like in the deep dark recesses of his mind

bekind-unwind  asked:

In which Nico absolutely hates the son of Hades nicknames. He tolerates them to a point, but with Will he eventually snaps, gets absolutely passed, and Will has to fix it. (And find new pet names)


“What’s up, Death Breath?” Will held an easy grin on his face, but Nico was not in the mood for him today. After trying (and failing), to get Chiron to let him go into the city, Nico was feeling anything but happy to stay around camp for the day.

“Don’t call me that,” he hissed back, causing Will to roll his eyes. In truth, Nico hated the “son of Hades” nicknames. Death Breath, Lord of Darkness, Goth, Dead Kid, whatever Will or the other campers had come up with after he decided to stay. Somewhere deep in the recess of Nico’s mind, he understood that the nicknames didn’t really mean anything, that they were supposed to be light, fun ways of teasing Nico, but he couldn’t help but feel like they were taunts. Nico still struggled with insecurities, and his biggest one was still people accepting who his father was. It was why the names bothered him so much. They felt like little jabs at who he was.

“Would you prefer I called you Bones? Or perhaps Little Death,” Will was obviously enjoying himself, laughing at each new name that he came up with. Nico tried not to let his insecurities get the best of him, but hearing the names from his boyfriend made it hurt so much worse.

“I would prefer,” Nico interrupted Will, looked down at him in shock, “if you and everyone else would just call me Nico. Since that is my name and all. You guys don’t have to constantly use those stupid names to get to me. Especially you, Will.”

Will was stunned for a moment, and Nico felt pathetic for lashing out at him for something so small and trivial, but the names had become too much for Nico to constantly hear. Why couldn’t they just call him by his name? Was “Nico” really that bad of a name? When Nico finally looked up at Will, he was staring down at Nico with concern in his blue eyes.

“Nico, why didn’t you tell me you hated my nicknames? I would have stopped using them a long time ago if I knew.” Nico felt the full shame of what he’d said descend on him and he hung his head, letting his bangs fall in his eyes as he scuffed his shoes on the ground.

“I don’t know. You guys always seemed like you enjoyed them so much. Why ruin your fun just because I don’t like it?” He mumbled quietly.

“Because it’s not fun if you don’t like it, Nico, that’s not having fun. That’s making fun of you,” Will spoke softly, causing Nico to lit his head up and look through his bangs at his boyfriend. “I would never use those names if I had known how upset they made you, and neither would anyone else. We didn’t mean to upset you with them.”

“I don’t want to seem whiny, though,” Will sighed quietly and Nico felt himself shrink.

“It’s not whiny, Nico, I promise,” Nico looked up at Will again, catching the smile on his face. “Besides, there’s so many better nicknames to use.” In that moment, Nico had never felt so lucky to have Will, who was so ready and willing to drop what made Nico uncomfortable and try something else. “Like, ‘what’s up, baby?’ Or, ‘hey, babe’. There’s so many more cute nicknames that I’d love to use for you, if you’re okay with them. I promise I’ll ask you first now.” Will was still grinning, and Nico honestly had no idea what he had done to deserve the literal ball of sunshine that was Will Solace. “Sound good, sweetheart?”

Nico felt himself blush at the much more affectionate name. “Yeah.”

look at how early it is

A Light in the Dark

Characters: CastielXReader

Word Count: 992

A/N: 1st Cas-iversary drabble request by anonymous – “Can I ask for Castiel where the reader struggles with depression and has a hard time sleeping because of it, crying to sleep every night instead, and Cas notices but realizes this isn’t something he can heal, so he just secretly watches over them and helps them sleep easier at night instead?” *THIS IS NOT MY USUAL SWEET FLUFF FOLKS. We should all should be so lucky to have an angel on our shoulder when life gets unbearably dark. *Warning: Triggers re: descriptions of depressive/hopeless/self-destructive thoughts.

