#/and have fun with spinning things so its not just flat and small replies that look like theres no heart put into them (imo from my own)

[eggsmuses-a]

/genuinely everyone should at least write purple prose if you want bc its FUN even if it only makes sense with comparisons/patterns in your own head. this is a hobby you should just go crazy

[alwritey-aphrodite]

steven grant and pumpkins? i’m so excited for october now

2023 Fall Blurbs

As much as you loved your cozy, little flat, sometimes it felt a little too small and cramped for your liking. It was difficult to have people over and to cook in the small kitchen and deep cleaning was almost impossible with how little space you had to move things around. Still, you loved it, and you’d never consider moving.

Not even when Steven brings home pumpkins that take up most of your kitchen and dining area.

“What’re those for?” You ask, pausing your dish washing to watch him struggle through the door with the pumpkins.

“Halloween,” he answers with a smile, clearly pleased with his little joke, “thought it might be fun to carve them, yeah?” And while you didn’t disagree, even the logistics of carving the pumpkins, let alone displaying them, made your head spin.

Still, Steven was never to be deterred from a plan once he set his mind to it, and he spent the rest of the afternoon setting up the pumpkins and finding carving supplies and newspapers he was willing to part with to catch all the gunk that comes out of the inside of the pumpkins. Really, the pumpkins are almost perfect, round and large and bright orange, and you can’t help but wonder if Steven just found them or if he went searching for the most perfect pumpkins to bring home.

Either way, the carving extravaganza begins after dinner, which you ate on the couch because the pumpkins were taking up the entirety of the table. Using a large knife that was definitely too expensive to be used on giant pumpkins, Steven cuts the top off the plants before the two of you get to work scooping out the guts.

As you clean out the pumpkins, scooping out seeds and guts and sending them falling with a splat onto the newspapers you’ve laid out, you talk about all your favorite fall memories, your best costumes and favorite treats and movies. Steven’s are, of course, from more recent years, and most of them feature you, but he loves to listen to you recount your childhood tales of trick or treating and trading candy and eating yourself sick.

It makes the time go by faster, and before you know it, the pumpkins are ready for carving. You decide to just wing it, taking one of the knives and jabbing it through the thick skin of your pumpkin, while Steven takes his time to sketch out his design just the way he envisions it. You keep yours a surprise, turning the pumpkin this way and that to keep Steven from catching a glance.

Once the two of you are done, hands sore and cheeks hurting from laughing at each other’s struggles, you light small candles to place inside, and then you reveal your designs to each other.

“What is that supposed to be, love?” Steven asks through barely contained laughter, glancing between your pumpkin and his, with its perfectly drawn and carved cat.

“It’s a spooky pumpkin face,” you reply as if it’s obvious, “the triangles are the eyes and the square is the nose and the circle is the mouth because he’s yelling.”

With your explanation, Steven only laughs harder, picking up his pumpkin to display in the window sill and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

[venuscribble]

No open cars, no open bars — Kim Namjoon

A/N: Hello again! Sorry I will do everything but follow the laws of grammar in my writing, I'm working on it... Grammarly hates my guts. Anyways, please do enjoy!

Summary: Joon takes his most favourite person to his most favourite spot in Seoul. He even gains a new friend on the way, too.

Fluff, hints of idol!Joon, gender neutral reader, bullying in a very romantic and charming way

It feels like I’ve lived for this little moment

On the two wheels, everything is just a trivial daydream

“Nearly there!” calls out Namjoon, riding ahead of you with his navy denim jacket billowing slightly behind, spanning out to meet the push of the wind like the wings of a dove. As the same gust pushes itself through your hair and makes waste to the careful styling you had applied to it, you can't help but realise it doesn't treat you half as nice as it does to the man before you. The gentle breeze makes his every movement elegant as he peddles along, head turning side to side to make sure every inch of the scenery around him is taken in. Intently, Namjoon soaks every little detail of his ride up and leaves nothing to be ignored. There’s not a single thing his pensive mind cannot see the beauty in, as his legs continue their steady push of the pedals below him. Nothing is minute, and to Namjoon, everything has its unique charm. It makes perfect sense for Namjoon to demand that the physical embodiment of everything he loves most about biking should accompany him on his next excursion. Despite your feeble argument against it, you knew how much accompanying Joon meant to him, a signal of trust and love which such a small gesture revealed to you. “It’ll be absolutely perfect,” he gushed as you agreed. “My baby and my bike. My two favourite things.”

You’ll do almost anything to see the bright beam of a smile Joon emits when he hears any good news. Even, it seems, deal with the gradual pain in your calves as you carry on peddling your bike along the smooth concrete path. Casting your gaze around, you understand with full clarity why Joon comes here to think - the world around you feels nothing less than idyllic. With the golden light of the sun meeting the greenery on either side of the road which you and your partner now inhabit, it feels like nothing of the cold concrete world you’re used to. Saturated and delicate, the air of perfectness is almost confusing in a sense of unfamiliarity to you. Even the daisies along the path's edge which greet you with a bow as the wind hits them feels closer to a Ghibli movie than your admittedly average life. It feels so unlike bustling Seoul, unlike unforgiving earth, unlike any dimension you could conjure up. This moment between you and Namjoon is so intimate that you conclude the space belongs to both of you and you two only. Only yours and Joon’s reality to feel the sunlight warming your cheeks and to think back on in future days.

“You look so peaceful.” You call out to Joon, hoping your voice carries through the whirring of your wheels and your backpack which audibly jiggles under your peddling. Namjoon smiles to himself, head ducking slightly in bashfulness. Accepting compliments from such a deity as yourself…he knows that will never be his forte. Alas, something his high IQ falters at - the praise of his loved one. He doesn't have a moment to string a reply together when along the path ahead he spots something that has him squeezing his brakes.

“Ah, check it out!” He exclaims happily, dismounting his bike as you brake to find...a traffic mirror? As you settle your own bike out the way to walk to your boyfriend, your head comes to rest on his shoulder from behind, looking up to the circular shape. It gives off an almost fish eye effect, the sky which is gaining an orange hue curving around your interlocked figures. A strong arm moves to hook around your waist, as Joon pulls you into his side. Seizing the opportunity to finally have you close once again, his lips plant a small kiss atop your head.

You give a small puff of a laugh. “Yknow, stopping to look at your reflection is a little vain.”

“Stopping to look at our reflections,” Joon jokes with a soft squeeze to your hip. “Me and my love.”

Your head turns to find where Joon had left his bike - of course, rather half-hazzardly abandoned in the middle of the path.

“You just left your love in the middle of the road.”

Namjoon can only let out a long and disapproving aish at your joke, releasing the hand on your waist only to engulf you in a gentle hug. Your head rests against his chest, finding solace in the familiar deep scent of his cologne. His arms wrap around your frame and rest on your hips, chin resting atop your head as he begins to rock your bodies side to side.

“Stop that.” He whines, rather than scolds. “You know I’d choose you above anything alllll day. Even if it was some kinda super cool mountain bike with an engine built in so I don't have to pedal. I’m still choosing you, okay?”

“Even above a super cool bike with engines?” you pout up at his face. He’s starry-eyed staring down at you, love pouring out of his gaze.

“Even then, and always.”

Content, you allow yourself to settle back into the comfort of his chest. What a sight, you wonder. Two lovers swaying to a melody no one can hear. You hear some chatter in the distance which only becomes a murmur once your senses tune to the soft rise and fall of Joon’s chest. His eyes smile down at you until flicking up to the mirror once more, and the sight of your frame resting upon his as the sunset casts a golden beam over you makes something tug at his heart. "Why me", he puzzles. Why him of all men in this lifetime, granted a gift so precious as yourself. He closes his eyes. His mind spirals into self-reflection. Why should Joon be the sole person granted such a harmonious moment as the one happening in front of his very eyes? What makes him so lucky? He doesn't have too long to analyse what karma he has, as he feels two paws plant themselves above his knee.

“Yeong-Won! We don’t jump at strangers!” ashamedly orders a woman as you turn your head and deduce to be in her mid-30s, whilst she and another older lady pry the golden retriever from hopping up your boyfriend’s leg. Not that Namjoon would care at all. Joon loves animals, and your many days having him give Moni just a few more kisses than you can attest to that.

“Hey, buddy!” coos Joon as he bends to meet the dog’s level. It’s slightly more grown than a puppy yet reaches to kiss Joon’s face with ease as he sinks to greet the boisterous dog. He rakes a hand over its head, running through its golden fur and ruffling his slightly floppy ears. “Nice to meet you, Yeong-wonie. What a handsome boy, eh?”

“He never does this to strangers,” offers the older of the two women to you. “Looks like he needed to say hello!”

You smile in return, shaking your head as Joon and the dog carry on playing as if the world around them has dissolved away. “What a lovely dog, he’s adorable!” You giggle. Joon rises to stand once again, not without ruffling the golden fur one last time.

“So sorry about that, again.” The younger woman adds as her eyes seem to pause on Joon’s face. Not something you're entirely foreign to.

“Wow, I feel like I recognise your face, mister. Dayeon-ah, doesn't the nice man seem familiar?”

The elder, now identified as Dayeon in your mind, furrows her eyebrows together as she thinks. Namjoon all but turns red.

“Ah, my mother tells me I have ‘one of those faces' all the time. It was nice to meet you! See ya, Yeong-wonie!”

After a quick goodbye, you both share an embarrassed laugh together and settle to resume biking once more. The sunset is in full swing now, casting shades of neon pink and blood orange against the cloudless sky like lazy brushstrokes of colour overlapping.

As Joon promised, it only takes a quick 2 minutes of peddling until you rear a corner and the greenery which followed your left side on the path is replaced by the apricot shade of the Han River. The sight makes your stomach stir - it's like nothing you could ever imagine. The setting sun reflects so perfectly, an oil painting brought to life in front of your eyes. You know Joon meets your level of adoration as the wind carries the sound of his small “Wah, so pretty” to you. Joon, your self-proclaimed bike guide during this trip, guides you along the path beside the river further, the atmosphere tranquil with the sounds of birds chirping and your wheels spinning.

“We’re here, babe.” Joon announces, once again dismounting his bike and prompting you to follow, resting your bike beside his. He is, of course, your guide. Your personal guide pauses to stop at a flat square of concrete just aside from the main path, facing the river which grows more and more picturesque by the minute. Your perfect picnic spot, you realise, pulling the backpack off your body and spreading the soft brown blanket kept inside. Joon gives a soft sigh as his body all but collapses down onto the square. The man is uber-fit, almost shockingly buff these days, yet he groans groggily after your short ride.

“Someone tired?” you tease. “Maybe you should be hitting the gym some more than you already are.”

“You're so mean to me. I bring my favourite spot and you make fun of me like this.” Huffs Joon, leaning back with his hands behind him supporting his body. “You’re lucky I love you as much as I do,” he adds with a small laugh.

“I know,” you reply, rapidly. You know you are, you might just be the luckiest person on earth. The one feeling the warmth of Joon’s unconditional love and companionship every single day. You feel like the moon and Joon is the earth itself, only you are blessed to be in his orbit despite the unfathomable size of the universe and countless other people living as you are.

“Hey, you know I'm kidding, babe.” Joon softly argues, hand running through your hair, ruffling it slightly. A blush creeps up to warm your cheeks, nuzzling into the large hand currently entwining it’s fingers into your hair. After a slight pause to collect his thoughts, Namjoon’s voice becomes more gentle as he replies, “Having you...it's like having this one treasure no one else can find. Like, I dunno. Like everything good you’ve done in life is being repaid to you. Does that make any sense?”

“Of course it makes sense, babe.” Your hand pries the one resting on your head to lock your fingers together, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “You feel like that to me, too. I promise. You feel like everything good.” You take a quick look around your surroundings. You catch Joon’s eyes locking onto yours, gazing adoringly at you as if some sort of heavenly body had taken form, moulding into you. “You feel like the sunset and the trees... The wind, the flowers, all of it. You feel like nature to me, Joonie. Just tranquil and loving,” you turn to meet his eyes, “always so loving.”

“Ah, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Didn’t think taking you on my ride would make me so…”

“Gross?” you intercut with a smirk.

“Emotional, Y/N. But, this is the most romantic place in Seoul, I suppose. Doesn't help that I'm here with my angel. It’s human nature to be all soppy.”

You shuffle down to rest your head on Joon’s thigh, the extra bulk recently gained there making for an excellent makeshift pillow. He looks down at you with a tender smile which makes your most favourite pair of dimples on earth take form.

“I’m just waiting for someone to pop out that bush and say ‘Hey, got ya! Look at you being all mushy!’” you joke, the laugh it emits from Joon slightly rocking his thigh and your head in return.

“It’d probably be Jin-Hyung. I would go investigate myself if he didn’t have a schedule after we left. Still, not that I think anyone else can be trusted.” He huffs.

“Mm, definitely not.” you agree, nuzzling slightly into his thigh below you.

“I could stay here forever,” Joon begins after a tranquil minute, “just frozen in this moment.”

You want nothing more than for that to happen. For the laws of time to grant you this never-ending memory, to encapsulate it forever and never again worry about the minutes passing you by.

Joon’s lips press another soft kiss upon your head, lingering there for a while, basking in your warmth and the smell of his favourite green apple shampoo you keep using. Above you the sun gives its last fleeting moments of illumination, sinking to be doused in the Han River. He stays there, engulfed in bliss for a short second, nothing worrying him on Earth. That is, until his eyes widen and his head whips from atop yours to rapidly look at your puzzled face.

“How’re we getting home?” He all but exclaims. He’s right, you're both clearly slumped and what little sunlight that is left quickly fades. You think for a second, then, nothing.

“Shit!”

[dasdast]

will you be my boyfriend george henry davidson?

georgenotfound x male reader

oneshot

fluff!

who wouldve know how flirty jokes would be more than just jokes in a matter of time, not george!

(name) and George are both very oblivious that they crushed on each other. George was shy, not know for confrontation while (name) liked meeting new people. One of the qualities of being (name) is that he was smooth. He’d throw in a few flirty “jokes” at the Brit, but in the end they’d both laugh it off, leaving (name) a bit disappointed if it didn’t get at least one reaction from George. On the other hand, George although being known for being secluded, knew how to keep his emotions intact from ever breaking. He would scream himself internally every time (name) would make a flirty joke regarding him, laughing it off, but just like (name), feeling disappointed that those flirty jokes were nothing more than just jokes.

Just jokes?

(name) and George were both at the rocky beaches of Brighton. The sun was just about to set, perfect weather for a proposal, and much much more. (name) had invited George out because he’d needed a break from studying and taking his final exams. Very stressful for a senior college student. (name) would always bring up how lucky George was on that he had one more year till he needed to do all these stressful preparations, George was a 3rd year, junior in college.

“Ay George?” (name) wanted to pull another one of his flirty tricks again.

“Yes?” George turned.

“Let’s go swimming, right now.” (name) smirked.

“No- No way. It’s cold and we don’t have a change of clothes.”

“Aw c’mon! It’ll be fun!”

“No.”

(name) sighed. He acted fast and felt the hands of his crush repeatedly beating his back, telling him to put him down. He ran across the rocky floors and in the process loosened up his and his friend’s shoes and even socks, getting ready to jump into the beach in his euphoric state.

“Ready?!” (name) exclaimed.

“Wait no (name)!-“

Before George could say anything else, he felt his body and head submerged into water. He clung onto (name), due to the fact he didn’t know how to swim, that also being one of the reasons he didn’t want to swim.

(name) also held onto George tight and swam further into the water. (name) was getting cold, but his state made him completely forget that feeling, radiating heat off of him.

“Woo!” (name) laughed and splashed.

He continued laughing, but stopped when he didn’t hear George reply back. Their positions only slightly changed. Instead of George being on the shoulders of (name), he was now at his front, holding him and his clothing tightly and his head laying on his shoulders instead. (name) still having one arm onto the Brit felt the shivers going down his spine. Not shivers of coldness, but shivers of fear. That’s when (name) realized what was going on, George had a fear of deep bodies of water.

“Hey man I-I had no idea y-you were actually..” (name) stuttered, now feeling the effects of the cold.

George didn’t reply, just kept on holding tight.

“I-I’m sorry George..” (name) replied.

He took his other hand and fully supported the Brit’s body, heading back onto the shore of rocks. George was able to stand properly. (name) pulled him to a part of the rocks, water dripping down their clothes and just sat.

(name) took of his top, squeezing it out of a water and layer it flat next to him. (name) hoped George would do the same to avoid any cases of hypothermia, but all he saw was the boy knees up and head on the sockets, shivering as well. (name) didn’t want to violate him, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to move because of the shock.

(name) scooter over, reaching for the ends of his friend’s shirt and quickly pulling it up.

“W-What the fuck are you-“ George exclaimed, trying to stop whatever was happening.

“You’re cold, you’re just gonna get colder with a wet shirt on you know.”

George scoffed at him, letting his arms be pulled up, remaining shirtless.

(name) squeezed the water out of George’s shirt, the same movements he did for his, and layed it flat right next to the shivering boy.

“Look.. I’m sorry.. You said to put you down and I didn’t and I just forcefully dragged you in the water without thinking if you had any bad memories with it..”

George didn’t reply, just continued staring at the sea, and the sun coming down the shore.

The mood was terrible.

“Hey, you know you’re pretty cute shirtless right?” (name) trying to see if a flirty comment would brighten him up.

George continued staring at the beach, unfazed.

He was still shivering.

(name) got up, walked behind him, sat down, and embraced him.

“W-What the fuck-“

“You’re cold.” (name) replied, still holding tight while George tried pushing his arms away.

“Fuck off leave me alone-“

“No.”

“MOVE!” George exclaimed.

They were silent, only hearing the crowd fly and the water moving.

“I’m-“ Before (name) could say anything, George stood up.

“Just stop, stop. Stop apologizing, stop getting close to me, j-just.. just stop!”

George started walking away, but (name) held one of his arms before he could fully walk away.

“Let go!”

“I-I don’t understand.. where is this-“ (name) was a bit shaken at the events that just happened, but was cut off before he could finish his sentence.

“Coming from? Where is this coming from were you gonna ask?!”

“I’m so tired of your bullshit (name).”

Man oh man was (name) about to tear up.

“You’re so fucking annoying, you’re so fucking.. ugh let go!”

George forced his arm out of (name)’s grasp, walking away again but being stopped because of his other arm being held onto.

“Wait please-“

“Get away from me!”

“Wait please.. please don’t go..” (name) as George tried pulling away from his grasp.

“W-What did I do wrong..?” Feeling tear spike his right eye.

George saw this.

“You..” George looked to his side, stopped his tries at trying to pull away from you.

“You keep pushing me, just keep on pushing me.. You always say these jokes, these jokes that I wish were real, these jokes that I wish didn’t make me feel things for you..! It hurts.. And you keep on playing with me every single time, every single thing you say about me starts to hurt, a lot..”

(name) let go.

“And it hurts because.. I know it isn’t true. In my mind I keep wishing for it to be.. For you to actually having feelings for me, for you to actually think my hair looks cute when it’s messy, thinking that baggy clothes make me look adorable, thinking I’m actually attractive, thinking that.. I’m attractive.. to you...”

The stayed silent.

“I.. I-I should go..” George said.

He went back to where you both sat, picking up his damp shirt, and heading over to where you had tossed his socks and shoes.

Before he could put on his socks, he felt someone against his back.

(name) had embraced him.

“I love you.”

George’s body frozen from the words that he had just heard.

“I fucking love you.”

George started to get mad again.

“Shut the fuck up!-“

(name) let go of his embrace.

“I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU GEORGE HENRY DAVIDSON!” (name) you yelled out just loud enough for people to start looking.

“(name) what are you!-“

“I LOVE THE WAY YOUR HAIR LOOKS WHEN ITS MESSED UP, I LOVE HOW ADORABLE YOU LOOK IN BAGGY CLOTHES, I LOVE HOW EVERYTIME YOU TAKE OFF YOUR HEADPHONES THEY LEAVE A SMALL MARK ON YOUR EARS, I LOVE HOW YOU ALWAYS LOOK AWAY WHEN I TELL YOU YOU’RE CUTE! I LOVE YOU AND EVERY SINGLE THING YOU DO!”

(name) took one last deep breath.

“GEORGE HENRY DAVIDSON! WILL YOU BE MY BOYFRIEND!”

You heard people gasping and cameras recording you, but you didn’t care, you were saying all this to prove to George that this isn’t just some cruel joke, this is your true feelings.

On the other side, George was stunned. He felt every single part of his body about to pop off and fly all over the whole world. He felt like a microwave when you accidentally forgot that you left tin foil inside when turning it on and it explodes.

“Say yes!” You both heard a random person say.

You took deep breaths as you waited for George’s answer.

George walked up to you, dropped the two socks he was holding in his two hands, and held you close.

“Yes I will be your boyfriend, will you shut up now?” He whispered to your ear.

You felt ecstatic, happy, no more than happy, overjoyed. You were the luckiest person alive right now.

You picked up George and swung him around, not minding the small rocks under you slightly puncturing your foot.

“HES MY BOYFRIEND NOW EVERYONE!! HE SAID YES!!” You exclaimed gleefully as you held George tight, still spinning.

You giggled left and right while hearing the protests from George to let him down. People clapped at you both.

You stopped after feeling a bit dizzy.

“George.”

“(name).”

“Would you mind me trying something?” You smirked.

George knew what was about to happen. He closed his eyes, ready for you.

You tilted him down a bit, bending down a bit, and kissed him.

You let go after a quick minute of holding that touch and stood him straight.

“God I must be the luckiest person in the whole entire galaxy to be dating George Henry Davidson.” You smiled as you embraced him once again.

“Oh will you shut up already..”

George wasn’t gonna let anyone know, especially not you, but he really didn’t want you to shut up.

George would disagree at your statement, because right now, HE was the luckiest person in the whole entire galaxy to have you by his side.

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Movie Night, Pillow Fight [Version 2]

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC/BatFam - Jason Todd/Red Hood

Rating: PG-13/T (maybe pushing M? but there’s still nothing super explicit. this is just a lot dirtier than I usually write holy cannoli. Heavy kissing, a little bit of suggestive dialogue and narration, minor swearing?)

Original Idea: This (V1 follows this idea a lot more than this one, which I spun off of about halfway through and did my own thing)

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) I didn’t think this would be as long as Version 1. I was wrong. This one is ~200 words longer, at 3,491. Version 1 here. They start the exact same but change about halfway through. I wrote both of these two over the course of 1 day by the way, and refuse to pick a favorite. @welovegroot @jason-redhood @jason-todd-squad

^^^^^

“No, Bruce,” Jason said sharply into his phone as he grabbed his motorcycle helmet. “I’ve already told you a hundred times: Tuesdays are my day off. Unless it’s a Court-of-Owls-attacking-All-Hands-On-Deck emergency, I’m not going on patrol. I’m allowed one night off per week. And I have plans. It’s weekly movie night with a friend of mine. We’ve been doing movie night since college and I refuse to disappoint her. You know why I chose Tuesdays? Because Gotham’s crime rate is lowest. You’ll be fine without me.” He hung up before Bruce could reply.

—

I opened the door. “You’re late,” I said.

“Yeah. I had to go to two different stores to find your popcorn because they were out at the first one,” Jason replied, letting himself in and dropping his motorcycle helmet on my couch. “Let me go change into my sweats.” He pulled his grey sweatpants out of his backpack, two microwave popcorn bags falling out.

I grabbed them. “Thanks Jay,” I said playfully.

He gave me a brief hug before stepping past me to my bathroom. “The things I do for you,” he teased with a sigh.

“Get out of those jeans. You know they aren’t allowed,” I retorted before going over to the microwave. My bathroom door shut loudly. I boosted myself onto the counter and watched the popcorn spin in the microwave.

By the time Jason emerged from the bathroom, only one bag was done. He leaned against the counter next to me, arms folded, and joined my staring.

“So what movie did you bring?” I asked. “You said in your text it was one of your favorites.”

He beamed at me. “Well, my friend, we are watching the very first ever made Frankenstein. From nineteen-thirty-one.” He fixed me with a stare as my shoulders slouched. “Don’t you start moaning in complaint. You put me through watching that awful musical last week—”

“Excuse you, Phantom of the Opera is also a classic.”

