dogs thrashed in his head, just like they’d been doing since that afternoon, and this time he was so exhausted he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold them back much longer. He either needed to read someone or he needed a drink.

Crouching down, he ignored the burning protest from his injured side and reached to the back of the cabinet, feeling around in the dark for the bottle he’d hidden. Pulling it out from behind one of the pipes, he stood up and started to unscrew the cap.

Back to that are you? Serena’s voice scratched inside his head. I can’t say I’m surprised. You always go for the bottle when you fail. And you fail quite a lot.

Growling, he brought the liquor to his mouth and gulped.

That’s not going to make you forget me, you know. There isn’t enough scotch in the world to do that.

He drank through the burn, willing the alcohol to hit his bloodstream faster.

I bet right about now you’re wishing you’d had the balls to kill me when you’d had the chance. Maybe then Kaelin wouldn’t be lying comatose in a hospital bed, and your darling Nikki wouldn’t be this close to despising you.

Setting the bottle on the counter, he stepped into the shower, hot water rushing over his head and shoulders.

“She doesn’t hate me,” he muttered, arguing with his personal demon. “She blames herself.”

And isn’t that worse? She’s going to continue blaming herself, thinking if only she had done something differently, then maybe her friend wouldn’t have gotten hurt. But the truth is, if you hadn’t stuck your dick where it didn’t belong, then none of this would have happened. You might not have done the beating yourself Griffin, but you allowed the monster who did to live. So how do you think Nikki’s going to feel once she finds out you’re effectively an accomplice?

Anger twisted inside him, setting his teeth on edge. His fingers curled, nails digging into the flesh of his palms.

You aren’t innocent. Serena’s voice sneered. You were never innocent. Stop pretending to be a hero, when you’re so clearly not cut out for the title.

The heel of his hand slammed against the knob, cutting the water off. He didn’t bother toweling himself dry- just yanked on his fresh clothes and stomped his feet into his boots.

Remembering Nikki was asleep in his room, he held back from throwing the door open with as much force as he wanted, and rushed down the stairs. He still wasn’t as quiet as he should have been, as Lisa was calling up to him before he’d made it to the main room.

“Griffin?” She scowled when he made it around the banister. “What’s wrong?”

He grabbed his coat and holster off the back of his chair, and leveled his stare on Boz. “Watch after Nikki.”

“Wait a second.” Lisa started towards him. “Where are you going?”

Griffin wrenched the door open and strode outside. That was his answer.

* * *

Serena weaved through the mass of people, making her way to the bar. Lifting herself up, she sat on the countertop and swung her legs over, hopping back down on the opposite side. Her staff only gave her cursory amused glances while they rushed back and forth between taps. She was the owner- If she wanted to use the bar as a personal pommel horse, then she damn well could.

The Silver Rose was the product of having too much time on her hands and a heavy dose of nostalgia for the humid, fertile bayou she’d grown up in before she was sired. Equal parts French gothic and New Orleans style décor, with considerable new wave punk influences, the venue was a blended mix of Serena, pre and post Vampirism. All the tables were dark stained oak with hand-carved detailing along the edges to match the bar. Wrought iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling, Spanish moss and vines of ivy artfully draped around them. White and black candles of varying heights illuminated the alcove in the painted stone walls, and cast dancing shadows around the room. Strings of white lights were scalloped above the bar, and Voodoo dolls hung from the lights by the tiny yarn nooses knotted around their necks.

Spotting the lead server, a handsome twenty something college student with a dimpled chin and dark red hair, Serena strode over to his side of the bar.

“How are we doing tonight, Mark?” She yelled over the raucous punk blues band on the stage that night.

Mark smiled, sticking a pint glass under a spout and pulling the tap down. “It’s been like this since we opened,” he said, jerking his head at the growing crowd.

She beamed at him, letting her fingers trail over his shoulder as she passed. “Good work.”

Mark stopped her before she could go around the bar. “There was a guy here looking for you.”

Serena narrowed her gaze. “A guy?”

Alexander wasn’t a fan of The Silver Rose, so he rarely stopped by. Which left only one other option, and just the thought of Nicholas keeping tabs on her made her want to slam his pretty European face into a meat grinder.

Mark nodded. “I sent him to your office to wait for you.”