Stumbling into the obscurity of your windowless bedroom in the bunker, hands running over the sticky mix of sweat and blood staining your clothes, you hazarded a fleeting glance at the dim night light lit outline of the bathroom door to your left. Doesn’t matter if I shower, none of it matters. Redirecting your momentum toward the far wall, you peeled off the outermost layers of soiled clothing, discarding them numbly on the floor before collapsing on the unmade bed and pulling the comforter up to your neck. Eyelids pressing tightly shut, the sting of tears overflowed your cheeks.

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think-live-write  asked:

“I know what you want.” “Stop.” “It’s me, isn’t it? Go on, sweetheart. Say it.” “Stop.” “Denying doesn’t help your case much. I can see it in how you look at me.” for Nevada and Ninita! Omg I love this series so much as you know sooooo that would be amazing.

YAYYY There were THREE requests for this one specifically, (You, @nobodys-baby-now, & @fortheloveofallthingsraul) and I did manage to get a lil’ somethin for it…… :). 

Originally posted by seekret-fanfic

For those unfamiliar with my “Don’t Call Me That series: 
Reader’ is Nevada Ramirez’s little sister’s since-childhood best friend, who he affectionately refers to as ‘Niñita’ (little girl). Since your coming to adulthood, tension between the two of you have been confusing and undeniable… that is, from the eyes of those around you; Nevada & his Niñita are just along for the ride that neither of you can seem to get off of…

Yes, perhaps you had been difficult.
Further, yes, absolutely- you had definitely been dancing a bit too inappropriately with a boy you didn’t know.

So, just maybe, there was a bit of purpose when Nevada drug you away from that boy who had been plying you with drinks-

But: you had NOT given Nevada permission to yank at you that way, all across the dance floor, until you were efficiently trapped behind a bouncer and the velvet rope of the VIP section.

He had told you to ’be good’ after that; which would be oddly doable, considering how only he and his friends were also in the space supposedly for particularly important people… but what fun was that?

Instead of being good, you had stomped your foot, and he gave you a subtle shove as punishment with three fingers against your sternum. “Niñita, I don’t have time for your shit, or to babysit you while some stupid chico grinds on you to get off in his pants-”

“Vadaaa,” your whining was apparently vexing, which you assumed due to how he immediately spun to walk away despite being the entire reason you were there. So, naturally, with the click of your heels accentuating each step, you raced to follow after him- “Why’re you so grumpy?”

His eyes went wide, and he turned too quickly for you to compensate the sudden stop. “I’m grumpy ‘cause you’re letting stupid boys ride your hip,” when his shouting made you falter, Nevada proudly took a seat on a nearby bench, scoffed at your pout. “You know I don’t want to see that shit, you stupid Ninita…”

Oh yea? Well, if he wanted to be so awful… at least you knew: you could be better. “I know what you waaaant, Vadaa-”

“No you fuckin’ don’t.” When you went to climb up into his seat with him, the King of The Heights flinched, and sprawled fingers out at his side to brace himself against the bench. “Stop…”

You had no intentions of stopping, especially after he had been so rude to your previous form of entertainment. Unashamed, and gifted bravery via the bourbon you’d been sipping on, you tossed a leg over him- until you were balanced over his lap with thighs planted on either side of his. “It’s me, isn’t it?

At that, Nevada’s eyes went wide, as if his grand secret had been revealed; and he tried with all the effort he could manage to sink into the cheap cushions behind him.