“It’s basic.”

“You’re basic.”

“Maybe so, but after going through that ordeal, you promised we could watch one of my favorites. I managed not to fall asleep last week, so it’s my turn.” He stuck his tongue out at me, then shook his head. “I really need to refine your taste in theatre. Remind me to convince Bruce to give me his season tickets to the real opera. He never uses them anyway. Doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

Given Bruce’s parents were shot after leaving the opera, I imagined there was some childhood trauma there. I didn’t bring it up with Jason. We didn’t talk about family besides passing comments on movie nights.

When the second bag of popcorn was finished popping and put in its own large bowl—I had quite the collection of popcorn bowls, usually given to me—we went to my room.

Ever since we’d graduated college—two years ago—we’d had movie night in my bed, rather than on the couch, like we’d done in my dorm. The bed was comfier and gave us more room to spread out. I can’t even remember who suggested it, but it was probably me one week when I was sick or something and we’d just stayed that way ever since.

I’d always hosted too. In college it was because my roommate was never there, and now Jason just liked the escape from his family. They didn’t know where I lived, so the one time he hosted and they interrupted by coming over, he and I agreed we’d just have it at my place. I liked his brothers and sister well enough, but they’d ruined that movie night. I doubted Wayne Manor movie nights ever involved any movies no one had seen before—because everyone talked and yelled at each other too much to actually pay attention to the movie.

Jason put the DVD in the player in my room. “Prepare to be wowed,” he said.

“I’m prepared, trust me,” I replied flatly.

—

“Heeey,” Jason’s voice said softly. “Wake up, doofus.”

I blinked my eyes open blearily. “Wha…?”

He started chuckling. “You fell asleep about halfway through.”

“Duh. It was boring. What did you expect for a casual movie fan from this century watching something from nineteen-thirty-one?”

“Well, all that means is that we get to rewatch it—from the beginning—next week!” Jason declared. I frowned. “Don’t you pout at me. Those have been the official movie night rules since our freshman year of college.”

“That’s not true,” I said, pulling out my phone. I dug deep into the Google Docs on my phone for Movie Night Rules from our freshman year of college. Six years was a long way to scroll through, but eventually I found it. I opened the doc and scanned the rules. “Oh, buzz off,” I muttered, poking Jason in the side.

“No poking!” He lurched away. Jason was selectively ticklish. Sometimes I would poke him in the side and he’d jump, other times he wouldn’t even notice I touched him. And he swapped between the two randomly.

“Why didn’t you wake me up like two minutes after I fell asleep?”

Jason pursed his lips, trying not to smile. “I thought about it. But you looked so cute—” He pinched my cheek and I was reminded of the fact that he had the personality traits of an eighty-year-old grandmother. “—with your hair all messy and your cheeks all squished that I just couldn’t.” He laughed as I batted his hand away from my face. I poked him again. “No poking!”

“Then don’t tease.”

“I have a right to tease you. Look at my shirt! You drooled all over it.”

I grabbed the hem of it and pulled it up. “Let me throw it in the wash, then.”

I expected him to smack my hand away and shove the shirt back down over his torso, but to my surprise, he helped me take it off. I’d seen him shirtless too many times to bother staring at his remarkably muscular torso. I just climbed out of my bed and went to the small closet out in the hall that held my tiny washer and dryer. I threw his shirt in the washer, dumped a bit of detergent in, and got it started before going back to my room.

“Take that off! You’ll stretch it out!” I snapped.

Jason struggled to get one of my—much smaller—T-shirts from college off. I scoffed and helped him yank it over his head before throwing one my pajama shirts at him. I wore my dad’s old T-shirts to sleep in, so it was even big on Jason. “You could have just asked for a replacement and I’d have handed you this.”

“That’s not as fun as surprising you,” he joked.

I rolled my eyes and perched back on the bed. “Fine. Next week, we rewatch Frankenstein. I won’t fall asleep. But you’re bringing snacks again.”

“Of course.”

“And don’t forget the popcorn.”

“Doofus, if I forgot the popcorn, you wouldn’t let me through the door.”

I snickered. “True enough.”

Jason leaned over to set his popcorn bowl on the bedside table closest to him. “Maybe next week we should try this on the couch. I always feel bad about getting popcorn on your sheets—and then you won’t be so comfortable that you fall asleep.”

I grabbed a pillow and whacked him in the chest. His expression turned affronted.

“Did you just initiate a pillow fight?” he demanded.

“No,” I retorted. “I got payback for you insulting me.” I whacked him again. “That was me initiating a pillow fight.” I started flinging the pillow at him again and again.

“Hey! Not fair!” Jason protested. “I’m unarmed!”

I ignored him and kept up my pillow smacking.

He laughed. “Well, if you’re going to play dirty, I will too.” He reached out as my pillow hit him again and he wrangled it from me. “A-ha! Look at that! Got your ammo. How does it feel, to be attacked by your own pillow?”

Jason started smacking me with it. I squealed and blocked him as best I could with my arms. We were both laughing as I tried to reach around him to the pillow he’d been using to brace his back against my headboard. He grabbed my wrist with one hand and hit me with the pillow using the other. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I’m not going easy on you just because you’re adorable.”

I laughed as he nearly hit me hard enough to knock me off the bed.

So, I switched tactics.

Getting inside his much longer reach was the hard part. Once I managed to duck around his arms and wrench my wrist free, I started tickling him. Tonight was a ticklish night. He squirmed away from me.

Jason yowled—and I hoped my neighbors weren’t home—in laughter. “Stop it—stop tickling!”

I didn’t. I ran my wiggling fingers up his sides and across his neck. He tried to catch my hands, but I was quick enough to evade him.

For a few moments anyway.

“No. No!” His protests didn’t work on me. “Oh you’re as bad as my brothers. Stop it—stop it.” His voice went firm, all traces of laughter gone. With one quick movement, the pillow we’d attacked each other with was discarded on the floor. He grabbed my ankles and pulled me so I was lying flat in the center of the bed.

Jason straddled my waist, trapping my lower legs with his ankles and pinning both my hands above my head on the mattress. He was breathing hard. We both were.

He smiled. “There. Not so feisty now, are you? Hands pinned above your head, lying beneath me all… helpless.” He chuckled and licked his lower lip, his smile turning both playful and wicked. “I could have… any kind of revenge I want.” He bent his elbows, lowering himself over me. My breathing grew shorter and blood roared in my ears. “I can have any…” He paused, eyes flicking from mine to where my necklace charm had fallen down one side and landed on the mattress. His eyes widened, as if he seemed to just barely realize how close we were. “This is…” His elbows straightened, pushing him higher above me. “I’m… sorry.” He started to gently pick his way off of me. “I’m gonna let you go now.”

He released his grip on my wrists. I rolled them and flexed my hands to get some feeling back into them.

He swung his leg to get off me and used it to step off the bed. “I should go,” he said breathlessly. “I’m so sorry. I’ll grab my T-shirt next week.” He strode to the door of my bedroom while I sat on the bed, dumbfounded, jaw hanging open.

As he opened the door, I bounded off the bed.

I caught him before he could reach for his stuff on my couch, grabbing his wrist. “What was that about?” I demanded. He refused to turn and look at me.

“Just… let it go,” he said, shaking his head. He tried to pull his wrist out of my hand, but I grabbed it with my other one to hold him in both.

“No! What the hell is going on with you?”

“Leave it alone,” he growled out.

“I can’t! What happened in there that made you shut down? What did I do wrong?”

He whirled. “It’s nothing to do with you. It’s me!”

“Then tell me what it is!” I shouted.

Jason grabbed me by the shoulders, wrenching out of my grip so hard my fingers ached. He spun me around and pinned me by the shoulders against my front door. A muscle worked in his jaw as he clenched it before fixing me with a crystal blue stare. “It’s just… seeing you beneath me—all flushed pink and panting, your eyes hooded and staring up at me… seeing you like that… I just felt myself fall in love with you!”

If he hadn’t pinned me against the door I probably would have fallen over from shock. My mouth definitely fell open. “Jay… I…” I breathed.

Still holding my shoulders, he spun me around so I was away from the front door and moved to shove his jeans into his backpack.

Before he could, I threw reservation to the wind.

I grabbed his shoulders, forced him to turn and face me, moved my hands to the back of his head, and pulled him down to kiss me.

Our mouths crashed together hard enough to make my front teeth ache, but I didn’t care. My heart leapt into my throat and I almost melted as his arms circled my waist, pulling me closer, so our torsos were pressed against each other. My eyelids closed as I sighed. We were both breathing hard, air from our noses warm against each other’s skin. Holding my waist in both arms, he turned and pinned my back against the door again.

“Oh, God…” Jason breathed against my lips. He kissed me again and I moaned. He reached one hand up and tangled it in my hair. He could palm the back of my skull as though it were a basketball. His fingers were warm against my scalp.

When he pulled his lips away from me, I groaned quietly in complaint.

“We—we should not be doing this,” he whispered, shaking his head. The white streak at the front of his hairline flopped back and forth with the movement. I wanted to reach my fingers up and twist that streak between them. But I didn’t.

“Why not?” I replied, just as breathless.

“We’re friends. This isn’t us.”

“You just said that you just barely fell in love with me.”

“I did. But I’m not willing to ruin the good thing we’ve had going on here for six years.” He panted, shoulders heaving up and down, as he reached up and took my hands away from his face, gently dragging them by the wrists. “You’ve been the best friend I’ve been able to keep longer than a year or two. I can’t… I can’t just… this isn’t about what I want.”

“I’m the one who kissed you,” I pointed out. “What does that say about what I want?”

“It’s not just about wants,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Us being together is dangerous? To whom?”

“To you.”

“Why would it be dangerous for me?” I pushed.

He let me go and spun away from me. He looked like he wanted to shout and rage—maybe throw something—but he just clenched his fists and panted.

When he finally turned back to face me, he’d calmed down a little. “It’s dangerous… because… I… oh, Bruce is gonna kill me…” he whispered, shaking his head again. “Because I… am… the Red Hood.”

Two big confessions in one night. I felt a little dizzy and remembered to breathe.

“Red Hood. As in… the vigilante. And… the crime boss.”

“Vigilante, yes. Crime boss days are behind me. I was newly-back-from-the-dead and not in a stable mindset when I became a crime boss.” I decided not to ask about that. He huffed and sat on my coffee table, instead of the sofa, rubbing his temples. “And I wasn’t going to tell you about it, by the way. You’re the only normal friend I have right now. But it’s too dangerous for us to be together. If any of the rogues in this city knew I had someone I cared about as much as I care about—as much as I love you… you would not survive to the end of the year.”

I crossed from the front door to the sofa and sat on the sofa cushion closest to him, setting my hand on his knee. “Jay, I… I’m willing to risk it. To be with you. We just need to be careful—”

“I’m not willing to lose you. I would have been terrified before tonight if someone worse than me caught you. Knew you were just a friend. Now, though? Now, I don’t know what I’d do if you were captured, and that scares me even more. I saw you under me in that bedroom and I saw a future that was good—for the first time in the nine years since I was resurrected—but I can’t let that be my future. For your sake.”

I bit down on my tongue to keep from shouting. But I did tighten my grip on his knee hard and snap, “Get over yourself, Todd. You’re not the only one who gets to make this decision.”

“No, but apparently I’m the only one who can see things objectively enough to make the wise decision.”

It was my turn to want to throw something. “Jason. Peter. Todd. I don’t care about the danger. And I know you do. But do you know what it’d do to me, knowing that you love me and I feel the same, but you won’t let me be yours? Do you know what it would do to you? I know what it would do to me. It would eat me up inside day in and day out. I would sit here dying for you, waiting for you to come to your senses and carry me back into that bedroom to stay in there all night. But you never would. And I would just wait. I’d never date anyone else. If I tried, all I’d be doing was wishing they were you.

“You and I are cut from the same cloth. Some people are just born to sacrifice. To give up what they want—what they need—for the sake of other people. It’s the only choice we’re ever given, so it’s the choice we make over and over and over again. Sometimes people will split others into Givers and Takers. Those of us born to sacrifice are a step beyond even Givers. We’re the ones who give up everything for others. I’ve done it with my family my entire life. Everyone else always wanted so strongly that my only option was to give up my own. You’re the same, I see it every time I see you with your brothers.

“Jason, it’s time for us to Take. It’s time to let life give us something. This is the moment to be selfish. To put aside Batman and his zealous crusade for one damn moment and let yourself be happy.” I dug my fingernails into his knee through his sweats. “Be selfish for once, Jason.”

He finally looked up at me, eyes meeting mine. “I can’t,” he said.

I clamped my mouth shut and sighed loudly through them. “Yes, you can. If you’re waiting for my consent, you’ve more than got it. I’m telling you now to give yourself consent to want. To take. Get over this hold out that a double life has on you and—mmph!”

He cut me off by slamming his lips against mine, surging off the coffee table and straddling me on the sofa. I moaned and wrapped my arms around his neck. He pulled me to one side, sitting on the sofa and guiding me to straddle himself. His hands were splayed over my shoulder blades. I twisted his white streak through my fingers. Our breath shuddered in and out of our lungs. I parted my lips slightly and ran the tip of my tongue over the seam of his lips.

They opened immediately and let me in. I sighed out my nose. “Please ruin our friendship,” I breathed into his lips. “This is so much better.”

He snickered out his nose, smiling. “Does your consent to let me want you include me carrying you back into that bedroom and neither of us leaving until dawn?” He nodded toward my room.

My body shivered. Not from cold. Excitement. Electricity.

“Definitely,” I said breathlessly.

His hands slid from my shoulder blades and down to my legs. He held them and stood up. I hooked my ankles around his back, locking my arms’ grip around his neck.

He carried me to my room, kicked the door shut, and laid me gently on the messed-up bedsheets and disarrayed pillows. On all fours above me, my legs around his waist, he kissed me. Gently, at first, but he quickly grew hungry. His hands worked their way under my shirt, callused palms scraping slightly against my skin.

“Still okay with this?” His voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper.

“Oh yeah,” I breathed, unable to even speak loud enough to be heard from inches away.

He smiled. Wicked delight flickering on his face. “Well, get ready for me to call you mine. Because I am all yours.”

I smiled. “I’m yours, Jason.”

[swan-of-sunrise]

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Ten)

Summary: Din and (Y/N) spend the next couple of weeks trying to repair the Razor Crest themselves, and his close proximity to the beautiful captain begins to stir up complicated feelings for Din.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Ten The Repairs (Previous Chapter)

“Son of a mud-scuffer, Mando!” (Y/N) groaned in pain, making no attempt to get up off the floor of the ship that she’d been knocked down onto. “Ow…you did that on purpose…”

Beneath his helmet, Din rolled his eyes in exasperation; he stood above the captain with his hands resting on his hips as he heaved a sigh. “That’s kinda the point, isn’t it? An attacker’s not gonna go easy on you just ‘cause you asked them nicely to.”

Din, (Y/N) and the child had been traveling through space for a little over three weeks; in that time, they’d been slowly but surely working on the repairs that the Mon Calamari hadn’t completed. Neither of them were very knowledgeable mechanics, but they did their best as they worked side-by-side.

Whenever they weren’t doing repairs, they relaxed in the cargo hold; Din would work on cleaning his weapons and entertaining the child while (Y/N) sewed, and they’d usually fall into easy conversation. True to her word, she’d quickly completed a new robe for the child – much to the kid’s delight – before starting on what appeared to be a golden-yellow dress. The captain hadn’t said anything to Din about his impromptu gifts of fabric and sweets, but he could clearly see how much the gesture meant to her; he’d often sit and secretly watch her work, admiring how carefully her hands moved across the delicate material and how her eyes narrowed in concentration. She was happy, and he was proud that he’d been the one to help give that to her.

But whenever they weren’t working or relaxing, they were training; Din hadn’t forgotten his promise to teach his partner how to fight and after their recent adventures, he decided that it would be wise for her to learn sooner rather than later. I’d feel a lot better going to Corvus to confront a Jedi if I knew she’d be safe, he thought to himself one evening as he lay awake in his bunk, remembering how easily she’d been overpowered by the Black Sun operatives and the bandits on Tatooine.

“Okay, okay,” He watched as (Y/N) gritted her teeth and clambered to her feet, her brow covered in perspiration. “Can you repeat what you said one more time before we try again?”

“Of course. More often than not, you’ll go up against attackers who’re bigger than you and maybe even stronger, so you use all that to your advantage; a well-placed kick or punch could easily change the course of a fight, but what really matters is that you act faster than they do.” Moving to stand in front of her, Din gestured for her to raise her fists. “Now, I’m gonna attack you and you’re gonna do whatever you can think of to knock me down. Got it?”

(Y/N) nodded, her eyes narrowed and body tensed in preparation, and Din threw his first punch. His partner managed to block it and twist out of the way of his second attack, sucker-punching him hard in his un-armored stomach and hooking her leg around his as he doubled over in surprise; she took advantage of his off-balance by shoving him down, where he landed flat on his back.

Din couldn’t help but grin as the captain let out a celebratory cheer at her success. “I finally did it!”

“Good job, alor’ad…” Deciding to have a little fun with her, he held his arm out towards her; the captain, being the kind-hearted woman that she was, grasped his hand to help him stand and that’s when he acted. He yanked on her arm and brought a foot up to her stomach, flipping her over him and onto her back before quickly maneuvering so that he was straddling her waist and trapping her against the floor of the ship with his hands on her wrists. “…but you should never let your guard down around an enemy.”

Struggling to catch her breath, (Y/N) flashed him a teasing grin. “Mir'sheb. You’ve been waiting to do that since our very first sparring lesson, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Din replied, only then realizing that his joke might not have been the smartest idea; in their current positions, their bodies were flush with one another and being so close to her was only causing his head to spin and his face to warm. In an attempt to save face in front of his partner, he hurriedly continued. “How would you break away from an attacker who has you boxed in like this?”

(Y/N) bit her bottom lip in thought as she considered his question; Maker have mercy on me, he thought to himself, swallowing hard and forcing himself to avert his gaze from the tempting sight. “Well, it seems like the only way to gain the upper hand in this, um…position, is to use the attacker’s weight against them.” Before he could reply, she hooked her right foot around his leg and in one fluid motion, she flipped them over so that she was straddling his torso and he was the one now lying flat on his back. “How was that?”

Din let out a breathless chuckle. “Perfect, alor’ad. You’re coming along great.”

“Well, I guess I have my ex-bounty hunter instructor to thank for that.”

“That mean you’re finally admitting that bounty hunters are better than smugglers?”

Her smirk widened and she shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe better at bragging, but that’s about it.”

As she looked down at him with (Y/E/C) eyes twinkling in amusement, Din realized with a sudden jolt that their innocent flirting was rapidly on its way to becoming something much more complicated; his gloved hands had somehow found their way to her hips while they talked, and one of the captain’s thumbs was resting tantalizingly close to the collar of his undershirt and was only centimeters from touching the bare skin of his neck.

With his heart hammering in his chest, he struggled to find his voice but was mercifully saved by a familiar coo; they both looked over to see the child standing beside them, his brow wrinkled in concern as he stared at them with widened eyes, and (Y/N) laughed. “Aw, it’s okay, little guy, I promise I’m not hurting Mando.” She moved to kneel next to the child and pointed towards Din, who was sitting up and trying not to think about how much he missed their closeness. “See? The only thing that’s bruised is his ego!”

“Just for that, alor’ad, you’re the one who gets to change the kid today.” Smirking at the look of stunned disbelief on (Y/N)’s face, Din got to his feet and made his way over to the ladder. “Have fun!”

Her protests followed him as he climbed the ladder to the cockpit to don his armor. “Oh, come on, Mando, I was only joking! Mando? Mando! Dank farrik…”

Once Din put his armor back on, he and (Y/N) decided to try their hand at some of the more complicated repairs in the cockpit. Their work kept them busy and at opposite ends of the small space, much to Din’s relief; the temptation to touch or even be near the captain like he’d been when they were sparring was overwhelming, but it helped a little to have a complex distraction to focus on.

“Hey Mando, could you hand me those pliers on the control panel?”

Din, who was seated in the pilot’s chair and had been busy testing which switches were still operational, glanced over and nearly fell out of his seat. (Y/N) was standing on the right passenger’s chair, her arms elbow-deep in an exposed panel full of tangled wiring, but that’s not what had stunned him; it was the full, unobstructed view of her trouser-clad hips and legs right in front of him. So much for those complex distractions, he thought with an inward groan, trying and failing to avert his gaze from the appealing sight.

“Mando? The pliers?”

“Right, right,” Giving his head a small shake, he grabbed the pliers and stood, leaning against the wall of the cockpit as he handed the tool to her. “How’re the repairs going up there?”

(Y/N) smiled to herself while she continued rewiring. “Well, we should be able to land safely and avoid plummeting to our deaths now but I’m not making any promises, though. What about you? Did you get the hyperdrive fixed yet?”

“No, not yet. I have to rewire the ship’s circuit board, which just so happens to be four feet behind that tiny opening there.” Din pointed to the opening in question before sighing. “You don’t think you’d be able to reach your arm in there, do you?” The captain shot him an ‘are-you-being-serious’ look, to which he merely shrugged and glanced back at the opening. “I figured I’d ask just in case. Unfortunately, it’s one of those kinds of repairs that a ship can’t function properly without; we just need to find something small to fit…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“…I’m beginning to think this might’ve been a bad idea, Mando.”

Din shot (Y/N) a look of disbelief from under his helmet. “But it was your idea!”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who agreed to it; as my partner, you really should have better sense than to indulge my off-the-cuff ideas,” (Y/N) retorted, crossing her arms as she knelt beside the small opening; she nervously bit her lip as her brow furrowed in worry. “He’s just a baby, after all.”

Although her comment was fair, her words sparked a surge of protectiveness towards the child. “He’s not just a baby, alor’ad, he’s special. He understands a lot more than people realize and with all the crazy power he has, I’m sure he’ll be able to help us rewire a simple circuit board.” Din turned back to the control panels and began flipping switches. “All right, let’s try this again…okay, do you have the wire?” He asked over his shoulder, hearing a faint coo as one of the ship’s alarms began to blare; pressing another button, he shut off the alarm and sighed. “No, nothing.”

He got up from the pilot’s seat and went over to kneel beside (Y/N) as she patiently called out, “Did you get the wire out? The red wire?”

Peering into the opening, Din watched as the child let out a small coo and raised the tiny hand that held the blue wire, and he pointedly ignored the skeptical look the captain threw him. “No, no. No, the red one, show me the red wire. The red one.” The child looked down at the wires in his hands before waving the blue one around, and Din fought the proud smile that was tugging at his lips. “Yes, good. Now, you’re going to plug that red wire where the blue wire goes in the board.”

“I think you might’ve confused him…” (Y/N) whispered as they both watched the child tilt his head; she leaned in closer and called out, “Okay, little guy, you’re gonna put the red wire where the blue wire goes in the board. Okay?”

“But don’t let them touch!” Din hastily added, noticing how close the two wires were to one another; the child tilted his head again and let out a confused sort of whimper. “You see where you took the blue one off?” The child held up the blue wire and he nodded. “Yes. Now, put the red one – no, don’t put the blue one back. Put the red one where the blue one was, and put the blue one where the red one was.”

With the added hand gestures, Din was confident that the child had understood his instructions but beside him, (Y/N) had resumed nervously biting her lip. “But be careful, little guy. They’re oppositely charged, so keep them away from each other; make sure you hold them apart.”

The child ignored the captain’s warning and while he brought the two wires closer, Din frantically shook his head. “No, don’t let them touch-” He and (Y/N) both jumped when the wires connected and sent an electric shock through the child’s body, briefly surrounding him in bright sparks and smoke; once it dissipated, Din hesitantly asked, “You okay?” The child coughed in response, but he seemed to be uninjured, much to Din’s relief. He glanced over at (Y/N) and met her ‘I-told-you-so’ expression with a sheepish sort of shrug. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

“If you say so, Mando. I’m gonna go prepare some broth for him now.” His partner got to her feet and gave his arm a pat before turning and making her way down to the cargo hold; her touch seemed to send an electric shock through Din, his skin flushing as he once again remembered their earlier closeness, and he let out a shaky breath.