Rounding past the side of the bar, Serena headed down the corridor to the left, dodging two adequately drunk college girls coming out of the ladies’ room. She honed in on the door with the simple black sign reading ‘management only’, and she slowed only a fraction before reaching for the knob. She inhaled, ready to rip Nicholas a new asshole.

Her stilettos froze on the hardwood, yanking her to a halt.

Sitting at the end of her black leather couch, with a tumbler of scotch in his hand, was the ghost of Griffin O’Connor.

The nearby table lamp illuminated one side of his face, obscuring the other in darkness. That amber gaze however- the one Serena had mourned the loss of- sparked fiercely, boring through her. She remembered what it felt like to have those eyes on her while she straddled him.

Present time restarted and Serena shut the door behind her, flicking the lock. She gave him a lingering once over.

“Well, I have to say, I was not expecting to see you.”

Griffin lifted his glass, glaring at her over the rim. “Next time you stab me, aim higher. Belly wounds bleed slow.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “I’ll try to remember that.”

Stepping further into the room, she slid out of her leather jacket and hung it on the back of her desk chair. His presence made her skin prick with excitement and fury and the deeply rooted hunger to create and destroy. The sensation was so potent her stomach clenched. She turned to face him, leaning back against the edge of her desk and tossing her hair over her shoulder.

She waited for him to react, to track her movements like he’d done countless times before. But his stare never softened. He smelled of rain and hatred. Giving one last attempt to stir up the beast, she arched her back, thrusting her chest forward. The sequined halter top she wore had a deep neck line that left little to the imagination. And she knew how much Griffin loved her in silver…

Nothing. He simply reached for the decanter on the table to his right and poured another drink. His lack of attention made her bristle.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, this is turning into a lovely visit. So full of laughter and conversation-”

“Shut up,” he said, voice flat.

“Excuse me?”

He drained his glass in two swallows. When his eyes found hers this time the light in them was hellfire.

“Shut up. You don’t get to talk right now. You’re going to stand there and listen and you’re not gonna say a word.”

A growl rippled through Serena as she shoved away from the desk. “How dare you-”

The tumbler flew from Griffin’s hand across the room and crystalline shards exploded behind Serena’s head. “I said. Shut. Up,” he snarled.

This was not the beast Serena had intended on waking.

She stilled in a heavy beat of silence before glancing over her shoulder at the mess. “That was an expensive antique you know.”

Griffin stood up, muscles coiling, ready to lunge. “You know what’s expensive? The hours of surgery it took to piece back together the woman you nearly beat to death.”

A slow smile crept across Serena’s face. “So she survived. Hallelujah,” she mocked.

“Why’d you do it, Serena?” He took a measured step forward. “Why did you go after her?”

She shrugged. “Because I could.”

“So you spent the better part of the day torturing a woman you don’t know, for kicks?” Angrily, he shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”

“I was bored,” she said, uncaring. “And it was cheaper than a matinee.”

“You and I both know you’re a lot more self-serving when you’re bored,” he said. “And you’re a ladder climber by nature.”

She snorted at his accusation. “You say that like you know me.”

“I do know you.”

“No. You don’t.” She strode towards him, but kept herself an arm’s length away. “You think that just because I let you between my legs for six months, you know me?”

“Unlike a lot of the other guys you were screwing, I was capable of using both of my heads.”

Serena huffed out a laugh. “So you weren’t a complete idiot and had a modicum of observational skills. Congratulations.”

Griffin glowered down at her, lip curling. “What was in it for you, Serena?”

“I already told-”

“Did you do it for Nicholas Bradley?” Griffin cut her off. He registered the flicker of surprise in her expression and pushed forward. “Did you do it to serve your Alpha?”

“He is not my Alpha,” she snapped.

Griffin’s eyes shifted to her left wrist, noting the symbols permanently etched into her skin. Vamp ink was different from the marks of a Hunter, more of an intricate filigree that created a language no one spoke. Over the years he’d been able to decipher the meanings of a few symbols, one of which was the brand of an Alpha. Serena had had one since the beginning, but he’d never cared to ask. It was a detail he didn’t want to know. She was aligned to someone though, and if it wasn’t Bradley pulling her strings…

“Then who is?”

She sneered at him, turning her arm inwards to hide her tattoo. “Can’t tell. Clubhouse rules.”