Go onnnnn, sweetheart,” the other men in the room had turned, knowing full well what would be coming their way if Nevada caught them eyeing you while you were in such a state. Meticulously, you rocked forward, until you were leaned against his chest. Your elbows found his shoulders, and you would have noticed his eyes flutter shut if you weren’t so busy threading fingertips through his hair. You pressed your cheek to his temple, so you could funnel heated whispers into his ear with a simple bow of your chin: “Sayyyy it-

“No. Sto-” In a rare act of desperation, Nevada shifted, placed hands firm to your hips in hopes to keep you from moving- any closer, any further: he couldn’t decide if either would be better at this point. “Stop, you’re bein’ bad…”

Instead of obeying, you burst into a fit of giggles; and wasted no time lowering your stance so you’d be sat squarley atop his lap, facing him. “Denying doesn’t help your case much,” you traced his jaw with a fingertip, studying how he clenched his teeth when your touch trailed over his skin, keeping a close eye on the goosebumps that erupted in the wake of your contact. In return, his grip on you tightened, and he finally decided to rock you nearer- until your belly and pelvis were flush to his.

I can see it,” your taunts kept up, and you peppered the side of his face with teeny-tiny-teasing kisses; Nevada sighed, slithered his hands up from your hips to your back- used one hand between your shoulder blades to keep you steady, slid the other to tangle fingertips in your tresses. “In how you look at me, Vadaaaaa~”

This time, he moaned, and you could feel him twitch beneath you, “do nooooot call me that.” For just a split second, somewhere in your tipsy reverie: you thought perhaps you’d won, and your ‘seductive’ smooches traveled to his throat. Selfishly, he allowed a couple, even buried his nose into your hair to steal a whiff of your perfume for himself.

If this were to happen while the two of you were alone in his apartment, Nevada couldn’t possibly promise an outcome. How often had he considered this, in the deep recesses of his thoughts, late at night while staring at the ceiling, somewhere after too many shots: you, practically giving yourself to him, eagerly… sat in his lap, likely leaving little lip prints behind as your kisses wandered over his skin.

It was when you teased with a nip, pulled just a bit of his skin between your teeth, that his mind rolled hopelessly to the idea of marking you with a constellation of live bites- stripping you down right here in the dark club, claiming every inch of you with his lips, his fingerprints, his teeth…

And when Nevada’s thoughts melted into the little fantasy he’d denied for so long, all due to being lost in your acts of affection and gratuitous teasing, that sense came tumbling back into him.

“Nahhhhhh-” Raucously, in a move you’d have expected if he hadn’t already seemed to be allowing you to help yourself to him, Nevada shifted until you fell from the precarious position you had been in. He watched on, biting the inside of his cheek to try and hold back the desire to take you back up in his arms. “Nice try, Niñita,” instead, he licked his thumb, and bent at the waist so he could run the wet fingertip beneath your plumped lip, to fix the smudged gloss that had strayed. “I don’t want no club boy’s sloppy seconds… you need a damn shower before you even dream of dancin’ with Trujillo, Sugar.”

At that, given your new spot on the floor, you kicked at his ankles until he howled and pulled his legs up onto the bench with him. “You’re the fucking worst, Vada, I hate you…”

Thank God, Nevada thought to himself, while watching you scurry away- likely, to go find his sister, to rat him out for the mistreatment. He’d rather you hate him, at least now… it was much better than being so right about what he wanted, more than anything…

If Only

Dean x Reader 

Word Count: 1, 211

Warnings: Language, angst and hey look at that….I put fluff in there…you’re welcome

Summary: Okay this was really mostly for me because I’ve been feeling pretty bad and shit….but I hope this at least helps anyone else who’s been feeling this way and just needs Dean there to help. Really not as angsty as I thought it was going to be but idc…it’s good enough for me…made me cry 

Originally posted by deangifsdaily

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I’m Here

Originally posted by yooingi

Jimin X Reader [Smut, angst, fluff(?)]

A/N: Hope you enjoy it. ( @yazziargudo since you’re so thirsty for Jimin.)

   On any other occasion you would be having an awesome time at this party. The music, the drinks, the energy flowing within you that it would make your body tingle. The people grinding against each other, making you want to join, everyones breathing as one, the smell of liquor escaping open mouths. Not tonight though. 