Looking back to the opening, the sight of the child standing at its entrance with widened eyes caused him to smile. “C’mon, kid, let’s get you some lunch for your hard work.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din sat beside the child on one of their storage containers and enjoyed some warm broth, since (Y/N) insisted that he needed to eat something as well. Although he’d explained that lifting his helmet to take sips of broth in front of her and the child wouldn’t break his Creed, she insisted on sitting behind him on her makeshift cot and sewing so that he’d have more privacy. Her consideration for his Creed was touching, but after his confrontation with Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorians on Trask, he found himself realizing that for the first time in his life, someone else cared more about his Creed than he did. His recent feelings towards his Creed were…complicated, to say the least; if what Bo-Katan said was true, then he’d grown up within a cult of religious zealots who’d coerced him into swearing a Creed than wasn’t truly Mandalorian but on the other hand, the so-called Watch had saved him as a child and raised him after he’d lost his parents, and that was a kindness he couldn’t just ignore.

“You’re kinda quiet over there, Mando.”

Smiling to himself at her unspoken question, Din lifted the bottom of his helmet up and swallowed a sip of broth before answering. “Yeah, just lost in thought. Are you ever gonna tell me what it is you’re making?”

Her laugh carried through the cargo hold, and Din was reminded of how much he enjoyed hearing the sound. “What’s it look like I’m making, a fathier blanket? It’s a dress!”

“Mir'sheb. I know you’re making a dress but I was just wondering…well, why? Dresses aren’t exactly practical in our line of work, alor’ad.”

The captain was quiet for a moment and just as Din silently cursed his bluntness, she replied, “Ever since I was little, I had a dream of settling down on a peaceful planet and opening up my own shop, just like my mother had done. But then the Empire tightened their control of Naboo, she died of illness and I fell into the smuggling life…and suddenly, my dream seemed irrelevant. When the Rebellion finally ended and the New Republic was established, I began thinking about that childhood dream again; the way I see it, if I can create this one thing with only my mother’s sketchbook and the memories of my old trade to guide me, then I’ll know whether or not I’m meant for the life I’d envisioned for myself.” The cargo hold was silent for a moment. “What about you? What kind of future do you imagine for yourself?”

“I don’t know,” Din answered truthfully, the words almost falling out of his mouth as he continued. “Living the life I’ve lead, I…well, a future’s never a guarantee, so I never allowed myself to imagine one. But if I had to, I don’t think I’d want any specific future…just a peaceful one…” He didn’t know what else to say; he couldn’t exactly follow up something heavy like that with a witty comeback, so he merely nodded and glanced down at the child, who was happily drinking the last of his broth. “You want some more broth, kid?” The child tilted his head and held out his empty bowl towards Din, who couldn’t help but smile as he ladled some more broth into it. “There you go.” The child began gulping down his second helping, and Din glanced around the derelict cargo hold with a sigh. “You know, there’s no way we’re making it to Corvus in this shape.”

“I’ll have to agree with you on that. With the hyperdrive broken, it won’t be long before we’re fighting off bandits and bounty hunters.”

“You know, I think we need to visit some friends for repairs,” Din remarked, turning around to meet (Y/N)’s curious expression. “How’d you like to visit Navarro?”

“Navarro, huh? I’ve never been, but it sounds a lot better than floating around in space like a sitting porg.” Setting aside her bundle of fabric, (Y/N) got to her feet and gestured over to the ladder with a tentative smile. “Wanna help me chart our course, Mando? You can tell me about these friends of yours while we work…”

Din nodded and the captain’s smile widened as she began climbing up the ladder to the cockpit. Making sure that the child had everything he needed, Din hurried up into the cockpit after her; maybe a peaceful future wasn’t in the cards for him, but he’d be damned if he didn’t enjoy the brief moments of happiness whenever he could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading!

Mando'a Translations: Alor'ad-Captain Mir’sheb-Smart-ass

Chapter Eleven

Taking Care of Business Masterlist

Tagging: @remmysbounty @sinon36 @seninjakitey @thatonedindjarinfan @ginger-swag-rapunzel @mostclevermiss @momc95​ @welcometothepedroverse​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @zukoyonce​ @itsnottilly​

[lachesis-games]

Trouvaille Short Story

m!Trouvaille

tw: swearing, mild violence

~

This trip started out very simple. Go into the forest, gather spell ingredients, then get out. Getting dragged underwater by a sticky horse was not part of the plan.

While the others were searching for normal herbs like tarragon, nutmeg, or wormwood, you and Antigone waded knee deep in a wide pond. Morning sunlight streamed through the trees, casting an ethereal glow on the water’s surface.

“Remind me again what you need curly pondweed for?” you call out to her.

The witch doesn’t look up from her task when answering, “They promote growth in spells. And encourage perseverance.”

The plant itself was plentiful. Too plentiful, as she told you earlier that it was an invasive species. But every time you thought you found a good stem, Antigone waved you off, stating that your pick was too dark or too old or too tough.

You straighten up and stretch out your aching back. Tedium aside, the forest was beautiful in the morning. Red dragonflies skimmed the surface, creating ripples that jostled the aquatic flora. The natural song of chirping crickets and croaking frogs sounded throughout the clearing. At the water’s edge, a few meters to your right, you can see a dark figure among the cattails. It’s wide, but short, and moving slightly.

When you get closer, you can make out the creature’s long gray mane and thick black body. There are mossy spots and algae strewn across its body. It looks like it lives near the pond, but something about it seemed out of place in the tranquil forest.

“Um, Antigone?” you try to keep your voice down.

“What?”

“Are there supposed to be ponies in the forest?” You take your eyes off the animal to glance at her over your shoulder.

Her head snaps up and she drops the flat woven basket she’d been holding.

“Shit!”

Before either of you can react, the pony whinnies, rears up, and charges you. You’re too slow to dodge and it rams into you. Instead of sending you flying, you find yourself stuck to its flank as it dives deeper into the pond.

The pond is much deeper than expected and every few feet, the water gets colder and darker. Light brown sediment billows up as the probably-not-actually-a-pony settles into the bottom. 

The surprise attack, along with your wildly thumping heart means you’re losing air fast and the creature doesn’t seem like it’ll surface any time soon. Your elbow is fastened tight to the creature’s side. If you can just get to your dagger!

You open your eyes and regret it. The sting of the dirty water only hinders you more. You can’t see anything more than two feet in front of you clearly.

Panic sets in and you thrash and kick, desperately trying to separate from the creature. Its skin’s adhesive surface clings onto you. The harder you thrash, the more you pull at your own skin and clothes.

They say to be completely calm if you’re ever being held underwater, but the proverbial “they” are stupid and clearly have never been drowned before.

Black spots dance across your vision. Your lungs burn and your head starts to ache. Great. The artifact wouldn’t kill you. Nor would vampires or werewolves or any other badass way to die. No, you’re a lucky one. You get to die via drowning, stuck to this thing like gum on the bottom of someone’s shoe.

The pony flinches and so do you. It kicks up sediment in its panic. You get tossed around along with it until you feel a small hand on your shoulder. Sharp claws dig into you as it drags you away from the pony.

You can finally make out Antigone’s silhouette as she pulls you close. She presses her lips to yours. Air fills your lungs. Your vision and headache settle, and the burning sensation in your lungs subsides.

A blast of light breaks through your clenched eyelids. Her mouth is on yours again, breathing life into you. For some reason, though, she doesn’t do anything else. Just sits there and keeps breathing into you whenever your lungs start to burn again.

There’s a heavy splash above you. The cold sediment kicks up again and tiny bubbles pepper your face.

Someone hooks their arms under your armpits and the next thing you know, you’re being dragged up the bank of the pond.

Head spinning, you cough up what feels like gallons of water. In your delirium, you think you hear your name.

“There you are!” a familiar voice cries.

You rub your eyes and look up.

T.V. takes a step towards you, then stops. You want to tell him you’re alright, but Jackie grabs you in a bone-crushing hug.

Her clothes are soaking wet.

“We saw the basket floating in the pond! What the hell happened!?”

You hack more water and algae out of your lungs.

“Water pony,” you wheeze out.

“Huh?”

“Kelpie,” Antigone says through violent coughs. Despite her having been the one to save you, she seems much worse for wear. Dakota white-knuckles her hand.

“Kelpies are shapeshifters.” He pants, also soaking wet. T.V. is the only one bone dry. “They take the form of a pony or horse and drown people for fun,” he explains. “What happened?”

You take a deep breath, “It dragged me down underwater. Antigone came to save me.”

Dakota’s eyes widen as he grabs the witch by the shoulders.

“You did what? Are you high?” he demands.

“Wait, hang on!” Jackie interjects. “What’s the problem here? She kept them both alive until we got there!”

Dakota crosses his arms. “The problem here is that Annie can’t--!”

Antigone cuts him off. “What was I supposed to do? Let the kid drown?” she rasps and shrugs off her knit sweater.

“Of course not! I just--” Groaning, he buries his face into her neck. Antigone allows the touch and strokes his hair gently. Her tired gaze flickers over to you. Jackie’s concerned voice steals your attention.

“Let’s get you back to the shop,” she says, holding a hand out to you.

You clasp her hand and the two of you pull in tandem. The moment you put weight on your feet, searing pain shoots up your leg.

The ground rushes up to meet you, then stops when a pair of strong arms wrap around your middle.

As soon as their fingertips make contact, your head erupts in a pain like someone took an axe to it. There’s a ringing in your ears and you cry out.

Whoever’s holding you lets go and you hit the mud, writhing in agony.

“I— I’m so sorry!” T.V. manages through his groans of pain, hands clenched tightly to the sides of his head.

It feels like your skull is full of liquid metal. The cool water of the pond is tempting all of a sudden, kelpie and all.

Antigone presses a cool hand to your forehead and whispers something in a language you can’t understand.

Your head is still heavy, but the white hot pain ebbs.

She crawls over to Trouvaille to give him the same treatment. His agony seems to decrease faster than yours.

Through your delirium, you hear her snap at him, “That was unbelievably stupid!”

“I know,” he replies, rubbing his temples.

“You know? Mistakes like that can be fatal. Do not let your bleeding heart be the reason you both die.” 

Carefully avoiding her eyes, he says, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t talk to him like that!” you protest through the pain.

“Shut up,” she snaps. “I don’t need one idiot defending another idiot.”

Jackie crosses her arms, “Very original with the insults.”

“I’m just calling them as they are. If they feel insulted, that’s on them.”

You clench your teeth, “He said he was sorry!”

“Sorry won’t bring back the dead,” she says directly at Trouvaille. Rounding on you, she says, “Let me take a look at that ankle.”

Your left ankle is inflamed and is taking on an angry red color. It must have happened when the kelpie hit you. The throbbing pain only grows as the adrenaline flushes from your veins.

She pokes an especially puffy part.

“Ow, fuck!” you cry out, hands grabbing onto your injured leg. “Why would you touch it!?”

“Punishment for being too slow to dodge the thing,” she deadpans.

“You think getting nearly drowned wasn’t enough punishment?”

“No.”

Thankfully, the poking ceases. A purple light emits from her clawed hand. She hovers over your ankle.

“Well, that is going to need a splint.” She retracts her hand.

“You can mend ribs but you can’t unsprain an ankle?” Jackie demands.

“For one thing, ‘unsprain’ is not a word. Second, normal treatment would take weeks. I can make it a few days. Any other grievances, hotshot?”

“Maybe if you were paying attention, oh powerful witch, you could have done something before it got this bad!” she shoots back.

The witch’s mercury eyes narrow. “You want to blame me for this?”

“I do. What are you gonna do about it?” Jackie takes a step forward.

“Don’t pick fights you can’t win, you little--” Antigone begins.

Dakota nudges her.

“We should head back.” They share a tense look, but she ultimately backs down. Then he turns to you, “Can I carry you?”

You nod in agreement. He places his hands under your knees and behind your back, careful not to jostle your ankle too much.

As he stands up, he takes on a comically cheerful tone. “Thank you flying Dakota Airlines! Please fasten your seatbelts and keep all electronics stored away until we reach cruising altitude.”

“Does this flight have snacks?” you jokingly ask.

“Check my pocket!”

You reach down into his kangaroo pouch and pull out a waterlogged 4 pak of Nutter Butters.

You raise an eyebrow. “You just carry these around?”

He shrugs. “I’m a growing boy.”

“You’re 25.”

“Okay? And?”

You chuckle. On the trek back to the car, you look over his shoulder to see sunlight glimmering off of caramel hair. Trouvaille strolls several feet behind you. He gives you a weak smile but makes no attempt to get any closer.

Reaching out for him, you beckon him closer. Not to touch, but you don’t like the wide berth he gives you.

He shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mouths.

‘Don’t be.’

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead of coming to you, he speeds up to catch up to Jackie.

The few seconds that he’s near when he passes by makes your hair stand on end. You almost reach out to stop him. You don’t. You can’t. Dakota readjusts you in his arms. After making sure everyone’s out of earshot he finds your gaze.

“Try not to be too mad at Annie. She just wants to keep all of us safe,” he says.

You briefly wondered if he swallowed too much pond water.

“You make it sound like she cares,” you grumble.

“She does. She really does. You know how if you don’t socialize dogs at a young age, they have trouble with other dogs later on? She’s like that.”

Raising an eyebrow, you reply, “Would she be mad at you comparing her to a dog?”

“Not if you don’t tell her.”

You chuckle and look ahead to see the three of them walking side by side. Trouvaille turn his head slightly. For a moment, you lock eyes before he pointedly turns back around. Your heart reaches out for someone who won’t reach back.

“Hey,” Dakota recaptures your attention. “Sometimes the people we care about decide for themselves that we’re better off without them. Those people are amazingly stubborn, but we love them anyway. Probably because we like pain, but whatever.” Up ahead, Jackie jokes around with T.V. while Antigone keeps her distance off to the side. “I just...” you sigh. “I don’t know what I think. I tell him I’m fine and I’m not afraid to get hurt, but he still pushes me away.” “I think that half of it is protecting himself. You may not be afraid of getting hurt, but he might be. Give him space, but let him know he can come to you.” “Easier said than done.”

Dakota shrugs. “Just know that these things take time. And patience. So much patience.” You glance back and forth between him and the group ahead. 

“Why do you sound like you speak from experience?”

He grimaces, “If I said I don’t know what you’re taking about, would you believe me?”

“No.”

“Fair enough.”

Your gaze drifts between the trio in front of you.

“You can’t possibly--”

He cuts you off, “Wow, wouldya look at that! We’re at the car! Everyone please place your tray tables in the up position while we begin our descent!”

Trouvaille and Antigone are locked in a tense conversation. They stop to watch your approach until the witch mutters something and relinquishes her claim to the passenger seat. T.V. slides into the car without sparing you a glance.

[le0watch]

A Flower for Your Thoughts

The night is still young, the palace filled to the brim with young women hoping to catch the prince’s attention. Each young lady has her own dress, and the colors range from white to black, and the sizes from large and puffy to thin and flat.

They’re all so loud and persistent, and hardly give Prince Langa the space he desires. He doesn't even want to be here- it was a decision made by his mother and chamberlain back in their Kingdom of Snow. His mother was beginning to get worried that he was too lonely, and his chamberlain had suggested that they come here to try and find him a suitor. Because then, with a wife, Prince Langa wouldn't be lonely again.

And while Langa would love for a wife, this feels too forced, and not natural. The women here only care that he's a prince, and for the enormous amount of wealth and fame that comes with marrying him. None of them actually care for him… just his title.

He sighs heavily, sitting on the edge of a fountain somewhere in the large palace garden. He's been here a while- no one has been able to find and annoy him as of yet, and the sound of the trickling water was soothing compared to the yelling and calling of the women in the castle. He rests his chin in the palm of his hand, the loneliness he'd come to know so well back him settling in his gut.

“It's the same here…” he mutters quietly, staring at the cracks in the ground and the ants crawling through the grass.

Suddenly, someone flops down beside him on the fountain’s edge, her dress a brilliant blue that spills around her legs and feet. It splays out across the edge of the fountain, some of it brushing through the water beneath them. He flinches, ready for yet another suitor to try and woo him for his wealth.

“Where is everybody?” the girl says, and Langa is struck by how cute she sounds. He hasn't looked at her yet- afraid if he does, it’ll break the spell and she’ll start fawning over him. He feels her eyes on the back of his head a moment later, staring at him. “Did you get lost?”

A reflection of light catches his eye, and glances down at the ground eyes widening as they land upon a gorgeous pair of glass heels. He's never seen glass slippers, or shoes for that matter, but they go wonderfully with her dress.

“Pretty…” he mutters, before he realizes what he's doing.

“Huh?” the girl says, taken by surprise.

“Your shoes. I've never seen any made of glass before,” he explains, and finally works up the courage to look at the girl’s face. He nearly gasps, because she's even prettier than the shoes or dress she is wearing.

Her bright red hair is pulled into two braids that trail behind her shoulders, the rest of it a mess of curls on the top of her head. Her eyes are a gorgeous honey amber color, and they sparkle even in the dark of the night. Freckles pepper her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and before he realizes what he's doing, he's looking at her lips, a soft, plump pink.

He has to tear his gaze from her lips as they turn upwards into a bright grin. So bright, Langa momentarily believes her to be the sun, and that morning had come early. Her beautiful blue dress contrasts prettily with her red hair and eyes, sparkling gently beneath the stars.

“Oh, you meant the shoes,” she says sheepishly, chuckling lightly. What a beautiful sound. He almost wants to take back what he'd said, and tell her that no, he'd actually meant that she was pretty.

“Yeah,” he responds instead, because his brain is slow and sluggish as always. This doesn't phase the girl, however, but makes her tilt her head to the side with a crooked grin.

“How long are you gonna stare?” she asks, making Langa jump out of his skin. Oh, great. She’d caught him staring at her like a buffoon- very unprincely indeed. But she instead exclaims, “Let's dance!”

That takes Langa by surprise. She was being so bold- she's not even asking him, she's just saying it like it would be the natural thing for them to do. “With me?” he asks, quite stupidly. Who else was there for her to ask? He blames his short circuiting brain on her and how pretty she is.

“Is anyone else here?” she says pointedly, her grin only widening. She sounds excited, and she grabs his hand, hopping to her feet and pulling him along with her.

He lets out a noise of surprise as he stumbles to his feet after her, surprised by her straight forwardness. Wasn’t he supposed to ask her to dance, if at all? Yet, he doesn't pull his hand away, nor does he say anything negative in response.

Once they're both standing, the girl waits patiently for him to get ready, bouncing on the balls of her feet. When he rests one of his hands in her hand and the other on her waist, her face flushes a pretty red, and she sheepishly chuckles.

“I uh- I’ve never actually danced before,” she tells him shyly, and he blinks down at her. She’s shorter than he is- but not by too much. Her head reaches just above his chest, and is peering up at him through her pretty red lashes. “So uh- could you teach me?”

Langa’s cheeks grow warm at her shy but excited demeanor, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at her pretty face. She flushes, and squirms a little under his gaze.

“I'm sorry- I shouldn't have asked if I didn't know how-” she begins to apologize, slowly pulling away from Langa.

But the prince quickly catches her, keeping her close. He smiles down at her warmly- the first time he's smiled in years since his father died- and gently guides her hands to their proper places, one on his shoulder and the other lightly gripped in his. His body buzzes from their intertwined fingers to his toes, a warm happiness settling in his gut.

He hasn't felt so infatuated in a long time- or ever, for that matter. But somehow, this adorable redhead had caught his attention. Maybe it was from how she treated him like an equal, or maybe it was due to her sunny disposition. Anyway, Langa feels as if his heart is going to burst from his chest at any second.

He's never felt in love before, nor has he ever experienced a crush. These are new sensations and emotions he's experiencing, but he's highly enjoying them.

“Your hands go here,” he explains, meeting her amber gaze. Her eyes seem to glow, like a pair of stars in the night sky above them. “And I will lead. Just follow my steps, and you'll catch on pretty quick.”

“Oh- okay!” she exclaims with one of her bright grins. He nearly melts under its warmth, but begins the most basic of waltzes, as to not overwhelm her for her first time. He listens to the faint music playing from the distant castle, taking the first few steps. She stumbles for a moment, and trips over his feet, but he steadies her each time. She flushes and apologizes sheepishly when she steps on his feet, but he reassures her with a small smile.

“Wow, you're a good teacher.” She sounds whimsical, and it makes him smile again.

“You're learning it on your own,” Langa points out. “I'm just guiding you through it.”

“Guess you're right about that!” she exclaims with another bright grin. He loves when he smiles and grins; she smiles with her whole face, eyes scrunching at the edges, the tips of her lips stretching to both of her ears. “Now, who might you be, anyways. I've been dancing with a stranger this entire time.”

“Wait, you don't know?” he asks in surprise, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline. Everyone who’s come to the ball is merely there to meet him and hopefully get him to pick them as his wife. Does she really not know- or is she just acting?

But no, in the short amount of time Langa has known this mystery girl, he knows for a fact that she wasn't acting, somehow. The genuinity shining in her eyes coupled with her curious smile proves that to him.

“Should I?” she asks, a teasing edge to her voice. She draws in a sharp breath of surprise when Langa twists her outwards, before pulling her back close to himself again. He smiles down at her, and she smiles back up at him, holding tightly to his hand. Her hand seems to fit almost perfectly in his.

“I suppose not, if you don’t,” he replies. She doesn't have to know right away, right? That would probably break whatever magical spell has set over them, and turn her from a fun young maiden to one just as desperate for his wealth as everyone else. “But you may call me Snow. That's what my mother calls me. And your name?”

The girl hesitates, her dress fluttering around her legs when Langa twirls her, holding his arm high to allow her room. When she’s pulled back in and they fall back into step, she finally says, “That isn’t too important.” Her smile dropped while she said this, making Langa’s heart plummet into his stomach. Oh no, he had upset her. Or, she just feels as if she is inadequate beside him. He has to remedy this instantly.

He opens his mouth to do just that, but the girl beats him by saying, “Why don't you tell me more about yourself, hm? Like why you're outside all alone.” She smirks up at him, her previous negativity disappearing in an instant. She's masking. Langa’s familiar with masking. He was basically raised to always have a princely mask over his face. He doesn't like her masking one bit. But he also knows he can't force someone to stop.

“Needed to get some fresh air,” Langa replies honestly. “It was much too crowded and loud inside, so I stepped out for a moment.”

The girl doesn’t respond until he's finished spinning her through the air, gaining a beautiful burst of laughter from her. Once she’s on the ground again, her laughter tapers off, but a smile remains on her face.

“And what are you doing here, hm?” she asks, and Langa's mind instantly begins rushing for an answer. “I thought only the maidens of the land were invited to the ball, not the men.” She’s teasing him, fluttering her pretty lashes at him.

He swallows heavily, butterflies in his stomach. This girl has to have magic, how else could he be feeling so much because of her all at once?

“That is true,” he says, wetting his lips nervously as he dips her low. She gasps before giggling, latching onto his arm to keep herself from falling. Even though he would never drop her. He doesn't want to tell her he's the prince, yet. Soon, but not now. Just a while longer as another random guy at the palace. He is enjoying it. “I work here. In the palace, I mean. I'm… an apprentice!”

Her eyes widen and she grins up at him, her flowing dress brushing against his knees. The blue of her dress contrasts amazingly with her bright red hair, and he thinks the color suits her.

“Snow the apprentice,” she says. Langa likes the way she says his nickname. Or maybe he just likes her voice. Maybe a bit of both. “I like it.”

Langa lets out a breath of laughter, and dips her for the final time in their waltz. They break apart, and he bows while she courtesies low to the ground. Her dress is like a halo around her, and she looks much like an angel on earth.

Once they've both straightened back up, Langa glances towards the palace, biting his lower lip. He’s sure that he is not yet missed- he could show her around the garden. Maybe even give her that flower… yes!

He holds up a hand in offering, and asks, “May I show you around the garden?”