“You might not be Nicholas Bradley’s pet, but you’re somebody’s,” he said. “And you went after Kaelin to get to Nikki. Why?”

Serena blinked and her stare became disturbingly playful. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

Griffin paused, evaluating facts and what she was implying. “You knew Nikki’s a Blooded Hunter.” It was a statement, not a question.

Serena hummed in agreement. “By the way, how is our little darling holding up?” Her tone was conniving. It made the hair on Griffin’s arms stand up.

“Seeing as how you tried to murder her friend, I’d say she’s doing alright.”

Pursing her lips, Serena nodded and turned to slide open her desk drawer, retrieving a chrome cigarette case and matching lighter. “I’m sure she was curious after my hearing my voicemail… Did you tell her who I really am?

Griffin’s jaw clenched and his silence betrayed him.

Serena chuckled, a cloud of smoke sweeping between them. “Of course you didn’t,” she said. “You’d rather lie to save your own ass than admit to being a total fuck up.”

She prowled closer, invading his space. She stopped a few inches from him, trailing her gaze over his chest and neck.

“Which part was the hardest to own up to? Telling your precious Nikki that a Vampire used to ride your dick and drink your blood?” She paused, smile revealing her fangs. “Or telling her you liked it?”

Adrenaline and shame mingled in his gut, souring his stomach, and Griffin swallowed hard.

“I guess it’s understandable,” Serena continued, taking another puff from her cigarette. “Especially since it’s obvious how badly you want inside her.” She licked her lips, staring at the tender flesh beneath his jaw. “Be honest, Griffin. How many times in the last twenty-four hours have you thought about throwing her down and-”

“Enough,” he snapped.

She grinned. “Did I strike a nerve?”

Griffin took a deliberate, menacing step forward, closing the distance between them. Serena relented, backing away from him, and he pursued, continuing to push the hairline boundary between them until her shoulders collided with the wall behind her and she was trapped between drywall and him.

Serena searched his face for any sign of motive, and grew uncomfortable when one wasn’t evident. This was a move she hadn’t anticipated. One beat after the next, he just stood there, with his body so close that with every breath she took her chest brushed against his. His warmth, the smell of scotch on his breath, and the rain that still clung to his hair was overwhelming. Something was shifting beneath his skin, unfurling and leeching out into air.

Reaching down, Griffin slipped her cigarette from between her fingers, took a single deep inhale and then stamped it out on the edge of her desk. He licked his lips, dragging the bottom one between his teeth, and slowly releasing it. His darkened gaze kept dropping to her mouth, and finally Serena guessed what he wanted. Angling her hips forward, she brushed her thighs against his and gripped the buckle on his belt, jerking him forward. He chuckled deep in his throat, and pressed his left hand flat against the wall by her head. Ducking closer, their noses brushed for a moment, and then his lips were on hers.

Any restraint he had vaporized and the kiss turned ferocious. Serena’s hands slid over his body, cupping his neck and face, getting her fingers tangled in his hair. He pressed his lower half against her and she groaned into his mouth. Her right leg hitched up, hooking her foot behind his thigh. Soon she was tugging at the hem of his shirt and undoing his belt. Griffin fisted a handful of her blonde hair, pulling and positioning her head as he deepened his kiss. He tasted like tobacco and smoldering embers. It made her dizzy.

She slipped her hands down his waist, stroking his bare sides and sneaking a hand up to rake her nails across his chest. He growled and she did it again, feeling the goose bumps form over his skin. Shoving against her, he pinned her to the wall and slotted his mouth over hers. She nipped at his bottom lip, drawing a single drop of blood that she licked away. He tasted just like she remembered, and it made the juncture between her legs ache.

Something hard and icy pressed into her sternum and nestled against her left breast. Griffin broke the kiss, but stayed millimeters from her face, holding her stare.

Through ragged pants, Serena muttered, “That’s cold.”

The cylinder traveled upwards, stopping just below her collar bone. She spared a glance down to see the barrel of his Glock aimed right above her heart. His index finger stroked the trigger, and his stare became as cold and dark as his gun.

Serena unhooked her leg from behind his and shifted away from him. “If you didn’t want to fuck, you only had to say so.”

“I should shoot you for what you did to Kaelin… To Nikki.”