   The night had started out okay. You had gotten all dressed up in the sexy, tight, short red dress you had been holding on to for a special moment. And today certainly was something special. Today had marked the year anniversary for you and your boyfriend Anthony. You couldn’t say you loved him yet, but you definitely had strong feelings for him. Strong feelings that would make your cheeks heat up and your heart thump all the way to your ears, like someone banging on drums. You both had even made the big step to move in with each other, getting an apartment on the first floor of the most recommended place in town. 

   What had started to ruin the night though, was the way Anthony was constantly on his phone, not even acknowledging how sexy you were starting to look. You had decided to wear his favorite black choker on you, your black heels high enough to definitely get you some stares, and you had spent an immense amount of time on your make up that anyone would look at your face and would be unable to look away. You usually never went this far, and even when you would wear a simple skirt and blouse, his eyes would usually roam over your body in appreciation. The annoyance became too great when you ran your manicured hand across his shoulder, but he shrugged you off. ‘

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Fakiru Week Day 2: Accident

Fakiru Week 2015
Anastasia AU
“At the Beginning” by Richard Marx, feat. Donna Lewis

no one told me i was going to find you
unexpected, what you did to my heart

The gowns and dresses twirl across the ballroom like shimmering bells.  Princess Tutu always thinks that the people are so pretty while they dance, and maybe she’ll learn to be somewhat as elegant.  Someday.

But she doesn’t really pay that much attention tonight.  Not when Grandmama is visiting all the way from Kinkan Kingdom.

Goldkrone Castle is a sight to behold, a ball held in honor of Queen Edel’s visit to her son, her daughter-in-law, and her grandchildren.

Amidst the celebrations, Grandmama sits Tutu upon her lap and offers her a tiny, wind-up music box.  Inside, a porcelain ballerina spins en pointe with the simple tune, and the key is a little, red pendant with the words “Together in Kinkan” inscribed along the edges.  The pendant is placed around Tutu’s neck.

Tutu throws her arms around Grandmama and laughs, promising that she won’t drop any her gifts on accident this time.

Fakir isn’t one for parties, but he’s a curious sort of boy.  The music, the dancing—it’s a world that’s vast and unfamiliar.

And the princess is just as unreachable as everything else.  He sees her every so often when she sneaks into the kitchen for bread or accidentally spills the pot of fresh soup for the evening.  She’s precocious and fiery, yet sweet-natured and giving.  Trouble seems to follow her wherever she goes, but he thinks she has more personality than all her other siblings combined.

He watches from afar, knowing her without knowing her at all.

Neither the child-princess nor the kitchen boy understand why Goldkrone Castle is suddenly and violently under attack by vengeful Crows.  Neither know of the curse upon her family, or of a dark, sinister sorcerer who had given up his soul and his hands in the name of revenge.

Perhaps it’s by accident that Tutu leaves behind that precious ballerina music box in her bedroom.  Perhaps it’s all by chance that she and Grandmama are met in her chamber by a young, dark-haired servant boy.

He opens the passageway through the servants’ quarters, and pushes the princess and her grandmother through the doorway.

She drops her music box.  He shuts the door with finality.

The boy faces the Crows head-on, even as their swords slash across his small torso.

The rest is a blur.  A cold, snowy blur.  There is a man without hands who falls through the ice, Grandmama calling out to her and pulling her through the crowd, and a train that is simply too fast for her tiny legs.

Tutu’s hand slips from the Queen’s, and she falls and hits her head.

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Coming Down

A/N: So this is just a short drabble I wrote on lunch. I planned on writing on a scenario, but Halsey’s “Coming Down,” came on and I was hit instantly with inspo to write out this Zico drabble. I mean, the words fit him perfectlyI found the Devil. I found him in a lover. And his lips like tangerines. And his color coded speak.

Give it a listen its worth it!