She hesitates only a moment before she takes his hand, dipping her head shyly. He smiles, and she smiles back at him. He leads her through the garden, pointing out the plants he knows the names of.

“Those are my favorite flowers,” he says, pointing to a patch of blue flowers. “They’re called forget-me-nots. The story behind them just makes them all the more special.”

The mystery girl looks down at them, before releasing his hand to crouch in front of them. She picks one of the many buds, before turning back to him. A light flush colors her freckled cheeks as she stands on her tiptoes to slip the stem of the flower behind Langa’s ear. His breath catches in his throat at her close she is- her breath mingling with his, and he can see each time her pretty lashes flutter, and the way her lips hanging slightly open.

Once satisfied, she draws back, looks over her work, and then grins brightly. “It matches your hair!” she exclaims, and he's taken by her all over again. She retakes his hand, and he has to draw in a deep breath before he can speak again.

“Th- thank you very much,” he says, clearing his throat. He's sure he's blushing. His face is hot enough. He then tugs on her hand, “Now I want to show you something.”

“Haven’t you been showing me the garden?” she teases, but follows after him obediently.

He doesn't answer her, looking this way and that for the flowers he has in mind. Finally, he spots them: red hibiscus flowers. He tugs her along quickly, and she lets out a surprised laugh, stumbling a moment to be able to keep up with him. Once he's reached them, he gestures for her to sit down. She raises an eyebrow at him, but does so anyways, her dress pooling out around her on the grassy ground.

“Hope this doesn't ruin my dress,” she mutters, more to herself than Langa. He hums in response, but focuses on the task at hand. His father had taught him how to do this as a gift for his mother when he was younger, and they constantly did it for her when Mother’s Day rolled around.

He gathers a hand full of the brilliant red flowers before he steps to stand behind her, dropping onto his knees to reach her hair. He sets the fistful of flowers on the ground beside himself, and takes his gloves off. He then combs his bare fingers through her puffy hair, eyes widening at how soft it is beneath his fingertips. She stiffens at first, before relaxing as he gently cards his fingers through her hair.

Langa begins to part bits of hair into two sections, throwing the right side over her shoulder. She stays silent as he works, and when he looks at her freckled face, he finds her eyes lightly closed as she soaks in his soft touches.

He smiles softly at her relaxed expression, before beginning the braiding process. Each time he loops one large strand of hair over the other, he weaves a flower or two between them. He continues this until he's finished the first braid, smiling at his work. He guides the large braid over her left shoulder, and then quickly picks another handful of hibiscuses.

As he focuses on the right braid, the pretty girl in front of him hums softly. “Didn’t think you knew your way around a woman’s hair,” she says softly, lightly tracing the braid with her finger. “This is beautiful.”

“Just as you are,” Langa says before he could think it through. He hears her take in a sharp breath of air out of surprise, looking at him through the corner of her eye over her shoulder. He smiles at her with a wink, and her face turns a deep red similar to the flowers weaved into her hair. “My father taught me, so I could do this sort of thing for my mother. She's always loved it when I do it, so I thought you would as well.”

“I think I do,” she whispers, running her finger along one of the flower’s petals. Langa watches her for a moment, getting caught in how gorgeous she is just looking at the flowers in her own hair. Then, he shakes himself inwardly and gets back to work, weaving more and more flowers into the second braid.

When he's finished, he guides the second braid over her right shoulder. She traces this one as well, before turning to face him, grinning brightly at him, blinding him all over again. “Thank you very much, Mister Snow!” she exclaims, and grabs one of his hands. Their fingers weave together, and he looks at their interlocked hands with wonder.

“And thank you for letting me do it, fair maiden,” he answers courteously. She giggles at him, and he slowly brings her hand up to his mouth, pressing his lips against the back of her hand. Her breath catches, her face flushing an even deeper red. Man, red really is her color. “I've had such a wonderful time with you- please, I must know your name.”

She wets her lips nervously, her amber eyes sparkling with anxiety. He lowers her hand, and begins to lightly trace her knuckles with his thumb. She watches this for a few seconds, before drawing in a deep breath. She steels herself, before meeting his eyes.

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” she says, and he unconsciously scoots closer to her, his knees brushing through the grass. He stops at the edge of her dress, not wanting to drag his knees across the well sewn stitching or fluffy layers. She leans in close, like she's about to tell him a secret, and he leans towards her without noticing, holding his breath with anticipation. “My name is-”

She cuts herself off when the loud bong of the nearby clock tower sounds, her eyes going wide, grip on his hand tightening. He stares at her questioningly, still waiting for her to say her name, only for her to suddenly be pulling away, pushing to her feet while brushing the front of her dress off.

“I have to go,” she says, taking Langa by complete surprise. His mouth falls open as she begins to quickly walk back they way they’d come, dress swaying around her wildly. Her expression is one of regret, but she doesn't stop going, turning back for one moment to tell him, “It was a fun night. Thank you very much.” She does a small curtesy before taking off in a full on sprint.

Langa almost can't do anything at first. All he could do was stare where she'd just been, his hand, now empty, held out uselessly in front of himself. The grass where she'd been sitting has an indention in it from the grass laying across it.

Then, he snaps out of it, and scrambles to his feet, taking off after her. “Wait!” he calls after her. His heart is hammering in his chest- they were having such a good time, why did she have to suddenly leave? The ball isn't even over for another two hours. They had plenty of time, and he wanted to get to know her more. “Wait! Where are you going?”

“I'm sorry!” she calls back, disappearing around a corner. Langa runs as fast as his legs could take him, and finds her already halfway down the steps of the palace. Her dress flares out behind her in a mess of blue, brushing across the tops of the steps.

At one point, Langa’s heart stops when she seems to stumble and nearly trip over one of the steps. He hardly even notices the large amount of noise growing behind him; everyone inside must have taken notice of his plight.

But the girl catches herself, pauses to look back, and then takes off again. Langa stops at the spot she had- spotting one of her beautiful glass slippers. His eyes widen and he crouches down to pick it up.

Bad idea.

Because the girl manages to get into her carriage and the carriage takes off as soon as the door is closed. His heart plummets and even though he knows it's in vain, he still gives chase after the carriage as it pulls away.

“Wait!!” he shouts after the receding carriage, to no avail. He glances around for his horse, but is stopped when his mom appears beside him, panting.

“Who was that?” she asks breathlessly. Langa’s mind buzzes; no no! He doesn't have time to talk! He has to get his horse and get to her before he loses her! But his mom catches his wrist before he could run, stopping him in his tracks. “Snow!”

He snaps out of his daze, and looks down at her desperately. Kojiro suddenly appears beside his mother, looking between them with confusion. “She- I- She's the one, Mom! And she hasn't even told me her name!” he manages to exclaim.

His mother’s eyes widen, and she looks at Kojiro, who seems to understand her look. He peels away from them towards the palace guard, hopping onto his horse.

“Calm down, sweetie,” she tells him soothingly. He's trembling, he realizes. He doesn't want to lose this mystery girl and her pretty face and kind personality and the things she makes him feel. He’d just met her and started smiling again! “Kojiro and the guards will go and bring her back, alright? Just wait right here. They'll be back soon.”

Langa wets his lips, biting his lower lip anxiously. He tightly grips the glass slipper she’d left behind, the only connection he has back to her.

His mystery princess.

[virtueangel]

limitless.

chapter one. 

wc: 2,034. original publish date: october 1, 2020.

Winter seems to drag on this year, pushing back Spring farther and farther until it steps off the chessboard of seasons completely. It's early April, but there is still snow piled up on the sidewalks, filling in the cracks of the concrete squares and melting into slush on the smooth surface. John F. Kennedy and Cleopatra walk down the sidewalk now, grasping hands dearly so as not to slip on the melted snow. Cleo is bundled up tightly in a black cardigan, John's varsity letterman jacket draped on top for extra warmth. She huddles close to the boy as she walks, trying to bask in some of the natural body heat wafting off of him. They like to walk in silence -- sometimes it's easier that way. Their questions don't have to be answered if they're never asked. But sometimes, the burden of carrying around the question is greater than the weight of hearing the answer.

"Why don't you ever take me on real dates, John?" Cleo asks in her shrill voice, almost whining.

"I don't know why you'd want me to, Cleo," he replies coolly, still grasping her hand. She wears elegant black gloves which hug her lean fingers fittingly. The cashmere is smooth and inviting against John's palm.

"Because some girls like romance, John."

"I thought you liked making out with me."

"I do!" She relaxes her hand, still holding onto John but not as violently. "But I don't feel like your girlfriend when I'm being shoved into a closet. I just feel like a pair of breasts and an open mouth."

John stares ahead nonchalantly. "That's because you're not my girlfriend, Cleo."

She lets go of his hand completely and scoffs. She shoves her own hands into her pockets -- John's pockets -- and watches her feet on the sidewalk. Her shiny black boots tick against the pavement, her movements slow and even steadier now that she doesn't have the boy's support. "Some girls like being girlfriends, too."

John sighs, shaking his head in exasperation. "We've been over this, Cleo. I don't date, but you like me and you're hot."

Cleo clenches her jaw. "That's a shitty thing to say, JFK. Don't you like me, too?"

JFK shrugs. "I like your ass."

The girl rolls her eyes, quickening her pace to walk in front of John. She slows down again, realising that the bottoms of her new boots are too slippery to risk a pace faster than normal. "Whatever. We're almost to my house anyway."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

Cleo lets out a huff before grabbing onto JFK for support again. She wraps her gloved hands around the loop his arm makes as it sticks out of his pocket. "I'm not gonna argue with you when we're right on the verge of a make-out session," she says.

"I thought you didn't want to be used for your body."

She shrugs before giving the shameless answer, "I don't, but you give exceedingly good head."

John F. Kennedy smirks. "Oh, you bet I do."

Cleo blushes, and tries to hide her face from John.

"But I can't today."

“What?” She asks. “Why?”

"Because I've got a lot of homework," he says, knowing it's a half-assed excuse.

Cleopatra turns to him, her eyebrow raised. "You don't do homework, John."

"I have to help Van Gogh today," John explains.

"Van Gogh?" Cleo repeats. John nods. "He needs your help?"

John rolls his eyes impatiently, wondering why Cleo can't seem to get it. Wondering why everything about her is so superficial that she can't understand that he has a best friend; why she isn't the only one who matters. "No, he doesn't need my help, he just doesn't like being alone on Friday nights."

"Neither do I," Cleo protests, batting her eyes desperately. She means the action to come off as flirty, but she knows she's going to lose this fight.

"So call some of your other friends. Abe, Joan-"

"Abe Lincoln and Joan of Arc are both cool enough to have plans on a Friday night," she combats.

JFK smirks. "Surely you won't let them be cooler than you."

Before Cleo can protest, they are walking up her driveway, her hands still wrapped around his arm. John walks her up the three steps to her front stoop, whirling her around so her back is to the door and her face is to him. He holds her gloved hands delicately, pretending to feel bad about blowing off his hot not-girlfriend to go spend time with his emotionally deprived best friend. It does sound depressing and lame when he hears it in his own head, but there's no going back now.

"Call me tonight?" Cleo asks, the slightest hint of a beg in her voice. She tries to hide it again under a flirtatious lilt, but it falls flat for the second time this afternoon. Cleo already knows what JFK is going to say.

"I never call, Cleo. People who are dating call, and I-"

Cleo cuts him off with an exasperated eye roll. "-don't date. I know."

"So why did you ask?"

Cleo shrugs. "I don't know. But I'm going now."

Nonetheless, she steps toward John for her expected kiss. He leans down to give her one, as per their afternoonly routine, but it doesn't bury itself as deep as usual. John keeps his mouth closed, despite Cleo's best efforts to engage him in the endeavour. When she realises her plan isn't going to work, she pulls away and scrambles into her house, swiftly shutting the door behind her to close off her embarrassment from the rest of the world. She has enough to worry about it seeping through the cracks.

***

JFK knocks on his best friend's door nearly ten minutes later, his feet sopping wet in his tennis shoes. He'd made a mistake when dressing that morning. He could see the snow intruding the sidewalk from his bedroom window, but he'd still opted for his sneakers, full of breathable holes and heat-accommodating fabrics. His big toe feels like it could snap off at any moment. He thinks if he were to take off his cotton sock and look at it, his toe would be blackened with the final stages of frostbite.

Vincent Van Gogh answers the door himself, wrapped in a fleece blanket and feet smothered in three layers of sock. Kennedy can't help but feel a little bit jealous, sure his toes are nice and cozy in their thick woollen fortress.

"JFK," Van Gogh greets the boy, standing aside to let him through the door. Van Gogh wonders how Kennedy ever could've noticed him at school; he stands at 5'5” while the varsity cross country runner was 6'1" last time he measured. Van Gogh is often a traffic cone to be tripped over.

"Sorry I'm so late. Cleo was bitching at me," JFK apologises.

"That's okay. I'm used to being alone," Van Gogh shrugs.

"But I know you especially hate Friday nights. You hate when there are sports games because the town gets loud and the drunken yelling echoes through the neighbourhood, bouncing off of the shingles and spinning like tops in your ears -- ear."

Van Gogh scoffs. "Spare me the poetry, Kennedy. You don't need to romanticise my mental illness, okay? It's not fucking fun."

"I thought you liked all that flowery prose -- all that girly shit."

The shorter boy shakes his head, feeling even smaller under Kennedy's scrutiny. "Don't talk down to me. And just because literature is written like a painting doesn't mean it's 'girly'. You like my artwork, don't you?"

"I like the one you did for AP art last year... the self-portrait."

Van Gogh smiles internally, secretly pleased with his best friend's answer. "I never thought I'd get a real compliment out of you, Kennedy."

"I compliment you!" He protests.

Van Gogh shakes his head, still wearing his smile. His lips are like daisies soaked in blood -- full and dripping. "Not without coating it in some condescending insult."

"Whatever, Gogh. You didn't want to be alone, and I'm here. So what now?"

"Well, so long as I'm holding you hostage, you may as well do some homework."

"I don't do homework," JFK reminds him.

Van Gogh smirks. "I know that, Kennedy. I just had to remind you of your morals before you go off and give me an honest compliment again. Weirds me out when you go soft, even for me."

JFK follows Van Gogh to his bedroom. The hallway walls are oddly bare and would go without notice if they hadn't been painted a murky blue. No pictures are hung, which strikes Kennedy as uncomfortably odd every time he visits his best friend's house. JFK's dads have hundreds of pictures of him stuffed into each nook and cranny of their house -- it's striking to see a pair of parents who care so little about documenting their child's early years.

Gogh pushes open the door to his room tentatively, almost as if he's scared there'll be an apparition seated on his bed. He shudders at the thought, trying to shake it off by opening the door all the way. He sits on a chair instead of the bed, nervous to accidentally sit on top of the ghost and give it a perfect chance to tunnel its way up into his organs. JFK notices the boy's shuddering and raises an eyebrow, taking note of the closed window and the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Who knew such a small boy could be so hopeless at keeping warm?

"Cold?" Kennedy asks, and Van Gogh looks up from the spot on his hand where he'd been anxiously picking at a scab. "And don't do that; the skin's almost healed," he adds.

Van Gogh narrows his eyes at the boy on his bed. "Since when do you care whether or not my scabs are healed?"

JFK shrugs, nervous to admit that he feels like he has to care since his friend's parents so obviously don't.

"Sorry I snapped," Van Gogh covers quickly. "Reflex."

Kennedy nods dismissively as if to show that he understands.

A couple seconds tick by, filling the room like a hose in a swimming pool. The time collects in the bedroom, spilling into every corner and fault line crack of the walls. It begins to overflow, and that's when Van Gogh can't stand the silence anymore. He invited Kennedy over so he wouldn't have to drown in stillness. Why can't JFK talk, dammit? Why is he so self-absorbed that he can't carry on a conversation for longer than five minutes at a time?

"Do you wanna read a book?" Van Gogh suggests, but it comes out in an urgent blurt. Maybe that's for the best. It gets Kennedy's attention.

"I don't read books."

Van Gogh rolls his eyes, cheeks burning a violent fire from embarrassment. "That's because you don't have the attention span to," he spits. "I could read it to you."

JFK's head snaps up. Gogh's cheeks darken an even deeper shade of red and he can feel his heartbeat in his face. Fuck, he thinks. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Okay," Kennedy says at last. "Read me a bedtime story." His overconfident, annoyingly-flirty tone is back, and Van Gogh smiles in relief. The blood drains from his cheeks and his heartbeat follows, little by little.

He excuses himself from his chair to slide a book off of his shelf. Kennedy lies down on the bed, his head on the pillow and his too-long legs spilling over the edge. "Give me a blanket," he demands, clearly serious about the "bedtime" thing. Van Gogh rolls his eyes, but fishes a blanket out of his bottom dresser drawer and throws it over to Kennedy nonetheless. JFK has just finished unfolding the blanket and throwing it over himself when Van Gogh settles back into his chair, lifting the cover of the book with his long fingers gingerly. His nails grow out past his fingertips which is normally a girlish look, but Kennedy can't help but wash his eyes over the boy's hands anyway. It doesn't look girlish on Van Gogh. Nothing looks girlish on Van Gogh.

[vennilavee]

to build a home - ch 3

from dusk till dawn

attack on titan masterlist

check out this story on ao3

Pairing: levi x reader (attack on titan)

Summary: a modern au where you and levi both work for the Survey Corps, a non-profit organization with a mission to help the youth of the Underground District.

Warnings: cursing, alcohol, harassment, smut- 18+!!!

Word Count: ~8800

A/N: there is smut, mentions of harassment (in a flashback) and kenny makes an appearance! ENJOY THIS IS 18+

***

“Why do I have to go?” You groan, rubbing your face, “Isn’t it Hange’s turn to go? Or Levi’s? Anyone but me? Can’t we all go together?”

“I don’t think all of us need to go for this one,” Erwin offers, “And it would be a good learning opportunity for the new hires. You can pick one or two of them to accompany you.”

“Lucky me,” You mutter, glancing at Levi. He’s looking at you with a small upturned smirk, clearly gloating at Erwin’s specific insistence that you go.

“These are all the rich people that you have the most experience with,” Erwin explains and you groan again, “They’re your favorite people, remember?”

You glare daggers at him when he grins at you.

“So now I have to babysit the rich guys and the new kids?” You say without any real heat in your voice.

“Careful. You’re starting to sound like Levi,” Erwin says, grin still plastered on his stupidly handsome face.

“God forbid,” You throw your hands up in the air, “We’re showing up in a limo and everything will be on the company card.”

“I expect nothing less,” Erwin confirms.

“Good, you know me so well.”

***

The door to Levi’s office is closed and locked, because you’re trying to convince him to come to the ball with you. Your eyes are dark and coy, lips only a breath away from his, and Levi could scoff. But he’s enjoying your groveling.

“You can hold your own with them,” Levi says, poking your forehead, “You know you can.”

“Of course I can,” You sigh, “Is it so much to ask for you to come with me just because I want you to?”

Your hands are flat on his chest and Levi tugs your wrists into his, rubbing circles. You already see the agreement on his face, in the turn of his lips.

“Not at all,” Levi promises, “I’ll tell Erwin I’ll be coming as your plus one.”

As if he could ever say no to you. As if he could ever say no to a night of being on your arm, both of you dressed to the nines. Even if that meant listening to rich men and women speak to you both in a way that annoys him to no end, in a way that makes your blood burn.

You both usually manage to make nights like this fun. He’s sure you have something up your sleeve. A memory of the first time Erwin had assigned you both to one of these donor’s galas resurfaces, maybe from ten years ago at this point-

Levi had barely paid you any mind, and you were quite annoyed with it all. You didn’t know why Erwin thought this was a good idea, pairing you up with him to tag team this gala.

You would probably have more success on your own anyway. Since you would be focused and your thoughts wouldn’t be filled with ire for the man who was accompanying you.

But just because he doesn’t pay you any mind doesn’t mean that he wasn’t a gentleman. He held doors for you and had even gotten you both a drink as soon as you had entered the ballroom.

There’s no way he could’ve known that you needed something to hold in settings like this to stave off your anxiety.

You had offered him a smile and a ‘thanks’, to which he had waved off. You had wanted to tell him that he looked nice, but refrained from doing so when he seemed to not even want to look at you.

What an ass. That’s okay, you’ll pretend like it doesn’t irk you. That one of your coworkers who you’ve worked with for as long as you’ve been part of the Survey Corps seems to not even want to breathe in the same general vicinity as you.

You had only just gotten his phone number, and you’ve worked with him for almost five years now.

With a scoff, you tell him that you’ll go and mingle with the crowd. You advise him to do the same and he has the gall to roll his eyes at you.

Fine. Two can play at that game.

He dislikes these events, but he knows how much it benefits the organization to get into the pockets of these rich types. Knowing that their money was benefiting something good for the Underground soothed their egos, after all. He gets frustrated when he sees these people talk about themselves like they're something to be worshipped for a simple donation. Maybe simple is the wrong word. But to Levi, spending the time with the kids meant just as much.

Considering that he was one of them.

But as Erwin often says- they need both to function. They need the resources and they need interest.

Levi hates this. Making small talk with people. Specifically, making small talk with people who don’t give a shit about him. Or you. Or anything outside of the walls of their unattainable realities. He decides to keep to himself and watch you plaster a sweet, unassuming smile that nearly makes his skin crawl. Because with that smile, you could convince anyone to do anything.

Him included. Probably.

You place calculating touches over the shoulders or forearm of whoever you’re talking to, bursting out in laughter at the perfect time, and Levi wonders when and how you got so good at this. When and how you got so good at schmoozing.

No wonder Erwin prefers that you come to these galas. You’ve got these fuckin’ losers eating out of the palm of your hand so effortlessly. It’s like clockwork- your dark eyes are wide and shining, smile easy and sweet, hands open and friendly.

These people will have nothing but good things to say about you at the end of the night. You had clearly done your homework- you knew who the big families in attendance were and you had their profiles nearly memorized as talking points.

That begs the question- why the fuck was Levi even there then?

You manage to excuse yourself, promising the people around you that you’d be back soon enough. Levi watches your smile fall as you roll your shoulders back. You’re exhausted, things like this clearly took its toll on you.

Levi has a glass of water ready for you.

“Thanks,” You mutter, unable to pull your muscles together for a smile.

“Think you need more than just a water to deal with these fuckers.”

“Tell me about it,” You sigh and then realize it’s the first full sentence he’s said to you all night, “Gonna go to the bar. You want somethin’?”

He shakes his head and you shrug, heading to the other side of the room. Levi watches you walk away and picks up on the tension building in your shoulders.

Your cheeks are beginning to hurt from all of the forced smiles, forced laughter, and forced conversations. You want to go home, but you have a duty to fulfill. After you order a drink, you find yourself in conversation with two women, asking you about what it was like to work in the Underground.

It’s one of the few genuine questions you’ve received, and yet you’re almost too drained to answer. One of the women leans in closer to you, nose only millimeters away from yours.

“You’re somethin’ else aren’t you? Survey Corps finest and all,” She muses, “Erwin only sends his best to these things.”

“Uh,” You reply, your head suddenly filled with air. You back away a step, but she’s somehow closer to you than before. Her fingers dance over your bare arm and you reflexively yank your arm closer to you but she pays no mind to your reluctance.

“His prettiest, too,” She says and you wish you would melt into the floor. Away from her. Away from this.

“Can’t you tell when you’re making someone uncomfortable?” A voice comes from your right and you can barely hear it over the slamming of your heart against your ribcage. It’s Levi and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Or do you have a stick so far up your ass that you can’t tell what’s right in front of you?” Levi continues easily, ignoring your wide eyes and the woman’s flabbergasted look.

Levi stands next to you, nearly shielding you with his body.

“Do you even know who I am?” She says rudely, arms crossed across her chest. As if she hadn’t just touched you with those same fingers.

“No,” Levi says in his bored tone, “Don’t really care.”

“Levi, let’s go. It’s fine,” You whisper, trying to plead with him.

“You won’t get my money then-”

“We don’t fuckin’ want your shitty money,” Levi says coldly, already turning his back on them and you follow him. He’s walking fast and you have to call out to him to wait up for you at the coat check. Your head is spinning, a sure sign of a headache that will be coming.