Serena thrust her chest forward, pressing against the muzzle of his gun. “Go ahead,” she said. “You know you want to.”

He sneered bitterly. “You’re right, I do. But you’re of more use to me alive than dead.”

“I’m already dead, remember lover?” she mocked. He pushed down on the butt of the gun and the metal bit into her skin, making her hiss and bare her fangs.

The livid spark was back in his eyes, and it burned wherever his gaze landed.

“Here’s what gonna happen,” he said. “You’re going to take a message to your Alpha and to Bradley. You’re going to tell them that they made a huge mistake targeting Nikki. She’s a Blooded Hunter, which means she’s under my protection now, and any attack on her or anyone else she knows is going to be taken very personally by yours truly. And since I was stabbed and almost burned to death, I’ve been a lot less inclined to take the sensible approach to things.”

Glaring up at him, Serena asked, “Anything else?”

He smirked. “Yeah… Be honest. How many times in the last six months have you thought about me pushing you up against this wall and fucking you?” When she didn’t answer, he chuckled darkly. “That’s what I thought.”

“I never missed you,” she spat.

Leaning in, he whispered in her ear, “Serena baby…You’re a terrible liar.”

“And you’re a worthless bastard.” Her ice blue stare cut into him. “I know why you showed up here, and it wasn’t because of what I did to that girl. You realized just how shit you are at protecting people, and instead of suffering with your self-loathing alone, you came here to get your fix.”

Griffin’s face hardened and he pegged her with a harsh glare. “At least I’m not the one who handles rejection so poorly they gutted their ex and then burned down a night club to cover it up.”

Serena matched his gaze. “Next time I’ll just rip you apart with my bare hands.” Venom dripped from every word.

A thousand responses rushed up Griffin’s throat, his back molars chewing on the words as he stared at the woman who had haunted him for so long. His grip tightened on his gun, his body pleading to finish the job.

With a voice like acid he said, “Come after Nikki again, and I’ll kill you.”

Releasing her, Griffin shoved away from the wall and strode towards the exit. Serena went to launch herself at him, and he twisted, firing a single round into the floor half an inch away from her foot. Ignoring her enraged cursing, and without missing a single step, Griffin wrenched the door open and left her behind.

* * *

Halfway home, Griffin had to pull his bike over to the side of the road so he could vomit. He coughed as more bile evacuated his stomach, splattering on the asphalt. Shaking, he dropped onto the curb and hung his head between his knees. He ached so badly he wanted to tear the skin from his body. Raking his fingers through his hair, he clawed the back of his neck feeling only mild satisfaction at the bursts of pain. Everything in him twisted and burned, ignited by self-inflicted repugnance seeping in so deep it coated his bones like oil.

What happened with Serena wasn’t his plan, wasn’t anything close to what he’d wanted. The second he’d stepped into the bar he’d decided it was time- He couldn’t let her continue living, not after everything she’d done. Ex-lover or not, she’d nearly killed an innocent civilian, all in an attempt to hurt Nikki. She deserved a bullet in the heart.

And then she started talking, and his gift- those wretched dogs- started thrashing in his head, commanding to be let loose or they would break free themselves.

Another bought of queasiness hit him as he remembered the red lustful haze that had swallowed him up and almost drowned him. Serena’s or his, it didn’t matter. He still acted on it, still took that step closer. Still kissed her first.

Griffin gagged, dry heaving until his eyes stung and the cords of his neck were taught.

God, what had he done?

This is your fault! Serena’s voice echoed around Nikki’s words. You did this!

He dragged a trembling hand over his face, and scowled at the wetness in his palm. His chest constricted, and it was a while before realizing the wounded noises he heard were his own sobs.

Griffin didn’t remember how he got home.

One moment he was staring at the damp black asphalt through blurry vision, and the next he was parking his bike in the alley and walking to the front door.

He stopped in the dimly lit kitchen, crash landing back in his body. It was the first time he’d blacked out sober.

“Griff?”

He turned and blinked at the figure coming out of the hallway. “Boz?”

“Hey,” his friend murmured. “You alright?”

No. No I’m not and I don’t know if I’ll ever be alright again. I’m so cold, and numb and I-

Griffin clamped down on the panic, shutting off the screaming inside his head.

Swallowing, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

Stepping further into the kitchen, Boz searched his face for a long moment. “You sure? ‘Cause, no offense buddy, but you look kinda wrecked.”