Originally posted by ostrichyung

The compromises you made for each other seemed endless. At the top of the list you held the lead; late night phone calls that left you shifting hurriedly out of a deep slumber. Your mind on edge and wondering when the next call would be; when the next time you’d be hiding inside the dark recesses of a cab. Your eyes looking over the soft neon glow of decorated signs that lit up the late hour like night lights. Your footsteps echoing up your ascent as you hurried up to the sixth floor. How your knuckles tapped a melody of begging for entrance at his door until he opened it.

Sometimes he stood just beyond the cracks bare footed, long legs covered in grey sweats, with a bare chest. Other times he appeared hiding behind the shield the door provided just in boxers. Your entrance always played out the same. His hand snaking out to yours to pull you inside; an aggressive arm drawing you to his chest until his lips crashed onto yours like a wave coming to shore, stealing the air from your lungs.

Your hurried need to feel the other caused primal noises of need to escape between broken kisses and the fevered removal of clothes. Sighs of content painted into heated skin as your bodies connected together; two puzzle pieces finally completing a whole. Your first movements always sloppy and rushed until you both found an even pace as he pressed your back into the wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist and sliding along his when you were close to coming. Pillowy lips decorating your neck in soft kisses and small nips of teeth that left you praising his name until your bodies collapsed to the floor.

The heap of your two bodies sweaty and messy, but still connected. His hands roaming over your body in worship as wide eyes, heavy lidded with sex and desire, gazed up at you while you rode him. Your hands resting on his thighs as you arched back until you found just the right angle that left your legs trembling. His lazy hand tracing the skin of your stomach, and under your breasts, until they cupped it.

Originally posted by capturethekiss

You were never one for religion, but you swore you found it in his demons. In the light glow of early morning and the backdrop of a city waking up. Your body twisted between sheets that only covered to your waist as his fingers drew figures that faded when your back arched against the sheets, hands gripping his hair, with his head buried between your thighs.

Your talks were small and nonexistent. The words of what you wanted to say clinging heavy to your tongue like the alcohol you shared on certain nights when his demons flared up and he was unable to voice them. Your company enough for him to work them out in the grip he held against your hips.

The minute the morning seemed to bright was your signal to leave. Always watching in silence as you acquired all your clothes and slipped them back on against your body, hiding every new mark he’d left. He always walked you to the door; pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek in farewell. A part of you wishing you could demand no more, but you knew when night fell, and when he called again, you would be the fool and return.

Originally posted by jaebugs

Teen Spirit

haha get it the title is a fuCKING PUN

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Pairings: Danny Fenton/Vlad Masters (teen!au)

Rating: Teen *shrug*

Warnings: Danny and Vlad fight each other so like, blood?

Summary:  There’s an ache in Danny’s chest that only goes away when he gets into fights with that Masters kid. He doesn’t ever want to know why.

AO3 Link // Part 2

Part 1: High School Never Ends

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[  love in the dark. ]

A/N: So. I have never written smut before. This was an ordeal. I am blushing furiously like a great ninny and every ounce of blame sits on @killians-dimples‘ shoulders. “Just do it, Ann.” “I write one, you write one, Ann.” “Blah blah blah insert peer pressure here, Ann.”

So here it is, whatever it is. It’s a kind-of-not-really answer to her smutlet here that spiraled out of control because I listened to far too much Adele while writing it. Killian once preferred taking Emma with the lights on, but things are different now. Everything is different now.

(But seriously, go listen to Adele’s ‘I Miss You’. Just fuck me up.)

+ + + +

Now that they are both here in the darkness, consumed with the wicked electricity that sparks through their veins–that sparks between them when they touch–Emma almost welcomes it.

With him she can be raw and unleashed; she can be sharp and greedy. She trusts him with that part of herself, Dark One to Dark One, welcoming that part of him in return. Even as guilt whispers through the deep recesses of her mind, guilt for unleashing this in him—in them both—he’s there, rolling her underneath him and taking her mouth with bruising kisses, whiskers leaving burn marks with the ferocity of his movements. Fire ignites deep in her belly, a burning flash spreading like wildfire, and it’s all she can do to press closer, to pull him into the flames with her.