“Which coat is yours?” Levi asks once you catch up.

“That one,” You point to the black peacoat that you want nothing more than to bury yourself in. You stay silent as you walk to the entrance, mindlessly scrolling on your phone and texting Erwin that you’ll be heading home.

“Tell me that was the first time,” Levi says, breaking the silence.

“Huh?” Comes your eloquent answer.

He raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“Oh. Uh… It happens sometimes,” You shrug, “Doesn’t really get too far. These rich types just like what they can’t have.”

Another beat of silence.

“I’m gonna kill Erwin,” He mutters.

“Why? He didn’t do anything.”

“It’s not worth it. Do you think it’s worth it?” Levi asks, more emotion in his voice than you’ve possibly ever heard before.

“Levi,” You murmur, “It’s fine. Just drop it.”

He looks like he wants to protest but he abides by your request. Levi can’t get your hesitance, your fearful eyes, your flinch out of his head. It reminds him too much of his mother, and he can’t get it out of his head.

Levi takes a cab home with you, telling the cab driver to stop at your apartment first then his. The ride is mostly silent, save for the cab driver’s small talk. Your hands are twisting in your lap as you look out of the window.

“Hey,” You murmur, “I’m glad we’re coworkers. Friends, even.”

“Tch,” Levi replies easily, “Don’t get any ideas.”

But you smile at him and Levi doesn’t look away. He has to make sure that the look that reminds him of his mother is gone.

***

Tonight’s gala is at the castle in Wall Sina. Coming here still puts a bad taste in your mouth, but it’s not so hard to manage as it was before. The decorations are more tasteful than they usually are, bronze and blue streamers and banners hanging throughout the large ballroom.

“How are we supposed to blend in here?” You hear Jean mutter under his breath.

“By getting that stick out of your ass and mingling,” Levi replies easily, shooting a sideways glance.

“It’s not so bad,” You muse, “It’s not so bad now . Just be yourself, Jean. These people love talking about themselves. Just charm them. From what I hear, you’re pretty good at that.”

Levi rolls his eyes at Jean’s surprised expression.

“C’mon, Jean. We can go talk to that noble family over there,” You suggest, looking expectantly at him.

“What about Ca-, I mean Levi?” Jean asks.

“Levi has his own list of people Erwin wants him to talk to,” You wink at him and Levi rolls his eyes.

“Meet you back here in an hour or so.”

***

A voice that you haven’t heard in years breaks your reverie, your heart sputtering as you turn around to face him. You try to face him as neutrally as you can, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he bothers you.

“Kenny,” You breathe, surprise morphing into irritation, “Why are you here?”

“What, I can’t check in on my favorite nephew and niece to be?” He smirks in that way that you know gets under Levi’s skin.

“He’s not- we’re not-” You sigh, cutting yourself off, “You shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t want to see you.”

“He’s playing hard to get, huh?” Kenny says, lips twitching and eyes trained on you. You feel exposed, as if he’s burning you from the inside out but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. His cool, grey eyes are unforgiving but you hold his gaze. He seems satisfied with his assessment of you and you pretend like your skin isn’t crawling.

You’ve never liked Kenny. Even if he wasn’t such a dick to Levi, you’re certain you wouldn’t like him.

“I said he doesn’t want to see you,” You repeat firmly. The longer he stands in front of you, the more disgusted you become.

“Aww, he doesn’t want to see his ol’ man?” Kenny pouts, “I’m sure I’ll run into him at some point. Give him my best will you?”

“Wait,” You call out, curiosity getting the best of you, “Why are you here? I haven’t seen you in, what, four years?”

“You miss me, sweetheart?” He grins wolfishly and you visibly recoil, “This whole thing. I’m one of the people they’re honoring.”

“Oh, really? This is for donors, for good, upstanding people of Wall Rose and Wall Sina who give money and resources to help us-”

“I’m hurt that you don’t see me as one of those good, upstanding people.”

“Kenny,” You scoff, “ Good and upstanding isn’t in your fuckin’ vocabulary.”

“Ouch,” Kenny says, “You kiss Levi with that mouth?”

You swear you’re about to lunge at him, hands ready to throttle his neck and wipe the stupid grin off of his face. But then you feel Levi’s presence before you see him and his hand brushes against yours. In an attempt to reassure you. He doesn’t look at you, only concentrating his gaze upon Kenny.

His uncle. Uncle Kenny.

“Oi, Levi. Lookin’ the same as ever,” Kenny drawls and you see red.

“Shut up,” You hiss, “Shut the fuck up -”

Levi quiets you with a look before turning back to Kenny. He’s quiet for a moment, as if he can’t believe that his Uncle Kenny is standing in front of him.

“You’re here because of the weapons business you have,” Levi says, voice perfectly even. Only you can catch the small inclination of fury beneath layers of iciness.

“You somehow wormed your way in with these people. Convinced them that you’re like them,” Levi continues with piercing eyes, “You’re not. You’re a weasel. A shitty little weasel with no place here. You’re nothing like them. At least they can sleep at night, but you? You don’t deserve to.”

Before Kenny can say anything, Levi’s turned his back on him and you walk side to side with him. Tension radiates off of him in waves as he stews in his quiet anger and you let out a soft sigh.

“Levi,” You murmur, “Come with me.”

You touch the inside of his wrist and he follows you to an empty room. Boxes upon boxes sit on the sides of the walls. The room is illuminated by drowning sunlight creeping in through a window. You lock the door behind you and take his hand, drawing circles in the inside of his wrist.

“Levi,” You whisper again, pulling him out of his thoughts. He says nothing in reply, only looking at you with that same piercing gaze. Iciness has chipped away from the corners of his eyes, and instead he just looks lost for a moment. It disappears as soon as it comes, but you’re sure it’s a look he wore often when he was a kid.

“I’ll tell Erwin we have to leave,” You say, “He’ll understand, Levi. It’s not worth it.”

His eyes flash at you but you stand your ground.

“Do you want to stay?” You ask, sensing his hesitancy, “We can leave, Levi. We can go home.”

Levi pulls you in without a word and presses his face into the crook of your neck. His breaths are heavy against your skin, trying to calm himself down with your woodsy scent. You run your fingers through his undercut and over the base of his neck, lightly scratching with your freshly done nails.

You just want him to feel safe and you know he doesn’t. Not when Kenny is around.

It’s a few minutes before Levi speaks again, and his voice is even but tight.

“I need to know why he’s here. And how.”

“Levi,” You say softly, cupping his cheek, “Does it matter?”

“Yes,”  He says sharply, turning his icy gaze to you. Levi winces when he sees you pull your hand back in alarm. He reaches for your hand again, rubbing circles over your thumb.

“He raised me,” Levi says, “I need to know.”

You nod, eyes round with understanding. But you see a crack through his armor and you press your forehead to his, allowing his shaky breaths to fall onto you.

“Why is he here?” He whispers, eyes trained on yours. You hear the silent question- why is he here now? Why wasn’t he here before? Levi pulls you closer to him by your waist, hands firm and searching for comfort.

“I don’t know, Levi,” You murmur, “But I’ll kick his ass outta here, you know that. If he even looks at you the wrong way-”

Levi cuts you off with a kiss, pouring all of his frustrations, his anguish, his love for you and for life into you. Your startled gasp is muffled, fingers clawing at his shoulders.

“I know,” He whispers when he pulls away, “Saw you about to throttle him earlier. Who do you think you are?”

Levi’s offers you a crooked smile and you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Kenny Ackerman’s niece to be, apparently.”

“Is that what he said?” Levi says mildly. You hum and Levi pulls you closer for another stolen kiss. He breathes compliments into your skin with his lips and with featherlike touches of his fingers. You coax his nerves out of him, whispering honeyed promises with your tongue and your touch to his warmed skin.

“We should go,” Levi mutters, pulling away, taking in your heaving chest and swollen lips, “Before people notice that we’re gone.” He runs his thumb over your bottom lip and you nod reluctantly.

“Or we could stay here and make out for the rest of the night,” You protest feebly, already smoothing your dress out and taking his arm as he leads you out of the room.

“We have family business to attend to.”

***

You keep sneaking glances at Levi, unsure of what he’s thinking. You want to hold his hand and rub his back but refrain from doing so. Instead, you reach under the table and touch the palm of his hand to reassure him and before you can pull away, he holds on to your fingers. He’s rigid in his seat, face betraying no trace of emotion. But you know better.

Levi tenses up immediately when Kenny walks across the stage to receive his commendation for being such an esteemed donor. Kenny spots him immediately in the crowd, narrowing his eyes with a smug smirk.

Poor Jean. He probably has no idea what’s going on. A drop of guilt blooms in your chest. He’s supposed to be here to learn. You mentally promise to make it up to him.

Jean looks at you, then Levi, then the stage. He’s no fool- he can tell how tense the air has become. There’s a crease in Levi’s brow that he’s never seen before.

You’re certain you’ll all receive a scolding from Erwin, but at this point, you truly do not care.

***

“I’ll get the car keys from the valet,” Levi promises, “It’ll take a second.”

His thumb brushes your chin and you nod. He didn’t want to wait for valet to bring his car around, he wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as he could. Even if that meant going on a wild goose chase for his car within the parking lot.

“Wait,” You reach for him, “What about Jean? The least we can do is take him home.”

Levi groans and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Fine,” He sighs, “I’ll look for him inside. If I don’t find him in a minute, I’m leaving his ass here.”

You stifle a laugh but nod at him. He leaves you with his blazer when he sees goosebumps on your skin as well as another brush of his thumb against your chin. You admire him from behind, the way his navy colored waistcoat hugs him. As you’re tugging his blazer on and crossing your arms for warmth, you see Jean walking out of the entrance. You’re about to text Levi and tell him that you found Jean, but then you see Kenny following him outside and you swallow.

You thought you could make a getaway without running into Kenny once more. The number of times you’ve seen him tonight is already one too many. Dread fills you, leaving you rooted on the spot as he approaches you with his cool, unassuming smirk.

“You could knock someone dead with that look,” Kenny muses, “I suppose that’s one of the many reasons why my nephew is with you, huh?”

You say nothing as your cheeks flare.

“The silent treatment? That’s not very nice…”

He’s close enough to you that you can see the steel of his eyes. It’s the same steel in Levi’s eyes and you swallow your nerves once more to face him.

“Don’t talk to me about being nice, Kenny,” You scoff, “What do you want from me? What do you want from him?”

“Nothin’,” Kenny shrugs, “Can’t I just say hello to my family? See how everyone’s been?”

“No,” You say bluntly, “Leave us alone, Kenny.”

Jean is nowhere to be seen and you breathe a minuscule sign of relief. You don’t want him to listen to this.

You try to move away from him and get back inside the venue, but he grabs your shoulder. Your head snaps back in surprise and then irritation. Shrugging your shoulder out of his grip, you step closer to him. Close enough that he takes a step back.

“Don’t ever fuckin’ touch me again, Kenny,” You seethe, “You don’t need to worry about Levi beating your ass. I’ll break your wrist on my fuckin’ own.”

To your surprise, he laughs.

“She’d like you, you know. Kuchel,” Kenny laughs, sudden fondness in the lines of his eyes. He pokes your forehead, almost teasing and you ache for Levi. This was the man who raised him. And then left him when he was barely a teenager.

“Leave us alone, Kenny,” You murmur, taking a step back, “If he wants to see you, he will. But leave us alone until then.”

“He’s doing okay?” Kenny asks, and you see a familiar crack in his armor. It reminds you of Levi, when he lets his guard down and allows the perceived luxury of vulnerability.

“Yeah,” You reply, “He’s doing okay.”

“You’ll take care of him,” He says, his voice hard. Steel returns to his eyes, but you’re used to it.

“Always,” You reply without missing a beat. Your heart is out in the open on your sleeve, bleeding and beating for Levi. You wonder if Kenny can sense all of the things you want to say to him.

Kenny pokes your forehead once more, eyes lingering on your face. As if searching for a shred of doubt or reason for disbelief.

As if he has a right to.

***

Levi was about to give up on looking for Jean when he bursts into the entrance as if he’s seen a ghost. His eyes are wide and he sprints to Levi when he finally spots him across the room.

“Spit it out, Jean,” Levi says with a raised eyebrow.

“Some guy- There’s some guy out there,” Jean pants, “Looks kinda like you except smiles more. But in a scary way. Talking to her. Figured you should know before I intervened.”

It’s not fair for Levi to be annoyed that Jean left you, but he closes his eyes in irritation.

“And you left her there with him ?” Levi asks, walking long strides to get to you.

“All due respect, sir, but she can handle herself,” Jean says easily and Levi stops to give him a look.

“You questioning me, Kirstein?”

“Well, no, sir-”

“Shut up, Kirstein.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go find my car, Kirstein. Pull up to the front when you do,” Levi says, tossing him his keys. Jean looks flabbergasted for a moment but sprints off to the parking lot.

Of course Levi knows you can handle yourself with Kenny. He just wishes you didn’t have to.

***

Defiance is written across your features, in the furrow of your eyebrows and the crossing of your arms.

He sees Kenny poke your forehead and he sees you wince. It’s an action that reminds him of when he was young, when Kenny would approve of something he did. He would always receive a poke to the forehead as a thank you, or as a job well done.

Seeing Kenny touch you, no matter how small or fleeting, sends him into a rage that he’s been struggling to contain all evening. Your dark eyes widen when Levi roughly clasps Kenny’s shoulder to pull him back and away from you.

He’s so close to the edge, about to fall off an invisible precipice and you both know it. Levi pulls his arm back behind him as his hand curls into a fist, just like the way Kenny taught him all those years ago, but before he can land a solid punch on Kenny’s sneering face. Something pulls him back.

“Levi,” You whisper, your arms tight around him, “Do you need this, Levi? Is this what you need?”

Smoke slowly lifts from his eyes as he focuses on your quiet breaths against him and your fingers tracing his chest. The sound of his blood flooding to his ears quiets with each breath of yours. Levi un-clenches his fist and instead, pushes Kenny away in the same breath. He looks at Kenny long and hard, his eyes calming from a raging, stormy sea. Your cheek is still pressed against his back, arms locked around his waist.

Levi offers him nothing more than a scoff and turns his back on him. You peel yourself from his back, giving him a small smile and dare to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Let’s go home, Levi,” You murmur.

“Kirstein’s getting the car,” Levi says and you can’t help but let out a laugh.

“Really? I’m surprised,” You muse, “You must trust him.”

“He wishes,” Levi scoffs.

Just as you’re about to comment that you would be surprised if he ends up finding it in this sea of cars, he honks at both of you.

Jean can tell that something has happened, from the tired look on your face and the tension in Levi’s shoulders. He hops out of the driver’s seat when Levi barks at him and you scold Levi for his tone.

“Thank you, Jean,” You murmur, “You’re a good man.”

You kiss his cheek lightly in gratitude and Jean feels his face heat up. He touches the spot you had kissed in wonder.

“Oi, Kirstein! If you don’t get in the car in the next five seconds, I’m leaving your ass here,” Levi threatens with a glare and you stifle a laugh behind your hand in the passenger seat.

The drive is quiet, save for music playing as background noise and your small talk with Jean. Jean notices you looking over to Levi every so often, gazing at him as if you’re looking for something.

“So,” Jean says, to try to lighten the tension, “Do you come to these often? Do you come together? ”

Levi looks like he’s about to say something scathing to Jean but you send him a sizzling glance that keeps him quiet.

“For the last nearly six years… If that’s often, then yes,” You reply, watching in amusement as Jean’s brown eyes widen in shock.

“Six years?!”

“Close your mouth, Jean. You look like a horse,” Levi says plainly and you roll your eyes.

Jean wonders if anyone at all will believe him when he tells them about this evening.

***

As soon as you kick your heels off of your aching feet while leaning against the front door of your apartment, Levi’s arms are around you. Inhaling you in deeply. You relax in his hold, leaning your head against his shoulder as his fingers trace over the delicate veins of your neck.

You can sense his need through the rough calluses of his hands.

Levi tilts your jaw towards his lips, eyeing you for a few moments. Your honeyed eyes are swirling, patient and waiting for him. Your lips are slightly parted and he can’t take it anymore- he can’t take how you still look at him like that. As if he’s pulled the stars from his bleeding heart. His blood has turned to fire, eyes molten and smoky as he pulls you in for a rough, searing kiss. 

You turn in his hold, arms wrapping around his head as fingers slide through his inky hair. Levi gives you half a second to breathe before he’s pressing another kiss to your lips and swallowing any thread of a thought that you have. He doesn’t realize how tightly he’s gripping your hips and your soft sounds hardly register in his mind. He hears you say something, but ignores it, in favor of pushing his lips to your neck. Your sweet spot, the spot that makes your knees go weak. He pulls a small sound from your throat, barely aware of your nails scratching his chest from over his clothes.

Then he hears your voice again.

“Levi,” You say softly, barely above a whisper, “Are you okay?”

He ignores you, muffling your concern with the cool press of his mouth to yours. Your hands are firm against his chest this time, pushing him away lightly. Just a few breaths away. Not too far.

“Levi,” You press, “What do you need Levi?”

He can’t take the sweet sound of his name on your lips. The way it sounds like honey, dripping from your tongue and into the air. His eyes are uncharacteristically wild, tendrils of vivid affection swirling together.

“You,” He finally says raspily, “It’s always you.”

You give him a small smile with glowing cheeks, and he wants to drown in your adoration.

“C’mere, Levi.”

Your arms wrap around him tightly, tucking his face in your neck. You rub his back gently while your other hand runs through his hair the way he likes.

“Today was a long day,” You breathe into his ear, nipping his earlobe lightly. He hums into your neck, his breaths evening out. You pull his dress shirt out from the hold of his pants while still rubbing circles over his back.

“Did you see Jean’s face? Poor kid,” You laugh lightly, “Think he’ll come to one of these things again?”

Your honeyed voice anchors him, and he wants to sink into you.

“He’s a good kid,” You continue, “Like you. Like I know you were. Like I know you are. I know your heart. You gave it to me, remember?”

You snake your hand to his chest and lightly scratch at his left side.

“I need you, Levi,” You murmur, tipping his chin from the crook of your neck to meet his eyes, “Can you feel how much?”

You move his hand first to your chest, where he can feel your heart beating fast. Like a hummingbird. His gaze is sharp, eyes boring into yours and you don’t falter. You lift the skirt of your dress to your waist with one hand and take his hand, allowing him to brush his fingers against your panties.

Levi’s throat goes dry at your unwavering, hazy eyes and rubs you over your panties. He swallows when a soft sigh escapes your pretty lips.

“You gonna do somethin’ about it or what, Levi?” You drawl, a smirk tugging at your lips. He sees the plea in your eyes, your plea for him to come back to you.

His thumb circles your panties once more, avoiding where you need him the most. Your smirk crumbles into a pout quickly and you try to buck your hips into his hand to get him to touch you. You watch him rub circles over your panties, finally getting the friction you so crave. He noses your neck, pressing his searing lips to yours fiercely.

His eyes aren’t so wild anymore, but his touches are.

You fumble with the buttons of his waistcoat, fingers slipping with every touch of his lips to yours. You’re uncoordinated and clumsy, getting frustrated with yourself. How is he so good at doing things with his eyes closed?

Levi senses your frustration and lets out a breathy chuckle. His hand is still under your dress, lazily teasing you’ve and you finally open your eyes to unbutton his waistcoat and dress shirt with shaky fingers.

You’re suddenly taken back to a memory of the first time you had seen him. You were one of his firsts and he was far from yours. He wanted to do right by you, and it took time for him to learn what you liked and how to please you and make you sigh in that sweet, breathy way.

Levi pushes your panties to the side, thumb circling your bundle of nerves. You gasp in surprise at the sudden but welcome warmth.

You manage to pull his shirt off of his shoulders, leaving his chest bare in front of you. Hunger floods your senses, hunger for this man in front of you. For your man, who has given you his heart despite his heart being so heavy for so long.

You feel your panties being pushed down your legs when Levi crouches on the floor. His fingers squeeze your thighs and your calves lightly as he looks up at you. You step out of your panties as he tugs you by your hands.

“Come here,” Levi mumbles, pulling you into his lap.

Levi reaches behind you to search for the zipper of your dress with his fingers. He peels the dress off of you easily and you can’t say that he’s looking at you like you’re a goddess in his arms because he looks at you like this every day. All the time. But that’s what this look reminds you of. Before, when you were in your early stages of your relationship, it intimidated you. The depth of his devotion.

But now, it surrounds you and you welcome it.

Just before he sets your dress on the couch to keep it off of the floor, you stop him.

“Let me put it in the hamper,” You murmur, “We’ll forget about it and then I’ll wake up in the middle of the night because it’ll be bothering me.”

That’s one of the many reasons that his love for you runs deep. You can keep up with his need for cleanliness. Levi follows you into the bedroom with his shirt, waistcoat and your panties in his hands. And his eyes on the arch of your bare ass and the curve of your spine.

“Give me that,” You say, turning around to take his dress shirt and waistcoat. You place it in the special hamper, the one designated for dry cleaning.

Levi tosses your black panties into your hamper with an unassuming smirk and you can’t help but wonder how a simple action like that turns your stomach over in arousal. Levi pulls you towards him, littering your hips with fleeting touches before squeezing your ass firmly.

His lips are on yours in an instant, pulling you even closer into his chest. Your fingers spread over his scarred shoulder, fingernails pressing into his skin. You pull a groan from him and trail your fingers down his chest. Scratching where you see fit, scratching over the smattering of dark hair leading into his pants.

Levi snakes a hand in between you, fluttering over your chest. His fingers are replaced by his lips quickly, as your breath hitches with each bite of his lips to your skin. You can’t get enough of his mouth on you, or of the way the shadows fall over his broad shoulders and taut muscles. His other hand brushes against your heated center and your hips buck into his hands involuntarily.

You can taste his longing, hidden in the crevices of his lips, the roughness of his touch against you. The way he slots himself with you, molding into every curve of your body. You hear your own soft moans and calls of his name as his lips touch every part of your soul.

Without a word, he hooks his arms under your thighs and lifts you up. His lips are still on your skin, wherever he can reach. You lock your arms behind his head, tugging his hair back tight enough that it pulls him back. An audible groan escapes his throat when you pull at his hair.

Something you had discovered early on that he liked.

He stumbles for just a step before regaining his balance. You let out a breathy laugh into his neck before pressing a kiss there. Then behind his ear. Close to his collarbones. Along the expanse of his chest.

Levi gently drops you to the bed, drinking you in from above with wide eyes. The voracity in his darkened eyes nearly makes you look away but you hold his gaze. He surges forward, unable to fathom another moment of not touching you.

He grinds into you lazily, your bare center seeking more friction than the roughness of his pants.

“Levi,” You nearly whine, pulling at his belt buckle, “Take it off, Levi.”

“ You take it off,” He drawls, voice low. Your heart flutters and your throat goes dry.

You sit up, drawing your knees to your chest and pull him closer to you by his belt. Your movements are slow as you unbuckle his belt and toss it to the floor, and you yank his pants and boxer briefs down in one swift motion.

Levi can’t deny that the way your eyes always widen when you see him strokes his ego.

“Off, Levi,” You say softly and he tosses his pants into his hamper before ducking down to meet your lips- your chest- your navel.

Levi presses a hand to your center and you gasp, the pretty sound floating into the air and reverberating in his ears. He holds your hips steady with his forearm as he circles your clit with his thumb. He hoists your legs over his shoulders while gazing at you with that same tenacious look.

Lust and love mixes together to make your eyes a darkened brown.

You gasp his name breathily, back arching slightly with the first flick of his tongue against your center. He maintains his gaze, eyes piercing into yours and your toes curl at the added intensity. You struggle to keep your eyes open but Levi squeezes your hips every so often as a reminder. He squeezes your breasts, pinching and tweaking.

He pulls his hand away to rub your clit with his thumb as his tongue laps you up. Levi wasn’t always this good with his tongue and with his fingers. It took you both some time to get in sync with each other, in terms of what you both liked.

Time and patience, which you both had infinite amounts of for each other.