Griffin struggled to take in air. “I’m, uh, I’m just… I’m just really tired.”

Boz jerked his head towards the nearest chair. “Sit down,” he said, going to the cabinet and pulling out a water glass. Filling it, he went over and gave it to him.

“Thanks,” Griffin whispered. His hands were still shaking, and he set the drink on the table, afraid he might drop it.

Lowering himself into the chair next to Griffin’s, Boz loosely knit his fingers together in his lap and waited.

His thirst overriding his fear of breaking the glass, Griffin took a gulp and closed his eyes.

“I thought you’d be in bed,” he told Boz.

“Nah, I was downstairs folding laundry.”

“Did Lisa do it wrong again?”

Boz’s hands flailed a little in front of him. “She doesn’t understand the proper way to fold a tee shirt so that it doesn’t wrinkle,” he exclaimed. “There is a method, I’ve explained it a thousand times, and she still does it wrong. It drives me nuts.”

“It’s her laundry, Boz. She can do it how she likes.”

“She’ll thank me when her shirts are pristine in the morning.”

The fast smile that curved Griffin’s mouth surprised him. Maybe he was feeling steadier than he thought. He finished his water, letting the silence around them linger.

“So,” Boz said after a moment. “You kinda blew out of here in a rush.”

Nope. Not steady anymore.

Griffin’s stomach flipped and for a second he thought he’d throw up everything he’d just swallowed. He must have looked as sick as he felt because Boz scooted to the edge of his seat, reaching out for him.

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” Boz soothed hurriedly. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Like, really alright.” He paused, watching him. “I haven’t seen you bolt outta here like that in a while. You looked like you were on a warpath.”

That’s because he was. And then he’d fucked it up.

“I’m sorry,” Griffin croaked.

Boz shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m just glad you’re back in one piece.”

Griffin took in a deep breath, and then another.

And then another.

Boz scrubbed his hands over his jeans and his left knee started to bounce.

“Okay, I don’t really know how to say this, so I’m just gonna spit it out,” he said. “I found the empty bottle of whiskey under the kitchen sink this morning, and after you left tonight I went into the bathroom and found the bottle there on the counter and…” He bit his lip and leveled his gaze on Griffin. “Buddy, are you using again?”

Griffin’s vision darkened at the edges and his heart stuttered. He didn’t think it was possible, but more agony gushed up from that endless crater inside him.

Several months before, he had promised Boz he wouldn’t go near another pill or needle again. He had promised to try, to do better than before, and he had kept that promise. And now, because of a twisted desire to see Serena, no matter what his original motive had been, his best friend suspected him of falling off the wagon.

Griffin couldn’t really blame him.

“No,” he said, his voice hoarse. “No Boz, I’m not using again.”

Boz’s relief was tangible. He nodded, the tension ebbing from his face. “Good, okay,” he murmured. “That’s… I’m glad.”

“Did you…” Griffin faltered. “Does Lisa think…?”

“No,” Boz said. “No, I didn’t tell her. I won’t tell her.” He leaned back in his seat. “The only reason I asked was…” His stare shifted down to hands. “Was so I could cover for you if I needed to.”

Griffin felt like the luckiest man in the world, and the worst imaginable friend. He had been blessed with a friend as fiercely loyal as Boz, and that loyalty was being wasted on hiding his secrets.

He wanted to apologize for everything he’d put him through.

Instead, he whispered, “Thanks Boz.”

Boz nodded again and offered a smile. “Well now that I know you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere, I think I’m gonna crash.” He stood up and made his way towards the staircase, but stopped before he reached the banister. “I know everything that’s happened with Nikki and her friend… I know it’s a hard blow for you.” He waved his hand out in a short gesture at Griffin. “I know you, so I know you’re taking it personally, but you don’t have to handle it alone.” Tucking his hands into his front pockets, Boz sighed. “You carry the world on your shoulders Griff. Maybe you should let us help you with the burden.”

A beat of silence drummed between them and Griffin could only duck his head. With a somber twist of his mouth, Boz turned and disappeared up the stairs.

Griffin slumped forward, leaning into his thighs, and exhaled. Boz’s offer to help ease his load still lingered in the air, but Griffin had never felt heavier.