With a flick of his hand, the room plunges into darkness.

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anonymous asked:

Adoribull Prompt Sunday: Dorian thinks that Bull is with the Inquisitor (or Krem. Or anyone else) and that's why he keeps turning him down.

Oh my, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am incapable of writing a short prompt…so here you go Nonny.  I hope you enjoy!

“That’s right.  These big muscled hands could tear those robes off while you struggled, helpless in my grip.  I’d pin you down, and as you gripped my horns, I would conquer you.”


“Oh.  Is that not where we’re going?”

“No.  It was very much not.” Dorian hissed.  Oh yes it was, his mind helpfully provided as he stomped away from Bull, toward the ridgeline where Evie and Varric were currently looking for the best route down to the desert floor.  

Which had to make him the biggest asshole alive.  Not only because Bull, while perhaps not the biggest flirt Dorian had ever met, was certainly the most blatant about it.  And Dorian had been dismayed when he finally realized that he not only liked it, he loved it.  Every single inappropriate word uttered in that deep, rumbling voice that belonged to the lover of his best friend.

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hale-hound-tw  asked:

Hey I was wondering if you had any fics where Derek or Stiles is some type of poet ?? Please & Thank you! I love your blog ! <3

(we have a poet!derek tag)


You and I by musketrois (B_kate) (1/1 | 1,329 | PG13)

They said opposites attract and, in the case of Stiles and Derek, it was comically untrue.


If you asked me if I love him, I’d lie by dereksstilinski (greyslittlediaries) (18/18 | 37,305 | NC17)

Derek has already typed the entire report out and even got all of the stuff prepared for the poster that Stiles and him will have to present. Derek found that he actually didn’t mind doing all the work when it was Stiles he was doing it for, but he wasn’t going to let Stiles get away completely. He was going to get Stiles to come over and help with the poster, so help him god.

Breathe On, Like A Fool by TheSaintRyan (1/1 | 7,043 | R)

“Once outside Stiles shouts to the teens, “Listen up losers! I talked to my dad and he officially invited you all to our house for Christmas. So you’re coming.” Stiles turns, his dark, fuzzy head retreating for a few paces before he stops and faces Derek intently. “That includes you Big Bad,” he chuckles, “no excuses.””

Ain’t All About that Angst, Angst, Angst by containyourselfladdie (1/1 | 368 | G)

“Derek sometimes, in the deep, deep, darkest of dark recesses of his mind, wrote poetry.

Angsty poetry.”


Insomnia plagued Ivan’s sleep deprived mind more often than not. To a nation, a rather strong one at that, the lack of sleep wouldn’t kill, but after centuries of losing sleep to the dark recesses of his own mind and memories he shoved away in an attempt to forget,Ivan had fallen victim to the chill and frostbite embedded deep into his bones. He’d lay awake for hours, heart pounded from nightmares that resembled his past much too closely for his liking, his hair in tangles and his eyes still dry from tears he could never shed. He lost his sense of safety in his own bed, although he had truly lost that feeling long ago. He felt so very cold in the dead of night, willing the sun to rise over the horizon and perhaps melt the cold feeling away, although, it never had before. Some night seemed longer than others and it was those nights when Ivan wondered if the sun would ever rise again.

In the dead of night, Ivan woke with a jolt.  His violent trembles were barely enough to wake the other occupant sharing his bed. For a moment, Ivan believed he was the young child in his dreams, his memories from the days when foreign men invaded his land and foreign hands roamed his scared skin. He blinked and slowly began to realize where he truly was. “Fredka?”

His eyes had just adjusted to the dark as he rolled over to face beloved. His eyes traveled over Alfred’s face in the moonlight. Without his glasses blocking his eyes, Ivan realized just how young Alfred really was. Ivan gnawed on his bottom lip, unsure if he should wake the younger nation, or let him sleep. He mimicked the even pace of Alfred’s breath with his own and slowly, but surely, calmed his racing heart.