Stars are beginning to dot your eyelids, your hands bunching up in the sheets as urgent, broken whispers of his name float into the air. Just as your thighs begin to shake and your toes curl, he pulls his lips away from your aching, empty center and you could scream .

Levi does this often. He brings you to the edge, only to back away. Only to take you there once more. Like clockwork.

The smug smirk on his face makes you want to kiss him. So you do. You pull him into your arms, grinding into his hardened length and hungrily bite his bottom lip. Your stolen release burns in the back of your mind but you give it no attention. Levi groans in pain at your bite and you smile against the kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. You lock your legs around his waist, holding him in place and reach in between your bodies to stroke him in your hand. Levi bucks against your hand with a low moan.

“I want you, Levi,” You whisper into his ear, nipping at his earlobe. Warmth pools in his belly at that and he looks dazed for a moment before snapping out of it. Your lips are parted and swollen, brown skin glistening and warm, dark eyes wide and wanting.

“Fuck ,” Levi mutters, “I need to be inside you right now.”

You nod vehemently, parting your legs for him quickly. He looks to your dripping center and guides himself in one swift glide. Both of you groan in unison and Levi stills for a moment when you pull him in for a kiss. You run a hand through his hair, smiling when he groans as you clench around him.

“Don’t do that,” He says breathily, playfully biting at your shoulder.

“Why? You gonna cum or somethin’?” You tease, earning yourself a squeeze to your hips.

“Shut up.”

Before you can say anything back to him, he lifts himself up over you, arms around your head. His hair falls into his eyes, tickling your heated cheeks and he shallowly thrusts into you. It’s the sweetest burn, the way he fits in you.

Your eyes begin to water when his thrusts get deeper. You subconsciously tilt your head to the side, away from him and Levi kisses your neck. He nudges your jaw with his nose to pull your eyes to him. You crane your neck up to press a kiss to his lips but he pushes himself into you particularly roughly and you moan into his mouth.

Levi pulls you up into his lap, arms tight around your hips and you hum. His lithe fingers are everywhere- cupping your neck, holding your thighs steady on either side of his waist, your scalp.

You’re gasping his name as he pushes into you and murmurs soft notes of encouragement into your neck. He watches as he slides in and out of your wetness with darkened cheeks. Nails scrape his back and he winces for a second but pays it no mind. Your soft breaths and whines of his name against his neck are distracting enough.

Levi rubs your folds lazily as he thrusts up into you. All you see, hear and feel is him and you’re overwhelmed. You raise your head to meet his searing eyes with an arm hooked around his head and sloppily press your lips to his.

Heat pools your belly once more, and you can nearly see stars about to burst behind your eyelids once more. Levi can sense that you’re close, in the way your legs quiver around him and in the way you clench around him. He rubs your clit in tight circles, coaxing you to the edge. Where he’s right there to catch you.

“Good girl,” Levi whispers, and your eyes widen like they always do.

He holds you tightly when you cum with a soft gasp and shaky legs. You’re panting broken notes of his name into his skin. Levi peppers your face with kisses. He’s still inside you and you give him a devilish smile.

You push him down to the bed and dig your nails into his chest teasingly. He knows that look in your eyes all too well. You stretch your torso, your hands skimming your sides and brush your fingers over your clit to tease yourself. Levi groans and plants his hands firmly on your hips. Squeezing your ass and your thighs as he pleases.

“You feel so good, Levi,” You breathe, as if it’s a secret only for his ears. You start to rock against him, hips dragging across his heated skin. The friction from his skin sends a shudder up your spine and Levi slides his hands over your sides before squeezing you.

Levi loves the way your eyes shine with desire and an undercurrent of trust. He loves the way your brown skin glistens with a thin layer of sweat, the way you’re clawing at him for something to hold on to. Levi pulls you close to him, kissing up and down your chest.

You find a rhythm and ignore the way your thighs burn as you take all of him in. The only sounds in the four walls of the bedroom is the sound of your skin slapping on his and his shaky breaths. Levi is always so composed- seeing him come undone by your hands sends another pool of heat into your belly.

“Shit,” Levi groans, throwing his head back and tightening his grip on your thighs. His hooded eyes are trained on you, watching you bounce as your legs slowly begin to tire out. But you’re determined, he can see it in your face. He loves watching you like this- determination and desire mixing together. Levi rubs your clit with his thumb and you gasp, your legs beginning to shake once more. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you flat against him, thrusting into you.

You clench around him without meaning to and he moans breathlessly in your ear, feverishly pressing his lips to your throat to stave off his climax until yours. You can feel how close he is, in his sloppy thrusts, the way his legs jerk against yours and you breathe him permission for him to cum inside of you.

Levi gasps your name into your skin as he cums, his stomach tightening as you feel warmth inside of you and beginning to leak down your thighs. He’s about to pull out but you stop him with a tug of his wrist.

“Stay,” You mumble and he swallows. He’s sensitive, but he stays. He flips you over so you’re under him and rubs at your clit lazily while his lips find your salty skin. Your senses are deliciously overwhelmed as Levi engulfs you.

“Levi,” You nearly cry, water gathering in the corners of your eyes. You’re overwhelmed by the love you have for him, by the love you feel and see in his grey eyes. Your nails are piercing against his bicep but he hardly feels it. You’re so close , and he needs to feel you come apart under him.

Your grip is tight around his arms, lips parted as your back arches when you finally cum for the second time so far.

“Good girl,” Levi murmurs again, kissing your hairline, your heated cheeks and your chin.

You rub your foot up and down his calf with a small smile. You hold him close to you, enjoying his warmth as it lights you up from inside out.

“We should go shower,” You murmur, rubbing a hand over your face.

“Why? You thought we were done?”

“You’re right. How stupid of me,” You muse, earning yourself a pinch to your waist.

“You’ve said worse.”

***

Fatigue settles in your bones after the fourth, or was it fifth, orgasm of the night. Your eyes are heavy, both from the events of the day as well as the events of the night. You hear Levi panting next to you, exhausted as well.

But you can’t rest. Not yet.

“Levi,” You nudge his shoulder, “We have to shower.”

“Give me a minute,” He says hoarsely.

“Can’t believe you seduced me into sex before washing up after the gala. You’ve made me lose my marbles.”

“Me?” Levi says, flabbergasted.

You hum, closing your eyes for a few minutes. You feel Levi’s weight shift and he carries you to the bathroom on shaky legs. Once you’re under the warm water, you groan as it soothes your sore muscles. You feel heavy, but weightless at the same time. Levi holds you up with your back to his chest and washes you down with his shower gel quickly but effectively. It smells just like him and you inhale deeply.

You swear you could fall asleep like this, and Levi knows it. You’re beginning to yawn widely enough that your eyes water. But you open your eyes to take the gel from him and lather him down slowly, taking your time with the dips and crevices of his body.

You even manage to sneak a kiss onto his bruised lips in between.

Levi holds you under the spray of the water for a few moments, with your head over his shoulder and an arm around your waist. His heartbeat is even and steady, so close to lulling you back to sleep.

“Stay awake,” Levi says softly but firmly, “Still have to towel off.”

You give him a noncommittal answer but pull away from him and wait for him to give you your towel. His dark hair is slightly damp, cheeks flushed from the heat of the water and from you . You can’t help but run your fingers through his hair as he wraps a towel around his waist and around you. Your limbs feel pliable, and damn, you are so tired.

Levi holds the implicit, unwavering trust you have for him in the palm of his hands and carries it carefully but confidently. He moisturizes the both of you, knowing that you hate waking up to dry skin.

“Raise your arms,” Levi murmurs and slides a sleep shirt over your head. He pats your head when you look up at him with a sleepy smile and nearly closed eyes.

“C’mon, it’s bedtime for us,” Levi says, carrying you to bed and drawing the covers over both of you. He presses a kiss to your shoulder as a goodnight and wraps himself around you. His legs intertwine with yours, and he draws you close to him. You’re fast asleep in minutes, your hand loose around his.

***

It’s the middle of the night when you wake up to a cold bed. You rub sleepiness out of your eyes and stretch your muscles, feeling every inch of the delicious soreness. Especially in your legs.

A soft but unsurprised sigh leaves your lips when you see the empty bed and the faint glow of the lights in the living room.

Levi is sitting on the couch, scrolling his phone mindlessly. His eyes are tired but you can tell his mind is spinning.

You wordlessly take one of his favorite teacups from the kitchen cabinet and start making tea for him. It’s a teacup that you had bought for him, painted black with gold accents. It reminded you of him.

He lifts his head a little at the scent of his favorite tea.

You bring his teacup and the teapot in a tray to the coffee table and tuck your bare legs under yourself to sit a few inches next to him, unsure if he wants space. When he says nothing for a few minutes, you assume he wants to be alone and you press a kiss to his hair. To leave and go back into the bedroom.

But he tugs your hand gently and so you stay.

“Come back to bed, Levi,” You murmur softly, fingers in his dark strands of hair.

It’s 3:18 AM and Levi drinks his black tea in his overhanded manner, leaning into your touch.

“Can’t stop thinking,” Levi finally says, “About Kenny.”

You’re not surprised.

“He asked me if I would take care of you,” You muse. Tension immediately fills his shoulders but you press your fingers into his muscles to calm him down.

“He told me that your mother would like me.”

Levi cracks a small smile at that.

“I told him to leave us alone, unless you want to see him,” You reply, “Then I told him I’d break his wrist if he touched me again.”

Levi kisses your cheek.

“Do you? Do you want to see him?” You ask, pressing a finger to his cheek.

“I don’t know,” Levi says honestly.

“It’s okay if you do. You don’t need anyone’s permission or justification but your own if you do want to see him,” You say firmly.

“Come with me. If I decide that I want to,” Levi breathes.

“Of course,” You nod determinedly.

He presses his lips to your forehead before leaning his forehead on yours.

“He did this, too,” You murmur, poking his forehead, “Oddly affectionate for a man with asshole tendencies.”

Levi lets out a soft chuckle.

“I saw,” Levi says, “He used to do that when I was a kid.”

“I figured.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, tracing patterns over the scars on his chest. Sleep is threatening to overtake you with the steady hum of his heart against your ear.

“Let’s go to bed, honey.”

[harlot-of-oblivion]

Tales of Miss Fortune

It’s been awhile since you’ve heard a certain red devil callin’ but you soon find yourself fighting alongside Dante when trouble comes a knockin’. 

Here’s the rootin’ tootin’ spooky treat I’ve been promising for weeks! Happy Halloween and Blessed Samhain, y’all! 🌹🤠🌹

Rated Explicit for: Vampire and DT Smut, Blood Drinking, and the usual violent demonic fighting with the addition of vampiric dusting. 

Chapter 1: Fallin’ for a Gun Street Girl

Some people believe that there’s life after death while others say it’s just an underwhelming ending. You used to think the latter until experiencing the cold embrace of death for yourself. Now, you know that there’s a way to live a life after death…just not in the way that most folks tend to envision, such as spending an eternity in heavenly paradise or burning in hell.

Death truly is a cruel mistress to the living, but to vampires such as yourself…let’s just say that you and death have been bedfellows for well over a century now.

And you would think that someone would change after being dead for as long as you have, and yet here you are…still hanging out at rowdy bars, observing small groups of people gathered around various tables from your usual spot in the corner. It feels like any other normal night; the cackling of drunk patrons and clinking of numerous bottles is like music to your ears. But you feel like there’s something missing…and you finally figure out what it is after catching yourself looking up with every swing of the front entrance for the past hour.

Dante is a no show…again.

Your eyes glance down at the empty chair sitting right next to you, wondering if he’s been busy since the last time you saw him or just plain avoiding you altogether. Neither of you made any plans to hook up after that night in his shop, so you aren’t really surprised by the lack of interest. Afterall, the Legendary Devil Hunter has better things to do than to hang around a dead woman…at least, that’s what you tell yourself while pushing him out of your thoughts.

But you quickly find that it’s easier said than done as your eyes dart towards the pool tables, shivering at the memory of your own game of strip pool with him. It was one of the most fun nights of your undead life…hell, you can’t even remember a time where you were that happy when you were alive! But you know that getting attached to mortals usually invites trouble, and you don’t want to be a burden for an exceptional mortal like the Son of Sparda himself.

I’m bettin’ it was just a one-time thing anyway, you surmise, tearing your eyes away from the pool table while kicking your feet up on the table. He’s probably found someone alive and a lot prettier than-

The sudden screams of terror just outside the bar brings your thought to screeching halt. The few patrons who aren’t shit faced drunk immediately notice the commotion before bolting towards the exit. You tip your hat up and tilt your head with interest, listening to the inhuman shrieks that ring out like a hellish choir while everyone else starts panicking. It only takes a few more seconds and a couple more guttural growls before everybody gets wise enough in their drunken stupor to start rushing out.

Almost all of the drunkards are gone when the front windows explode in spray of glass. A horde of demons come barreling through and instantly set their malevolent sights on the stragglers, raising their jagged blades and claws high in the air before moving in for the kill. But you prove to be a lot quicker on the draw with your guns as you shoot each demon in speedy succession, distracting them long enough for the rest of the patrons to get away and live for another day.

“Hoo wee!” you yowl as the horde turns their attention towards you still sitting in the corner with your legs propped up on the table. “I’ve never got a good look at you demons before…y’all look like the hindquarters of bad luck!” you admit with a small shrug while the ugly sons of bitches start closing in on you. “But that’s alright…” You kick your feet off of the table before using some of your vampiric strength to fling it towards the center of the group, knocking a few demons down with a splintering crack.

“Cos yer about to meet Miss Fortune herself!” you boast, cocking both of your guns before raising them up in a challenge.

The demons hiss and spit like a herd of angry cats while spreading out through the bar, ignoring the obvious gap you’ve created with the table. You’ve never tangled with fiendish entities before, but this tells you that these demons aren’t the brightest crayons in the box. Your lips curl into a cocky grin as you aim your trusty guns towards the first casualties of this hellish brawl.

“C’mon now! It ain’t good manners to keep a lady waitin’!”

Your final taunt pushes them to pounce at once, giving you an opening to dash through the gap you made in a blink of an eye. You run past the broken remains of the table before turning around and taking aim, boosting your speed with blood while taking the first of many more shots. Misery and Woe were custom made to handle supernatural entities, and it seems they do just fine on demonic threats judging by the guttural screams of pain. All of them drop dead one after the other in a satisfying spray of blood within seconds, standing no chance against your heightened sense of accuracy and deadly aim.

“Huh…well, that was easy,” you quietly quip while reloading your guns.

Another round of demonic howls echo just outside the now thoroughly trashed and bullet ridden bar. Your keen sense of hearing detects the rustling of fighting and some gunshots among the ruckus. Something deep down in your gut knows who it is that’s letting loose on them demons…and you can’t help feeling a little excited at the thought of seeing him again.

You quickly make your way outside, breaking the front door off its hinges as you zoom out of the bar. The familiar scent of blood greets your nose as you scan the numerous bodies of dead demons on the street. Your eyes shift from side to side, scanning the area for any sign of who may be responsible for this onslaught of pure and utter chaos.

“Howdy, Darlin’.”

Your instincts kick in as you swing around and point your guns at the devil of your desire. His cheeky smirk widens as he casually approaches, bringing back memories of the pool game you’ve been trying to forget for both of your sakes. You slowly lower your arms while shaking your head in disbelief before flashing him with a confident grin.

“Well, well…look who finally decided to grace me with his devilish presence!” you exclaim with just a hint of sarcasm. “It only took a horde of demons and some gunfire to summon ya, but now that you’re here…” You pause when more demonic screeches echo in the distance, turning your head to glance over your shoulder at the oncoming wave of demons before looking back at him with a toothy grin.

“Wanna have some fun, Cowboy?”

Dante chuckles as he stands next to you. “With you…always,” he replies with a flirty wink before brandishing a huge sword from out of nowhere.

Your heart would be fluttering at his words if it were still beating, but there’s no time to dwell on these cumbersome emotions with imminent danger around the corner. You tip your hat to him before raising your guns just as more demons come running down the street. Both of you keep your ground to the very last second until springing into action.

Dante sprints towards the oncoming horde while you hang back and spray them with a hail of bullets. You admire the sheer power behind every stroke of his blade from afar, yearning to feel his robust arms around you again while shooting down more and more demons. C’mon now…this ain’t no time to be droolin’ like a waterfall, you mentally berate yourself before honing all of your focus on the task at hand. It only takes a few minutes for both of you to mow down the majority of demons before he brings up the obvious with his laid-back yet direct flair.

“So, I uh…haven’t seen ya since that night at my shop.”

Your face falls flat as you lower your guns. “Really, Dante? You wanna get into it right now?”

“Seems as good as any other time,” he retorts with a shrug before cutting down the last demon left standing with a broad sweep of his sword.

“And I suppose you’ve been avoiding my usual haunt since then for no particular reason either, hmm?” you ask while gesturing towards the bar with your head before raising a brow at him.

“I’ve been busy with a couple jobs lately,” he explains, resting his sword on his shoulder while walking up to you. “And besides, you know where I live,” he points out with a nod of his head as he stands right in front of you. “I even left ya an open invitation so that you can freely enter the shop whenever you want, Darlin’.”

His striking blue eyes glow in the moonlight as he scans your face, longing to see them spark with desire again. Your head starts spinning as the scent of gunpowder and leather mixed with a little blood wafts under your nose. You want to tell him that you miss his rousing company, his rowdy laughter, his searing hot kisses…but your keen ears pick up the rustle of fast approaching steps just behind him.

You quickly step to the side and take aim before firing at the pissed off demon. He whips around with Ebony and Ivory at the ready, but you beat him to punch as the demon falls dead on the ground. “Ooh! Better luck next time, Cowboy,” you crow with a playful smirk while holstering your guns.

Dante lets out a soft bark of laughter while shaking his head. “Next time, huh? I really like the sound of that.”

You chuckle and bite your lower lip as your hunger for him begins to stir. “Me too. It’s just…I got the impression that you didn’t wanna…what I mean to say is-”

“It’s not customary for our kind to engage in such barbaric relations with mortals.”

Both of you swing around towards the source of the phantom response, guns pointed down a dark alleyway. You glare at a pair of vampires walking out of the shadows before fanning out as eight more reveal themselves while swiftly surrounding you. One of them tilts his head as he inspects Dante with a critical eye. Your heightened senses tell you that he must be the leader since his blood is the most potent out of all of them.

“But I suppose a hybrid such as yourself would be an exception.”

Dante chuckles softly. “Looks like we got some party crashers,” he casually comments while turning so that both of your backs are pressed together.

All of the vampires quietly laugh as their daunting stares pin both of you down like a pack of ravenous wolves. You glance down at the bloody street, noting that this is the first time you’ve encountered your own kind around these parts…which is odd since that’s exactly why you hangout around here to begin with. But now you can’t swing a damn lasso without roping one on the very same night of a random demon attack!

The more you think about it…the more it reeks of something fishy.

“All this your handy work, I presume?” you inquire, motioning to the carnage all around you with a flick of your wrists.  

The lead vampire smiles and turns to you. “In a manner of speaking…we simply pointed out that an infamous devil hunter frequents this very lively bar.”

Your eyes narrow at the implication of his words. “An ambush, huh?” You turn your head and meet Dante’s befuddled gaze. “Who’d you piss off this time?”

“Hell if I know,” he mutters while shrugging his shoulders.

You chortle at his carefree attitude and ready yourself for the challenging fight ahead. Dante turns and addresses the lead vampire with his disarming smirk. “We’re kinda in the middle of something, so if you could just-”

The vampire closest to the leader interrupts by loudly humming in delight. “No wonder our mistress sent us to collect such a delectable prize.”

Dante ignores the obvious attempt at flirtatious intimidation. “Well, I’m real flattered and all, but-”

“HE’S MINE!”

Your feral growl grabs everybody’s attention as you make a show of flashing your fangs, warning everyone to back off before things get messy. “Ooooh! Looks like this one’s already been claimed,” another vampire chimes in before letting out a baleful cackle.  

“And here I thought we could talk this out like civilized kin,” the leader laments with a shake of his head.  

The lustful vampire laughs before inflaming your possessive fury by sauntering up closer. “Such a shame that someone as old and infamous as you would be meeting her Final Death over-”

It only takes one explosive round from Misery aimed straight at their mouth to shut them the fuck up. The redolent air instantly becomes hostile as that vampire crumples down on the street, helplessly twitching while the remaining vampires snarl and hiss with outrage. Dante summons his sword and crouches down into a ready stance while you cock your other gun.

“I ain’t one to repeat myself but lemme make it very fuckin’ clear for y’all,” you begin, slowly raising Woe at the first vampiric casualty of this unfortunate encounter. “If any of you worthless ticks so much as touch a white hair on his head…” You aim and pull the trigger, reducing them to a pile of smoldering ashes with the force of your second shot.

“I’ll have ya begging for mercy before sprinkling yer ashes all over this goddamn street.”

And with that one final warning, the leader raises a hand and signals the rest of his cohorts to attack. Dante springs into action while you stand your ground, waiting until they get close enough until the very last second. You turn into mist just as one vampire raises a hand to swipe at you with their vicious claws, sifting through their bodies and reforming right behind them.

The barrels of Misery and Woe glisten in the pale moonlight as you let loose a barrage of bullets at inhuman speed. Two more vampires turn into dust while another clutches the back of their wounded head as they drop to the ground. You reload your guns as quick as a flash and take aim to finish the job, but the only survivor of your sly tactic zooms by and slashes your shoulder.

You snarl as sharp pain shoots down your arm, distracting you from weaker prey and focusing your attention on the asshole who ruined your favorite leather jacket. This vampire is almost as fast as you, swinging his clawed fists with precision towards the few vital points of your body. But you prove to be not only faster but wilier as well, dodging every single one of his blows while leading him towards some burning debris in the street.

You feint to left before shifting right as soon as they’re close to the flames, purposely letting him puncture your shoulder while using a large portion of blood to boost your strength. Your jaw clenches tight, holding back your yelp of pain as he growls victoriously at their measly accomplishment. But the joke’s really on him as you holster one of your guns before extending your nails into razor sharp claws.

Your lips curl into a devious grin. “You must be feeling pretty lucky right about now,” you note, making sure he meets your unwavering gaze. “But lemme fill ya in on a little secret…”

You swiftly jab your hand up straight towards his chest, long claws striking true with their target as they pierce his lifeless heart. His face contorts with agonizing shock as you twist your wrist, burrowing deeper until the tip of your claws stab through his back. You easily lift him up off the ground before turning around towards the blazing fire.

“No one’s lucky so long as Miss Fortune’s in town.”  

You hurl him straight into the fire with one strong thrust, dislodging your claws from his chest before pulling your hat down in front of your eyes while turning away. The hot flash of flames lights up the night while tormented screams echo down the street, sending chills down your spine as you struggle to remain in control. Your feet move of their own accord away from the flaring threat, instinctually knowing that your quarry has met his Final Death.  

Your eyes zero in on your previous prey limping away from the fray. You dash right up them and stomp your foot on their back, keeping them still as you carefully aim for the killing shot. Your finger slowly squeezes the trigger, relishing in their pitiful plea for mercy before ending their miserable undead life. But you don’t have long to delight in the bloodbath as Dante’s harsh grunt meets your ears, bringing your attention back over to his side of the fight.

Multiple piles of ash now litter the street alongside demon corpses. Dante is engaged with the only vampire left, which happens to be the leader himself. You get ready for a real challenge by reloading your guns with explosive bullets, but all logical thought flies out the window when you witness this leech attempting to…bite…and feed…

Something in the darkest recesses of your mind snaps and you suddenly find yourself using more blood to boost your speed before hurtling towards the object of your ire. The leader senses your approach and tries to act accordingly, but Dante seizes the chance to turn around and swing his sword at him. The blade cuts a deep gash across the leader’s neck and a thick spray of blood spatters across Dante’s face as you close in on your target.  

“If a man is the sum of his misfortunes…” You stop just short of running into him and swiftly shove both barrels of Misery and Woe into his gaping mouth. “Then you’re one unlucky sonuvabitch,” you finish, enjoying the fear in his eyes as you pull both triggers.