* * *

Nikki jackknifed up from the mattress, gulping for air and clawing at the comforter. Blind and gasping, she flung her hand out for the lamp next to the bed, and fumbled with the switch.

Her world became illuminated, and she sat up, rubbing her face. For a long time she could only stare at the stitching of the blanket where it marched in even paces along the length of the bed, and try to calm the base drumming of her heart.

The details of her nightmare faded back into the grey delirium of sleep, but her body still ached with its memory. She swallowed and immediately regretted the decision. Her throat scratched as if she was fighting off a terrible cold, and Nikki groaned at the possibility that, on top of everything else, she might be getting sick.

I guess that’s what happens when you have a breakdown in a rainstorm, she thought, raking her fingers through her still damp hair.

The idea of a cool glass of water was enough to propel her out of bed and into the hallway, and she vehemently ignored the way her joints went spongy under the pressure of walking. If she had to crawl on her hands and knees to get to the damn tap, she would.

Her bare feet squeaked on the hardwood when she pulled to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

Griffin had dozed off, sitting at the kitchen table, with his head perched on his fist. A cup of stale coffee sat next to him, seemingly untouched.

She thought about abandoning her need for liquid and rushing back upstairs. She even glanced over her shoulder, wondering if she’d be able to make it without waking him. But there, in the orange glow of the light above the stove, Griffin looked soft, vulnerable even, and any concept she’d had of running away vanished.

Still, she didn’t want to disturb him. Padding around the table, she started for the cupboard.

Griffin’s head slid off his hand and he jerked awake with a startled noise. Jumping, Nikki whirled around and gasped, her hand flying to her throat.

“Oh my God,” she yelped.

“Wha-” Griffin blinked at her. “Nikki?”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, quieter. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Rubbing his right eye, he shifted in his chair. “No, it’s okay,” he said, his voice rough. “I, uh…” He glanced around the room, as if remembering where he was. “I must’ve been dreaming.”

She wanted to ask about what, but it wasn’t her business. Hugging her arms across her torso, she shifted her weight from leg to leg, and the silence stretched on, reaching an uncomfortable peak.

“I just came down for a glass of water,” she blurted out.

Giving a hasty nod, Griffin said, “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

Nikki took that as her escape route, and made her way to the cabinet. She inhaled deeply, ready to sigh, but thought better of it. Filling her glass under the tap, she snuck a glance over her shoulder and frowned. Griffin sat with the illusion of comfort, but his whole body was rigid. He didn’t look at her- in fact he seemed to be making a pointed effort not to let his gaze cross her path.

Anger and guilt converged in her chest, bubbling up her throat. Shutting off the water, she turned and opened her mouth to release the verbal product of her emotions, when she noticed the small flinch tugging at Griffin’s profile and everything died on her tongue.

He had flinched.

He had anticipated a continuation of their screaming match in the parking lot, and he’d steeled himself to take whatever she would throw at him. He hadn’t prepared himself for a fight, he’d prepared for a lashing.

In the subtle shift between flinch and scowl, Nikki caught the ragged, wounded expression darkening his eyes and her heart slammed against her ribs.

The wet plop was almost too faint for her to hear… until a second one sounded and she blinked, glancing down at her glass. Waves rolled across the surface as something dark dripped into the water. Then she felt the trickle over her upper lip. She wiped at the mess, smearing her fingertips with something thicker than tears.

“Oh my…” She trailed off, staring at the dark stain of blood on her hand.

Griffin was out of his chair and standing in front of her in an instant.

“What happened?” He asked, taking the glass from her and setting it on the counter.

“Nothing,” she said, applying pressure to her nostril. “I was just standing here and then…” She gestured at her face.

Leaning past her, Griffin ripped several paper towels off the roll and lifted them to her nose. “Here,” he said. “Hold your head back.”

His touch was gentle as he tilted her chin up, holding the towels for her.

“How do you feel?” He asked, edging his thumb under her jaw to check her pulse. “Do you feel faint?”

Nikki shook her head as best as she could in his grasp. “No,” she said in a nasal tone that would have made her laugh if she wasn’t so freaked out. “I feel fine.”

It was a lie. She felt sick to her stomach, but it had nothing to do with the blood.

Griffin frowned, gaze skimming over her face but narrowly avoiding eye contact. “Are nose bleeds a regular thing for you?”