Ivan doubted his ability to fall back into a peaceful slumber. He continued to watch Alfred with half lidded eyes. Sharing a bed was as intimate as they had gotten as a couple and Ivan didn’t fight it. He understood Alfred’s wish to take this slow. They had been set back so far in their relationship after the Cold War. Ivan had questioned why he had ever allowed himself to see the sun in Alfred’s smile and the bluest skies in his eyes. Everyone had already hated him, despised him, and feared him. He had never felt so loved. He had always known Alfred would leave like the rest. Some nights, he’d watch the other sleep, feeling the ghost of his breath against his skin, attempting to assure himself that Alfred was really there and he had hadn’t left long ago, leaving him with just his imagination. He’d fight the urge to touch his skin and would always lose. Once he could feel him there, he could finally put his mind to rest. Yes, Alfred was really there.

Delicately, Ivan’s fingers trailed over Alfred’s exposed hand and wrist. Ivan’s eyes gazed along Alfred’s jaw and his relaxed expression. Nothing could touch Alfred in his dreams. Ivan envied him.

Ivan’s calloused and scared fingers touched Alfred’s unblemished cheek and jaw line. He was truly beautiful, Ivan thought. Ivan could hardly believe someone like Alfred could dare love someone so cold, monstrous, and ugly as him. It was then that Alfred’s eyes fluttered open and slowly met with Ivan’s. Ivan stilled and barely breathed. “I did not mean to wake you,”

“Mhm, it’s cool,” Alfred muttered and sucked in a deep breath through his nose and turning to stretch his tensing shoulders. As he began to wake, Alfred looked up and realized the tense discomfort on Ivan’s face. “What’s the matter? Why are you awake?” He resisted the urge to add ‘again’ to his question, but Alfred knew better then to upset the other. He would never get an answer out of him that way.

“N-No… I am fine,”

Alfred gave Ivan a tired smile and enclosed the hand that had previously stroked his cheek within his own . “You didn’t answer my question, big guy,”

A long moment of silence later, Ivan whispered one word into the darkness, “…Nightmare,”

“It’s okay,” Alfred said, inching closer to the larger man. Alfred let go of Ivan’s hand and slowly reached over to touch the scarf around Ivan’s neck.

“нет,” Ivan said hesitantly as Alfred’s fingers reached under the scarf and pulled the fabric away.

“It’s alright,” Alfred said when he felt Ivan tense under his fingers. He softly stroked the scars under the white bandages. He had seen them before, discolored, bubbly, criss-crossing across the older man’s neck from years of abuse and torture that Alfred couldn’t even begin to understand. He knew one thing for sure, Ivan hated his scars and he only let Alfred touch them. “You’re alright,” he whispered again and kissed Ivan’s scared jaw line, “I love you, you know that?”

“Even…” Ivan’s voice trembled, “Even with these scars?” Oh, how disgusting he must look. The scars were everywhere. He desperately clung to Alfred’s words however, taking them as truth. How could he not? He had longed for those words for centuries.

“Of course,” Alfred smiled and continued to stroke the scars with his thumb in a rhythmic pattern to sooth whatever ache was plaguing them, keeping Ivan awake and terrifying him in his dreams. “I love every bit of you,” Alfred quietly wiped a tear from Ivan’s cheek. Alfred frowned, “I’m sorry. Should I not have touched the scars? I thought they were hurting you again,”

“нет, no, you…” Ivan blinked away the remaining tears and brought Alfred’s hand back to his neck. “You can touch them… It… It is soothing,” he whispered. He closed his eyes and let Alfred trail his thumb over each scar as the ache slowly left him. Alfred’s smile was like the sun, but his touch was warm light sunbeams. Maybe the sun would rise again, but if it didn’t, Alfred would be there to melt the pain away and that was all that mattered.