You let out a satisfied growl as his undead brain gets blown to bits, smirking as his blood splatters across your face. He falls to his knees but the bastard refuses to meet his Final Death, still swiping his clawed hands around clumsily. But Dante swoops in and lops off his head with a single sweep of his sword before you can take aim with your guns.

The leader’s body crumbles to ash, leaving just the two of you in a sea of dusty carnage. You look at your devilish lover just as he turns his gaze towards you; both of you are covered in blood and still buzzing from the battle. Your keen hearing picks up his rapid breathing and heartbeat, which only stokes your flickering hunger into a blazing inferno.

“Dante,” you purr sensually while holstering your guns.

“Oh fuck,” he murmurs hoarsely before stalking over to you.  

You meet him halfway before both of you just pounce on each other. Dante wraps his arms around your waist while your hands encircle his neck before both of your lips crash down and meet in a desperately heady kiss. You moan as he slips his tongue past your fangs while the scent of leather and gunpowder drives you wild. Finally seeing him fight and absolutely covered in gore pushes you to indulge in what you’ve been secretly missing since that night at the shop.

And it seems Dante agrees since his hands grope your ass and urge you to jump into his embrace. You oblige and hop into arms, wrapping your legs around his waist while nibbling on his lower lip with your fangs. He groans softly and tears his mouth from your starving lips before turning his face away, baring his neck to you as he treks back towards the bar. Your predatory gaze hones in on the pulsating vein being kindly offered, swiftly leaning in and scraping your fangs against his skin before sinking in for a luscious feast.

Dante grunts at your bite but his hurried pace never slows as he arrives at the entrance of the bar. He steps over the broken door and heads to the closet surface that isn’t totally ripped to shreds: the fucking pool table. But you don’t even care to comment with wry quip with his deliciously smooth blood trickling down your throat…he could’ve fucked you right then and there on the street and you wouldn’t have cared so long as his crimson nectar was on your tongue.

You suck a few more greedy mouthfuls as he sets you down, taking note of his strategic position of facing the entrance before tearing away from his neck. He instantly captures your bloody red lips with his hungry mouth, swirling his tongue around your fangs as he clutches you tight against his body. You feel the pin prick of claws press against your hips before he tears your jeans along with your panties, shredding them off until you’re only wearing your cowboy boots below your waist.    

Your heightened sense of hearing catches the sound of approaching trouble a few meters outside of the bar. Dante notices too as he tears away from your lips and tilts his head towards the sound of approaching adversaries. His lips curl into a cheeky grin as he kneels down between your legs while reaching behind his back.

“Do me a favor and shoot down whatever comes our way while I take care of business down here,” he requests, brandishing both of his guns with a twirl before handing them over.

You take the guns just as a couple of demons come hurling through the shattered windows. “Sure thing, Cowboy,” you comply with a wicked grin.

Your hands swivel around and take aim while Dante dives in between in your legs, licking and sucking your wet cunt as you fire rapid shots at the encroaching demons. You gasp and moan between shots as he finds just the right spot, flicking and twirling his tongue while his nose rubs your clit in the most maddening way. This causes you to miss a few shots due to the delectable distraction down below, swearing up a storm with every errand bullet.

Dante silently chuckles at every curse word that flies from your mouth. “What’s the matter?” he pipes up between lavish licks, gazing up at you with a mischievous red gleam in his eyes. “I thought an infamous pistolero like yourself wouldn’t be so easily distracted!”

You hiss at his playful jeer while shooting down a demon that got really close to the pool table. “Less talkin’ and more lickin’, Cowboy,” you quip back, deciding that you would have better luck with your aim by switching positions. You clench your thighs around his head and swiftly turn your body around until you’re riding his face.

“Mmm, you’re gonna meet the devil at this rate, Darlin’,” he murmurs against your slit, nipping and sucking your folds before his tongue strokes even deeper inside you.

You feel like you’re floating away while shooting down the remainder of the demonic wave, twitching in pleasure until finally coming on his scruffy face with an ecstatic moan as you fully give into his devilish tongue. He greedily suckles every pulse of your cunt, slurping every drop of your pleasure as you fall against the soft green surface of the pool table. An intense heat emanates from his mouth as he slowly pulls away from in between your thighs, and you look over your shoulder to see a most wondrous and intimidating sight.  

A true devil with smoldering red scales and spikey plating is standing behind you, smirking with familiar lips while glowing red eyes roam your prone body. You’ve only heard rumors about his demonic form but to see it for yourself is truly astonishing…and incredibly arousing. You lift yourself up from the pool table with a soft grunt and shuck off your long leather jacket before leaning back down, making a show of spreading your legs nice and wide.

His gravelly growl sends pleasant tingles down your spine as you give him a good view of your ass and sopping wet cunt. You peek over your shoulder and flash him a naughty grin. “C’mon, Cowboy,” you purr while wiggling your hips provocatively. “Show me how a real devil rides in the rodeo.”

Dante chuckles huskily while grabbing your hips with his clawed hands. “Are ya ready, Darlin’?” he asks gruffly, wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you up towards his crimson chest before pressing his lips close to your ear. “Cos I’m gonna have you screaming my name all night.”

You gasp as an unfamiliar length slides in between your slick thighs, surprising you with its unusual yet tantalizing texture. Your eyes glance down and catch a glimpse of his member as it glides against your slick slit, noting its reddish black color and thick ridges all around the shaft. You whimper at the thought of his devilish cock slipping inside you, stretching you out while filling you up to the brim…just the feel of it has your thighs clenching around him with anticipation.    

Sharp fangs nibbling on your ear breaks you out of your carnal daze. You thrust your hips back against him while reaching back to grab one of the long spikes protruding from his head. Another fiendish growl makes your body quiver as he turns your head to capture your lips with a searing hot kiss. He gently guides you to bend over the pool table, never breaking away from your wanton mouth while adjusting himself between your legs.

Dante slowly slides every inch of his ribbed cock inside you, pulling a pleased moan from your throat as his tongue licks one of your elongated fangs. You softly whine as he finally bottoms out, silently begging him to give you a taste before the imminent display of shameless debauchery. One corner of his mouth quirks into a smirk as he cuts the flat of tongue against your fang. You revel in the thick smokiness of his blood while his clawed hands rip your buttoned shirt open and slice your cotton bra between the cups before groping your breasts.

You ready yourself for one helluva ride…but both of you break away from each other’s lips as the clamor of more approaching demons meet your keen ears. Dante lets out an irritable growl while you reach for his guns still lying out on the pool table. You flip them around in a flashy fashion before presenting them with flourish above your head.                

“I believe it’s your turn to do the shootin’, Cowboy.”      

A sudden blast of blistering heat hits your back, almost blowing your gambler hat off as he gives your breasts one last squeeze before withdrawing with a teasing scrape across your nipples. He takes his trusty weapons from your grasp and points Ebony towards the entrance while resting Ivory just above your navel as he wraps his arm around your waist. You would be holding your breath if you still had the ability to breathe as he waits for trouble to come knocking, staying completely still until the very last moment…

Dante slowly pulls out, leaving only the tip inside you while the first wave of demons come crawling through the broken windows. Then, he slams his hips back against you with a sharp slap as he fires the first of many shots. You moan unabashedly as he sets a steady pace, pounding into you with brutal force while shooting down a stream of demons. It doesn’t take you long to reach your peak again, coming from the new sensation of his devilish cock while a barrage of bullets whiz through demonic skulls.

Your body falls limp against the pool table as Dante swings Ivory towards the back of the bar. He fires a rapid hail of bullets as more demons come through the back entrance while keeping his ruthless pace. The metallic ring of bullet casings bouncing off the hardwood floor keeps the insatiable flame of your desire burning as your hunger demands more blood and more pleasure.

You lift one of your legs up onto the pool table, resting your knee against the edge while propping yourself up on your arms. Then, you thrust your hips back to meet every hard pump of his cock, keening with every brush against your sweet spot as he buries himself even deeper inside you. Your ears pick up some faint cursing as some of his shots fly by a few encroaching targets.  

“What’s the matter?” you ask as he points Ebony towards the demons. “I thought an infamous devil hunter like yourself wouldn’t be so easily distracted,” you taunt, mirroring his exact words from earlier while looking over your shoulder and meeting his smoldering gaze.

Dante growls and quickly disposes of the remaining demons, wrapping both arms around you as soon as the last one disintegrates with a pitiful shriek. He pulls you up until your back meets his glowing red chest and picks up the pace, scaly hips slapping against your ass while his warm grunts puff against your cool skin. The slide of Ivory presses against your breast while the barrel of Ebony rests above the apex of your thighs, rubbing your clit with every hard thrust as he nuzzles the back of your head. You groan as intense pleasure starts to build up again, making you mumble incoherently while holding onto his arms with your bruising grip.                    

You tilt your head and bare your neck, hoping that he sees the invitation to partake of you. The exhilarating feel of sharp fangs nipping and grazing along the soft flesh you’ve exposed lets you know that he got the message. His guttural purr sends tiny tremors of delight throughout your body, making you ache for his bite as you rush towards rapturous release.

Dante drags his demonic tongue against your neck before sinking his fiendish fangs into your supple flesh. His name bursts from your lips as you tumble over the edge again, body shaking in his fervid embrace as he takes a couple swigs of your blood. “Mmm…fuck, I’ve missed the taste of you,” he groans against your neck, relentlessly thrusting through your orgasm and smacking his lips before going back for more.

The rustle of something unfurling knocks you out of the hazy aftershocks of your mind-numbing orgasm. You glance over your shoulder just as Dante spreads his demonic wings out wide. Their swirly red patterns hypnotizes you, pulsing with his heartbeat while gradually glowing brighter as he chases his own pleasure. You moan at the impressive display of power while leaning down against the pool table, silently encouraging him to fuck you with wild abandon by thrusting your ass back with enthusiastic fervor.

Dante drops both of his guns on the pool table and grips your hips with his wickedly sharp claws. His booming growl sends darts of pleasure straight down through your cunt as he pounds into you with renewed vigor. Your enraptured moans mingle with his gravelly growls as both of you come careening over the edge together among the blood and gore. You scream his name over and over while he cums in great spurts, slicking your cunt with his white-hot seed as the lewd squelching from his frenzied thrusts echo throughout the ruined bar.    

Both of you ride the pleasurable wave, gasping and writhing against each other to the very end. You collapse against the pool table while Dante leans over and rests atop your back, warming the crook of your neck with his panting breath. Your thighs twitch as his cum drips out from your sated sex, making you feel some carnal satisfaction deep within the primal recesses of your mind.

You let out a blissful sigh while leaning back to nuzzle his spiky head, softly purring as his warm lips press numerous kisses against your neck. You bask in this tender moment, giving into this feel of emotional closeness before the inevitable parting of your ways. But you don’t have time to dwell on that bittersweet notion as the familiar sense of dawn approaching washes over you.

Your entire being instantly reacts to the slow ascension of the sun, quaking in fear while wriggling out of the warm embrace of your devilish lover. “Whoa! Easy there,” he coos as you reach for your long leather jacket. “What’s the hurry, Darlin’?”

“The sun…I can feel it rising,” you explain, quickly slipping both of your arms through your jacket before buttoning it up. “I gotta go…but I dunno if I can make it to my sanctuary before…” you trail off, trembling at the thought of meeting your Final Death under the rays of the morning sun.

“You can stay at the shop if you want.”

His nonchalant offer gives you pause as your head snaps over your shoulder, noting that he’s reverted back to his human form. You think it over for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of taking him up on his gracious offer. “If you have a dark basement…or a way to block all sunlight from entering a vacant room,” you suggest, desperately hoping that he really means it since his place is a lot closer than the crypt that serves as your temporary home at the local cemetery.

Dante cups your face with both of his hands. “I won’t let anything happen to you during the day,” he swears while meeting your frantic gaze.

You stare into his striking blue eyes, searching for the slightest hint of deception among their depths…but the genuine gleam within his unwavering stare eases your worried mind. Your lips curve into a grateful smile while clasping his arm with one hand before tipping your hat in appreciation. “Then you better ride like the wind, Cowboy,” you murmur, swiftly bringing your face closer by raising yourself up on your tippy toes.

“Don’t wanna end up as a pile of ash before giving ya hell for ruining my one good pair of jeans,” you softly tease while nipping at his lips with your fangs.  

His breathy chuckle brushes against your face. “Didn’t hear ya complaining at the time…too busy having a drink on me,” he teases right back before capturing your lips with a scorching kiss, making you moan softly while both of your tongues gently glide across each other.

Your insatiable hunger starts to stir once more, but the nagging urge to seek shelter from the rising sun wrangles it back as you break away from his lips with a rueful sigh. Dante smirks knowingly as he reaches for his guns on the pool table, holstering them behind his back before leading you out of the destroyed bar. He summons Cavaliere while you hiss and turn away from the flashing light of false dawn.

“C’mon, Darlin’,” he murmurs, gently guiding you towards his fiendish ride.

You hop on and make yourself comfortable while he swings one leg over and sits down behind you. “Better hurry…I’m already…” you mumble, barely able to keep your eyes open while fighting off the familiar feel of falling into torpor.

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry ya into the shop and protect you during the day,” he whispers by your ear, wrapping one arm around your waist while his other hand revs the engine.    

“Promise?”

“You have my word, Darlin’.”

Dante puts the pedal to metal with those final words of assurance, zooming down the street at breakneck speed towards the shop. Your lips curl into a fond smile as you do your best to hold on during the ride while fighting off the need to rest. But you know that’s a fool’s errand, so you close your eyes and leave yourself in the capable hands of your remarkable devil.

And as you finally succumb to the lull of torpor, you remind yourself that getting attached to Dante will only invite more trouble down the road…but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

I’d like to thank @bettybattaglia for her wonderful suggestion about missing gun shots! And I gotta give a shout out to @varen-neoraven for beta reading for me!

Tagging: @drusoona @exsultry @a-midsummer-nights-odyssey @leviathan-dee

[entitynumber5]

omg 22 and Jonmartin!!!! If you want to 💖

Thank you so much for the prompt, my friend!! I hope you like it <3 Fun fact: this is the first time I’ve ever written Scottish safehouse(ish) era Jonmartin. It got quite angsty I hope that’s okay!! :))

Content warnings: grief, apocalypse, nightmares, blood, scopophobia.

The curtain is drawn, but it doesn’t matter. Jon sees it all, hears it all, feels it all. Outside, the world as they know it is over. But the Eye’s reign has only just begun.

He can’t remember what he said to Martin, when it happened. The world torn apart, and him in the middle holding the ripped edges. He thinks he laughed. Or perhaps he cried. He thinks his laughter—or his crying, or both—spoke for him. Spoke over Martin’s questions, reassurances, fears.

Martin held him. Martin whispered platitudes and pleas. And Jon laughed at the sky, and the sky blinked in reply. I see you, it said. The world is over. And I am watching. 

Now, Martin keeps to a routine while Jon stays in the same place, attached to the desk in what used to be the study of Daisy’s safehouse. They are like dualistic clock hands: Jon slow and lingering in place while Martin laps him. Martin tries to make tea, chases the thing that was once tea around the thing that was once a cabin, reads the books that were not destroyed or altered by the implosion of reality, opens and closes the cupboards repetitively as if looking for something to eat but never settling on a meal, glances very quickly through the curtains before squeezing his eyes shut, tests the floorboards for creaks that might indicate something lurking beneath, paces, sleeps.

Sleeps restlessly in the bed they used to share. But Jon hasn’t gone near it for the purpose of rest since the change. He sits at the desk and he listens.

In the statement—the twisted, cruel, guilt-suffused statement—Martin stutters about tannins.

In the bed—the soft, lonely, purposeless bed—Martin twists in the throes of a nightmare.

So much has changed. 

It is not only the world that is over. The peace that they found here, shattered. The nights that they managed to make it through without reminders of the past, long gone. Jon cannot see it as anything other than an end, a fixed point from which nothing good can ever grow again. They are stuck in place, static.

Martin sighs Jon’s name in his sleep.

Jon can hear him from the study, the next room over. All of the interior doors are open—or, more accurately, blasted from their frames by the change. And the Eye whispers to him the contents of Martin’s dreams: the fog-filled corridor of a hospital stretching out endlessly, a bloodied corkscrew, the masks upon masks upon masks of the people he had once considered friends—

“Enough,” Jon hisses. The Eye retreats, although not with its tail between its legs; rather, it seems satisfied with its work.

Jon stops the tape just before its true end. It’s a petty form of rebellion, but it’s all he has.

Unless.

Slowly, Jon tests his feet, placing them both flat against the floor. He doesn’t know where his cane is. Beneath the soles of his feet, the floor at least feels solid. It’s not going to tilt beneath his feet or fall away entirely or open like a yellow trap door into a house of—he stands before he can finish the thought, and the rush of dizziness that follows banishes all else in a burst of white and grey across his vision, and a ringing in his ears. He holds on to the desk while he waits for the vertigo to pass.

In the next room, Jon hears a muffled shout, the sound of a kick similarly muted by the thick, padded duvet that seems to have survived the change without turning sinister.

Jon moves before his body is ready, his head still spinning on his shoulders, but he knows the cabin—whatever is left of the cabin—well enough to navigate, dragging his hand along the wall for guidance. It’s not far to the bedroom. By the time he reaches it, the dizziness has receded. He can see Martin clearly for perhaps the first time in—how long has it been now?

Martin is curled on his side, a familiar tenseness sitting on his shoulders even in sleep. His left hand is tucked beneath the crumpled duvet, the other rests next to his face on the pillow, twitching periodically as if trying to form a fist. His frown forms and fades to a similar rhythm, his lips moving with words too faint for Jon to hear, although the Eye tries to make him understand nonetheless.

Jon moves slowly towards the bed, avoiding the debris on the floor that Martin hadn’t been able to clear. The rusty drool of the Not-Tea lingers in the grains of the wooden floorboards, unmoving even through four washes with Daisy’s industrial bleach. Jon tries not to think about it, but an echo of terror chases him into the bed, swinging his legs up and under the part of the duvet that Martin isn’t clutching. It reminds Jon of being a child, of running back to his room in the night after fetching a drink, convinced he was being followed.

In Martin’s dream, he is being chased through a very long tunnel, but the thing that is chasing him is also the tunnel itself, and there is nowhere to hide inside this warped paradox, no sense of direction except I have to get out, I have to get out, I have to—

Jon threads his hand gently through Martin’s hair. It’s already messy with sleep, and the shower hasn’t been working since the change. Oh, god, Jon loves him. So much, in that moment, he feels overwhelmed with it—a pot boiling over on the stove and singing with the victory of its escape. It’s over, yet Martin is here. It’s over, yet Jon still has so much love to share and show and save and savour.

Martin mumbles, his voice strained. The word sounds like an old name, a name he’s grieved, but Jon doesn’t know whether it’s Tim or Sasha or Mum or someone else entirely.

“Martin,” Jon says, trying to draw him from the depths of the dream. 

Martin’s fingers curl and then uncurl, but he doesn’t respond. His frown has deepened. It looks almost permanent now.

“Martin,” Jon repeats, voice still soft but slightly more urgent. 

Martin’s lips press together just before he cries out, the sound muffled and pained. And Jon’s heart shatters, not for the first time, that even in sleep, Martin tries so hard to be quiet.

For a long time—or perhaps it only feels like a long time, this twisted new world doing its best to torture everything within it—all Jon can do is watch as Martin cycles through nightmares. In some, he whimpers and thrashes. Fights against the duvet and Jon’s hands attempting to comfort. In others, he is almost eerily silent. These are the worst, Jon thinks, as he watches Martin’s body tense into an unnatural stillness while his dreams fill with fog. Martin cries sometimes, always quiet, errant tears leaking from his closed eyes. They are like small, crystal drops of ice when Jon brushes them away with his thumb.

Jon thinks he might almost be asleep himself when Martin jolts next to him, emerging from the most recent dream with a sharp inhalation of breath and a half-formed name on his lips.

“Jon,” Martin breathes, “Jon.”

“I’m here.”

It’s testament to the cruelty of the dream that Martin immediately moves closer, wraps his arms around Jon’s body where he’s slumped upright against the headboard. He rests his ear against Jon’s sternum, and Jon can feel the brush of Martin’s nose against the soft flesh of his belly as he nudges even closer. Like this, Jon cannot see Martin’s freckles, hidden by his hair and the way he presses his face into Jon.

Jon wraps his arms around Martin and holds him close. He runs one hand in slow circles across the expanse of Martin’s back, tugs the other gently through Martin’s hair. It’s not rest, not really. But it’s the closest they will get now.

“I dreamt—” Martin chokes. And then Jon can feel the vibration of Martin’s twisted laughter through his ribs. It seems to pool where he is missing two, as if to say: look. You did this. “I can’t even remember what I dreamt.” 

“You don’t need to remember,” Jon whispers, “For it to...”

“Hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe I—maybe I want to remember.”

Jon knows he could make this possible. Somewhere inside of him, the Eye coils, ready to strike. “Do you?”

Martin is quiet. Eventually, he sighs, and Jon feels the faintest quiver of his breath through the old, thin t-shirt he’s wearing.

“No,” Martin admits, barely audible, “Besides, it not like I don’t know. Not really.”

“Knowing and remembering are...” Jon searches for the right words, but they seem to abandon him.

“Maybe they’re the same thing. Maybe they’re not,” Martin says, terse, although he’s still curled tightly against Jon, “At the end of the day, at least I—at least I can still sleep. It’s... comforting. To have a routine.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Martin,” Jon sighs.

“Please, Jon, just—let me have this.” Martin closes his eyes. Jon can feel the fluttering movement of his eyelashes, again through his t-shirt. “Please.”

Jon begins, once again, to stroke his fingers through Martin’s hair. “Alright.”

For a while, they lie together in silence. It’s perhaps the safest place in all the world, and Jon doesn’t want to leave even as the guilt twists and turns inside of him. They fit together. Safe, warm. It’s almost peaceful.

Outside, something wails.

Martin jumps before settling against Jon again. Jon squeezes his shoulder very gently.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says. He means, for everything.

“We’ll fix this,” Martin replies, his voice just as weighted, just as layered with meaning.

When whatever counts as morning arrives, they might find the energy to contest one another’s certainty. For now, it stands: regret and resistance. An apology and a vow, spoken at the end of all things.

[easily-infatuated23]

The Mark of the Angel Part One: Discovery (11th Doctor x Reader)

Part Two

a/n: hello! in this story i am deviating from the lore quite a bit. i decided i wanted to create my own being and this is the transformation sequence. i’m not sure where this is gonna go so we’ll find out!

pairing: 11th Doctor x Reader, Amy and Rory on the TARDIS :)

word count: 1.5k

summary: The Doctor decides to visit a place he’s always wanted to go but didn’t know it. When the TARDIS drops him in the middle of the Reader’s flat, he finds something he didn’t know was hidden

warnings: none to my knowledge

Y/N POV:

Ugh. Moving. Moving house has always been one of my least favorite things. Growing up, my dad was constantly being relocated for his job which made making friends and getting any sense of stability difficult. But this move was different. It was my first flat all to myself. I had paid for it with my own money and I was’t planning on leaving any time soon. Or was I? As much as I hated moving, I loved getting to experience new places. When we moved from New York City to Paris, I spent hours exploring every museum and street I could. It’s the traveling I loved, the half hearted promise of staying put I hate. But this move was different. With a flat based in London, I could easily travel anywhere in Europe. I could hop on a train and be in France or Italy. This was going to be the start of an exciting time in my life and I couldn’t wait. But, before I can travel, I have to unpack my kitchen. Not the most exciting thing but it’s a step in the right direction.