“Not really,” she said. “I got one about a week ago but I just thought it was because the air was dry since I’ve had to use my heater more.”

He gave an acknowledging tilt of his head but didn’t comment. Quiet swooped back around them as he cared for her, and Nikki registered just how close they were. Her back was pressed against the edge of the counter and Griffin’s chest was a solid wall, closing her in. Such proximity would usually make her anxious, but his demeanor was nothing but tender, and his warmth was comforting in a way she didn’t want to try to understand at four o’clock in the morning.

But his obvious refusal to look her in the eye was growing more and more irritating by the second. If he would just look at her, only for a second, she felt she might then have the courage to speak.

The bleeding had slowed, and Griffin cleared his throat, inching back. His hold on the side of her face slipped, and he went to pull his hand away.

Nikki’s fingers clasped around his palm, keeping him close. Surprised, he forgot his no-eye-contact rule, and his gaze found hers. The sensation of being unraveled and exposed washed through her, but she wasn’t deterred.

Inhaling a shaky breath, she stared up at Griffin.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Griffin, I… I’m so sorry.”

More wetness ran down her cheeks, but this time she didn’t panic as tears welled over.

Confusion knitted his brows together. “For what?”

“I had no right to treat you the way I did,” she murmured, voice thick. “After everything you’ve done, for me to just turn on you…” The knot in her throat choked her, and she paused, closing her eyes.

“Hey, shh,” Griffin soothed. “It’s okay.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No it’s not okay. You did nothing to deserve being treated like my punching bag. I shouldn’t have blamed you, and I never should have hit you.”

A shy grin played at his lips and he huffed out a laugh. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but, I can take a beating.”

Nikki laughed in spite of herself, eyes flicking to the nearly healed cuts at Griffin’s temple. “Still,” she said, returning her stare to his. “You shouldn’t have had to take one more.”

His eyes glistened and she watched him blink away unshed tears.

“I don’t blame you. What you said-”

“Was inexcusable,” she cut in, tightening her grip on his hand.

Was true. He could feel the words behind his teeth, taste their edges and points. A flush spread over his skin as he realized just how badly he wanted to confess. To maybe show his wounds to someone who might not shame him for his scars.

Your mistakes led to her best friend being beaten unconscious, and you want her to kiss your boo-boo and make it all better? His inner self scoffed. She deserves better than you, and you know it.

His half formed admission scraped as he swallowed it back down.

“Can you forgive me?”

Griffin gaped, staring down at her. “What?” His voice sounded small in his own ears.

“For everything,” Nikki replied. “I know what happened wasn’t your fault. I attacked you because you were closest, and I hate myself for how cruel I was…” More tears fell from her lashes and Griffin thumbed them away.

“Shh, Nik, no,” he murmured. “You don’t need my forgiveness. You weren’t cruel, you were upset and scared. It’s okay.”

Nikki took a deep breath that made her lungs hurt. “I don’t understand how you’re not mad at me.”

“Because I know what it’s like to hurt so much you want to tear down the world.” Nikki was mesmerized by the glimpse of a battered soul she saw behind his eyes as he spoke.

Griffin’s thumbs were still stroking her cheeks, and in a hazy lapse in judgment she thought about leaning into him, about arching up and kissing away his ache. She watched him lick his lips, and wondered if he wanted that too, the idea of it making her pulse spike.

Shame rushed through her, replacing her desire with cold guilt. A few hours before she had been cursing him, and now after a tearful apology, she thought she could take something else from him? As if saying sorry made it okay. She had already used him as a whipping post; she wouldn’t use him as a pleasure release too.

Letting her hand fall from his, she took the soiled paper towels and balled them up in her fist. “Thank you,” she said, glancing up at him again.

Griffin nodded, slowly pulling his hands away from her face. His gaze dropped to the floor and he stepped back.

“You should get some rest,” he told her.

On shaky legs, Nikki started to walk towards the stairs in a daze. She missed his warmth already.

“Nikki?”

She whirled around, too hopeful to be cautious.

Griffin stepped closer and held out a fresh glass of water for her.

Looking up at him, she smiled and said, “Goodnight, Griffin.”

He waited until she was upstairs and heard her shut the door before he exhaled, wishing it was her he could still taste on his tongue.