TARDIS POV:

“Alrighty then” the Doctor said clasping his hands together. “So where are we going this time?” Amy asked excitedly. “Well, we are going somewhere I have always wanted to go.” There was silence. Amy and Rory looked at each other and then back at the Doctor. “And where would that be” Rory asked. “I have no idea” the Doctor said, a childlike smile spreading across his face. “Geronimo!” he yelled as he pulled down on the lever. The TARDIS whirred and groaned as it began traveling through the time vortex. “I set it to take us somewhere I have always wanted to go but never knew I wanted! Isn’t that brilliant?” The TARDIS jerked from side to side more violently than usual, as if it was battling within its self, deciding where to land. When it finally did, it dropped hard and fast letting out one last bellowing groan. Amy pulled herself up from the floor of the TARDIS, having been knocked around during the landing. “Great so you have no idea where we are” she remarked. “Perfect so we could be in the middle of nowhere or a volcano!” Rory added. “Or London” the Doctor said. “Earth, London, the year 2015, 11:30 am” he said with a slightly confused smile.

Y/N POV:

After finishing the kitchen I figured I should spruce up the entry way a bit. I opened a box labeled “decorative stuff” and pulled it over to the mantle above the fireplace. I pulled out a framed picture of my parents and a small clock. Then I pulled out a small pocket watch. I smiled. My dad had given it to me when I was 11. He said it belonged to my grand father and that I should take extra special care of it. Sometimes, it almost felt like the watch would just vanish but I always managed to find it. As I went to place it on the mantle I heard a strange whirring noise. I pressed my ear to the watch wondering if it had suddenly decided to start working for the first time but, as the sound grew louder I realized it couldn’t be coming from the watch. Suddenly, a giant gust of wind blew through my flat, nearly blowing me over. When the wind finally stopped I heard a strange groaning noise. When I looked in front of me, I saw a giant blue police telephone box. “What the hell?” I said. I slowly approached the box. How had this giant box gotten into my flat? Before I could think twice, I found myself knocking on the door. I mean what’s the worst thing that could happen?

TARDIS POV:

The Doctor straightened his bowtie. Before one of the three could say anything, they heard a small knock at the door. Amy and Rory looked at each other and then the Doctor. “Geronimo” he said, more quietly this time but with the same flair and excitement as his previous exclamation. He walked towards the door and opened it, poking his head out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello! I’m the Doctor, ah lovely place this is, who are you?” his was mind going a million miles a minute trying to figure out what was so extraordinary about this place that the TARDIS lead him here. “Uh hi I’m Y/N…sorry but how did you get in here? And is your name really ‘the Doctor’? And also-” but before I could finish two other people stepped out of the box. “Oh yes this is Amy and Rory, this is Y/N”. They waved. “Yes that’s nice but again um, why and how are you here?” I asked again. “This is the TARDIS, it travels through space and time” he said as he began to wonder through the entry way. “I set it to take me to the place I most wanted to go but wasn’t aware of” he said. I put my grandfathers watch on the mantle and turned to him. “So I am guessing you are some sort of alien” I said. He spun around to face me when his face suddenly dropped. “Where did you get that watch?” he said, quickly moving towards me. “Um it was my grandfathers, what does that have to do with anything?” I asked. “Doctor are you alright” Amy asked. “Yes yes fine” he said unconvincingly.

He grabbed the watch and walked towards the window, holding it up to the light. Amy and Rory went over to him, now all three of them had their back to me. “Whats so special about the watch?” I heard Rory ask. “This is not just a watch, this is a Gallifreyan device that holds the part of a Time Lord that makes them, well, a Time Lord. It’s usually used when a Time Lord has had to transform into something else, like for instance a….human.” The three then turned slowly and looked at me. “Whats a Time Lord?” I asked, taking a few steps towards them. “Y/N have you ever opened this watch?” the Doctor asked. “No why would I? It’s probably broken.” I replied. Suddenly my ears started buzzing. Then I could have sworn I started hearing whispers. “Do you hear that?” I asked. They all looked around. “Uh no, I don’t hear anything” Amy said. Rory just simply shook his head. I felt a stinging pain in my left shoulder,I rubbed it, moving the sleeve of t-shirt. The Doctor’s face dropped again. “Whats that on your shoulder?” I looked. The only thing on my shoulder was the small birth mark shaped like a pair of wings. “Just a birth mark, I’ve had it all my life…” I replied, looking at the Doctor sheepishly. “Doctor…” Amy said, as if trying to bring his attention back to the room. “On Gallifrey there is a legend about a creature, a God-like creature said to have roamed around the universe since it’s creation, some even say that it created the Time Lords, that it is the first Time Lord. It is known as ‘the Angel'. It is can take any shape but is always recognizable by a wing shaped mark somewhere on the being.” the Doctor said, a look of awe growing in his eyes. I could barely hear his words, the whispers had started shouting. I covered my ears but it didn’t help. “Doctor, is she ok?” Rory said. He spun around and looked at me. He handed me the watch. “Here try opening this” he said. He then started walking backwards with his arms stretched across his friends. “Stand back” he said. The shouting was growing unbearable. I glanced one more time at the Doctor, he nodded slightly. I swallowed hard and looked down at the watch. Slowly, I clicked the watch open and suddenly everything went black. Then, it happened. I felt a fire igniting within my soul. I felt light as air but also consumed by an unimaginable weight.

TARDIS POV:

Suddenly, the same wind that occurs when the TARDIS lands picked up again and started swirling around Y/N. “Doctor! What’s happening?” Amy yelled over the wind. “She’s waking up!” he yelled back. The Doctor watched as the girl who he had just met, levitated and her skin began to glow from the inside out. It wasn’t the same glow that escaped the Doctor when he regenerated, but it was nearly identical. “Seriously Doctor is she gonna be ok?” Rory yelled. Suddenly and just as quickly as the wind and spinning had begun, it stopped. The girl dropped back to her feet with her back facing the trio. They stood and stared, no one daring to say a word. Finally, the Doctor spoke. “Is the being known as the Angel standing before me?” he asked timidly, slowly making his way towards me. I spun around to face him. A smirk spread across my face as I looked down at my hands and then my surroundings. “You restored me. Thank you,” I looked at the Doctor and then at his TARDIS. “This is going to be fun”

TO BE CONTINUED

[neapolitanadonna]

cottagecore has taken over my life. can i request a scenario where human au England is living in this little cottage in the flower fields and he sees this strange girl in the fields all the time? He just kinda watches her and admires her and stuff and cute soft cottage core things ack I'll leave the creativity to you THANK YOU!!!

Oh you KNOW my cottagecore ass had fun with this one. I genuinely felt soft writing this so I hope everyone feels soft too. I love getting the opportunity to make imperialists look soft, its by far my favorite hobby of this quarantine. 

Also this is a bit long, so remember to click keep reading!!

Arthur was a hardworking man in the government who, despite practically signing his life away to it, hated the government. His London flat, aggressive cabbies, black coffee at 5 in the morning, three piece suit everyday life was something that got him far in life, it was a shame that most days, he couldn’t care less about it. 

After his grandmother passed, she left him her small brick cottage in Painswick. At first he thought of selling it, not that he needed the extra money, it would just be a shame to leave empty real estate. He didn’t think he would ever spend his days in the little place, but in a time where he tried to manifest nothing but peace, the universe brought him to the cottage. 

He spends his weekends there. It isn’t big government buildings and the bustling streets of London, but to him, it’s perfect. If he wasn’t tethered to the responsibilities of being an adult, he would pack up everything he had and move to the cottage. He considered it often, he had nothing left in London for him, anyway. He lived alone in London and in Painswick, but Painswick felt less lonely. 

His grandmother's cottage was relatively secluded, far enough from the little village to be truly alone, but close enough if he needed to walk to get anything. However, oddly enough, even if there were no other residences near him, one particular creature always showed up in his backyard. 

He wasn’t a fan of judging a woman by her physical traits, but he remembers the first time he laid eyes on her perfectly. It was cinematic, and if it was a film, he would watch it again and again. She wore a baby blue dress with a flower print that fell just above her knees. Her hair was pulled back into braids with two little bows the same color as her dress. He couldn’t quite see the color of her eyes from his window, but they held some sort of power in them even from afar. As she gently walked through the flower fields, she tucked the wildflowers she picked into the weaves of her braids, filling them with Bluebells, Columbine, Daisies, and Cornflowers. She didn’t trip over plants or roots that peeked through the dirt. She seemed to thank the earth each time she picked a flower. As he watched her card through the flowers, spin in the field, then sit under the Crab apple tree up upon the hill, he figured he must’ve been hallucinating. It had been a long week of work, he had gone through so many rough emotions that it was possible she was an angel and he was on the verge of death. 

Until she showed up again. 

Her visits to his field were almost scheduled, but sporadic all at the same time. She would come, sometimes pick flowers, others leave them alone, but dance among them either way. She would sometimes bring little baskets of peaches and bread for herself, other times she came with nothing but herself. She once got close enough to a deer that it let her pet its head, the same thing happened another time with a rabbit. His grandmother used to tell him stories and lore about Painswick, how faeries disguised themselves as humans to lure them in. He couldn’t help but wonder if his grandmother wasn’t just telling old tales. There was no way this girl was human. 

She seemed devoid of any human flaw. She couldn’t have been any older than 20, but even though Arthur was 23, his position aged him five years. She always seemed so happy, so carefree, like nothing in the world could have made her upset. If anyone else came through his property to take his flowers, he would be sure to lecture them, but she was his only exception. 

It was a Saturday morning when Arthur woke up feeling less on edge than usual. He was so used to having a migraine that waking up without one felt like a giant weight off his shoulders. The light filtered through the old blinds just perfectly, hitting the old paintings of flowers on the wall. It occurred to him that he did more staring out his window into the fields than he did outside. Maybe today would be the perfect day for him to spend a day out there, no stress, no work, and definitely no migraine. 

The sun was still rising as he walked out into the fields. He never noticed it before, but bumble bees danced around every honeysuckle and corn flower. He supposed they would be hard to notice from far away. 

He set down his little blanket at the base of the crab apple tree. It made him feel a certain sense of anxiety knowing that this is where the ethereal girl usually spent her time, that he was sitting in her spot despite it being his property. He looked out on the fields, the sun rising behind them, and began to realize why the girl loved it here so much. 

He spent a good while like this, staring off into the fields, down at his cottage, the trees and wood that extended beyond the fields. He only stopped daydreaming when he heard humming. 

He recognized it as Donovan’s “Sunny Goodge Street” before he processed who the humming could have possibly come from. When his brain finally did process, yes, it had to be none other than the voice of the girl, he felt his heart leap into his throat. She must’ve been coming up from behind, and his best option was to sit absolutely still from the other side of the tree hoping she would walk the other way around and avoid him completely. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her, but he couldn’t quite admit that he was afraid. She had all the odds of the universe on her side, she might’ve been mother nature herself, and who was he compared to that? Unfortunately, his desires came to a fault. Her humming stopped, and her footsteps got louder. A soft, faint giggle could be heard from behind the tree. 

“Hello?” Arthur’s heart leaped to his throat again. Such a sweet voice she had, too. In retrospect, he should've moved, stood up to greet her and introduce himself, but he was frozen. He spent all week talking and negotiating with big government hot shots, yet he couldn’t face a silly girl who spent her days in the flower fields. 

“Are you hiding from me?” She giggled again, and then she was next to him, standing above him. He couldn’t help but exhale deeply the moment he saw her. His cheeks were for sure red, such an embarrassing thing for a grown man, he thought. She wore the same blue dress she wore the day he first saw her, her hair let loose and gently curled around her shoulders, instead. 

“Are you the funny man who lives down in the cottage there?” She asked, taking an uninvited seat in front of him on his blanket. She smelled like honey, roses, and the morning. She was even more beautiful up close than she was from his bedroom window. 

“Lots of questions you have for me. I should be the one asking who you are. This is my property” Arthur replied. The moment he said it, he felt a pang of guilt. He had a hard time talking to somebody without being defensive anymore. The girl didn’t seem to care. 

“I’m really sorry.” She smiled, almost solemnly. “I’m __. There was this sweet old lady, Mrs. Kirkland, who lived here quite a bit ago. She was a regular at my nans flower shop in town, she used to invite me over quite a bit to have tea. Before she passed, she told me I could still visit the fields whenever I wanted. It never occurred to me that somebody else would be living here after she…” 

“Oh, don’t worry, __.”  Was all Arthur could muster up saying. The way her name spilled off his tongue sent a shot of adrenaline up his spine. __. So very fitting. 

He found it strange from the start that his grandmother left him her cottage, of all things. Maybe, somehow, this was her funny little way of playing matchmaker for him. The blush rose back to his cheeks. 

“I’m Mrs. Kirklands grandson, Arthur. I’m sorry for making accusations.” 

“It’s alright.” She smiled. “I’m sure if I saw some strange girl on my property I would be curious, too.” 

“How did you know I lived here?” Arthur asked, meeting her bright __ eyes. 

“It just feels less lonely when you’re here.” She smiled. “That, and I heard you drop your mug one morning. Your reaction wasn’t all that discreet.”

She giggled, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. 

“Oh, for fucks sake, you mean to tell me you saw that?” 

“I promise I’m not a stalker,” her smile seemingly permanent on her face. “Just observant, is all.” 

“I wasn’t accusing you of being one.” 

“Oh, but I can tell you’ve thought about it.” 

Arthur wanted to tell her he didn’t think any malice of her. He wanted to tell her that even if she was stalking him, it was the best intrusion of his privacy he’s ever had. He wanted to grab her little hand that rested upon her knee, but he knew he couldn’t. He’s never felt so intimidated by another person in his life. 

Arthur said nothing to her in response, and instead for a moment, __ studied him, then stood up. 

“Don’t leave.” He said, suddenly. It wasn’t even his intention, it came out of him on instinct. She looked back down on him and smiled, and shook her head. 

“I wasn’t planning on it, darling.” She giggled. “I’ll be right back.” 

Arthur watched her as she tumbled down the hill to the fields, the tall grasses and flowers welcoming her like she was a part of them. He finally had the opportunity to sigh, and run a hand through his hair. He couldn’t stop thinking about how his grandmother probably set this whole thing up for him, she was always a clever woman. 

__ came back a few minutes later with hands full of flowers. She sat back down in front of him, and carefully broke the stems of the flowers to make them shorter. He wanted to question her process, but instead just watched her. He finally made a noise when his breath hitched as she moved to push some of his hair out of his face. 

“You have the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen.” __ marveled, her own eyes gentle as they looked into his. 

“I- Thank you.” Arthur held back a stammer. She brushed his hair from his face again, then gently placed a daisy behind his ear. 

“Perfect.” She giggled, pushing his hair away from the other side of his face to make room for another daisy. 

“You’re ridiculous, woman.” He shook his head, but couldn’t hold back a smile. “Who on god's earth are you?” 

She shook her head, and shrugged. 

“I’m just trying to enjoy the life I was given. No use in living unless you spend every day the way you want.” 

“Do you work?” 

“At my nans flower shop, yes. It’s not as much about money as it is enjoying my time with my nan.” She shook her head. “Besides basic bills and the likes, everything I need I make myself.” 

“Do you drive?” 

“A bike. I never felt the need for a car.” 

“Do you have a cellphone?” 

“Of course, I like to live naturally, that doesn’t mean I’m a barbarian.” 

“I was just wondering.” Arthur chuckled, making the bold move of pushing her hair out of her face. Her eyes fluttered shut and a small smile spread across her face. He grabbed a cornflower and tucked it behind her ear. He felt breath against his arm, there was something so intimate about her breathing. It had barely started to occur to him that this was the girl he’s admired from afar for months. 

“Perfect.” He teased, eliciting a giggle from her. His hand still touched against the softness of her cheek, lingering there, but she didn’t seem to mind. She gently reached for his hand, lowering it from her face, and instead threading her fingers in between his. The softness of her skin, the warmth of her smile, the sweet little chime in her voice, everything about her overwhelmed him. 

God, he wished he could thank his grandmother for this.

[mementomori-demimonde]

Hidden Scars

I - II - III - IV

Chapter 5

You blink rapidly at the string of codes you’re trying to memorize from the book. It’s been over four hours now and nothing makes sense anymore. For as much as you loathe to admit it, the days where she decides that physical training is needed are much more entertaining than the ones in which she places a volume in your lap and tells you to study and train your brain, instead.

Today has been one of those days and you’re almost bored out of your mind.

So when you hear footsteps approaching, you already know what that means - the digital clock above the shelf only confirms your supposition - and a sense of relief starts to spread through your tired body.

“Enough.” Miranda whispers.

You manage to not expose your eagerness by pretending you’re just obeying her order, and you gladly close the book producing a loud, and utterly satisfying thump.

When you look up, she offers you the usual evening drink. You know you can’t refuse it, so to obediently take it from her hand and gulp it down in one go.

Immediately, the liquor burns your throat and your tongue goes numb for a second while the dizziness settles in your head.

You close your eyes, barely registering Miranda snatching the empty glass from your hand to put it on the coffee table, and you begin to rub at your temples slowly - you’ve noticed it helps with the throbbing a couple of mysterious mixes ago, and there’s no harm in trying.

Leaning on the couch, you throw your head back and rest it on the cushion, hypnotized by the dozens of dancing colorful dots swirling behind your eyelids.

You still when you feel the book being pushed off from your lap, and its almost inconsistent weight being replaced by a much more significant one.

When you trust your head to have stopped spinning and you deem the nausea almost extinguished - or at least unable to cause any damage - you dare to peer down. Two bright, predator blue eyes are peering up from your lap, bare teeth flashing at you with a playful yet dangerous smirk.

You would smile at her for the intimacy of the situation, you would even dare to touch her hair and marvel at the apparent calmness of her, right now, but you know better to do either of those things: Miranda is like a cat. She might look like she’s demanding pets and cuddles one minute - simply because she feels like it - only to slash at your flesh with rogue claws and sharp teeth the next - simply for the sake of it - and quite literally too.

Exhaling heavily from your nostrils, you loll your head back and let your eyelids flutter close again, throwing your arm over your face and hiding in the inside of your bent elbow.

“Miranda, what are we doing?” You didn’t mean to sound so whining, but you did. Knowing how she usually reacts to it, you’re painfully aware you’ve probably made her mad already, so you don’t dare to move your arm and see the expression on her face.

“About what?” She inquires, her voice emotionless.

“I don’t know.” You scoff. “About this, perhaps.” Blindly, you reach down your thigh and retrieve your knife. It’s yours by now and fits perfectly in your hand, it’s been a while since you’ve learned to spin it around your fingers, its weight perfectly balanced with each move.

“You’re pretty in it.” Miranda purrs, echoing herself from the first time she ever put it on you. “Why shouldn’t a girl own a knife and know how to use it?” She snatches it from your hand, but you don’t dare to look, so you don’t know what she’s done with it.

“About this, then.” You sigh, nudging at the book on the carpet with your toes, making it slide across the bristle, the soft rustle invading the silence.

“A trained mind is even prettier on a girl.” Miranda replies, pushing the nape of her neck on your crotch when she readjusts to lay more comfortably.

When you feel her exhale, you imagine she’s closed her eyes. Swallowing, you tentatively unpeel the arm from your face and look down - you were right: her eyes are closed. She almost looks peaceful, relaxed. It’s so wild to know it’s the same wild beast who beat you up several times, slashed your shoulder with her initial, and yet…

“Well?” Miranda cracks an eye open, exhales annoyedly from her nose, “Do go on with your little list, I'm having fun.”

You barely resist the urge of rolling your eyes.

“What about this?” You exhale finally, gesturing your own head with a circular motion of your forefinger, tracing an imaginary aureole, and just to be sure she’s understood, your eyes drift and fix on the empty glass on the table.

“You’ll thank me one day.” She says, shrugging, then closes her eyes again, releasing a long breath, and folds her hand over her stomach.

The shirt she’s wearing has slightly risen up and the small scar on the otherwise flawless, flat expanse of her abdomen is plainly visible. Despite it being your first time stitching up somebody, you congratulate yourself for the work and like a river in full, memories flood in your head - the first time you felt her closer, vulnerable, exposed… reachable even; the first time you believed there was more of her under the thick layer of gratuitous sadism. It was from that moment she has shown that, in fact, there was. Sometimes she showed more, some others she revealed less - there were days where you thought you’d breached through her only to find her so distant, the next, that she was almost unrecognizable. One step closer, a thousand back. A constant chase and you never felt out of breath, not even once. Disappointed, maybe, but never tired.

In fact, there’s another point on your list, perhaps the most important one, but you cannot bring yourself to voice it: gesturing at the both of you would open a discussion you don’t want to make - one that you’re not yet ready to make - because you fear what the outcome might be. But you would, if only you owned more courage, you would look down at Miranda while she’s still resting her head in your lap without a care in the world, you would point out how easy and relaxing this feels even though you don’t have the faintest idea of what, exactly, this is. Asking directly would probably earn you some rough punishment you’re not in the mood to endure, so you opt for something in general, well knowing the actual implication about the two of you won’t be caught or simply glossed over.

“I’m doing all this for a reason, I’d like to know what it is.”

“To please me?” She’s all cheeks while she says that. The dimple next to the corner of her mouth making her appearance and tugging, unconsciously, at something within you - something warm and foreign that, you know, you shouldn’t feel right now.

It’s the last thing you would like to do, letting her get away with that reply, but you can’t help yourself, nor the throaty giggle that escapes your lips.

“Miranda.” It should be a warning, but it serves little to its purpose. You gulp down and find your seriousness back, hoping that you haven’t ruined the tense mood and jeopardize the only, thin chance you had. “Miranda, tell me.”

There’s a slight shift in her demeanor, but after observing her so closely for so much, you notice it right away: the folded arms on her stomach are not just laying there anymore, the muscles are twitching under her freckled skin.

“It doesn’t matter.” She snarls, and you can see her struggling to hide the bite from her words. “What matters is that you need to be ready.” She states.

“Ready for what?” You ask then, your prolonged sigh exasperated.

“Stop.” She replies calmly, but the vibrating danger lies beneath. “The world I live in is dangerous, and knowledge is a double-edged sword.”

“How is that relevant?” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest, keeping your elbows high enough not to hit her square in the face. “You never even let me out of this place.”

“And I won’t. You are safer here.”

Now you can see her jaw tightening too. The feeble twitching of her cheeks and the subtle movements along her neck tells you she’s struggling even harder to keep her anger at bay - you’re vexing her, you’re getting on her nerves, but you can’t back away, not now, not anymore: she would deem you weak and punish you anyway but knowing you’ve disappointed her would burn more than anything else.

“Then what? What should I be ready for?” Your voice is controlled, soft, letting her know your curiosity is barely fueled by the need to actually know what’s behind all this. To know everything - given she will tell you everything, one day - you’ve got time. A lot too, according to her plan to never let you out of that damn apartment.

“I said safer, not safe, m’eudail.” Miranda exhales a long sigh from her nostrils.

She’s so close to the breaching point you’re even afraid to swallow too loudly by now. You should be glad she worries about your safety, but you know better than to bask in that thought. And the fact that she’s toying so deliberately with you makes your blood boil: she might not know about the things going through your mind, as of late, but she can’t have just lost her ability to read you so easily and so suddenly - she chooses those words like she cares while you know very well she doesn’t.

That’s too much. You don’t mind about crossing the border anymore; whatever punishment she thinks is fit, it doesn’t matter.

“So kind of you to teach me things for imaginary enemies or whatever that will never have the chance to hurt me.”

Her eyes snap open, black pupils thinning in a fraction of seconds into an expanding ocean of bright blue. She’s not looking directly at you, but you feel small and screwed nonetheless - her glare very well burnt into your mind to pop up at every right occasion.

If you weren’t already sitting down, you’re sure your knees would buckle.

“I’m trying to teach you this so my enemies or whatever don’t get too close to you.” She says, her voice surprisingly flat. If you didn’t know any better - or fear the reaction upon inquiring - you’d say she’s just parroting a premeditated response. Something she practiced over and over until she’s started to believe those words were true even if they hadn’t started as such.

Still, you need to work with what you have. You know she’s not always sincere - she hardly ever is - but you have no other choice than to believe her.

Hence, Miranda is not exactly worried about you getting hurt, but getting caught by whatever danger lurks outside that building. Honestly, it’s insulting, after what she forced you to endure from the moment she kidnapped you.

“You think I’d sell you out?” You wince in disgust, turning your head away even if you don’t care to be seen. “You know I would never-”

Miranda lifts up from your lap. She’s quick, doesn’t use her hand to hoist herself: before you can register her movement, she’s gone, sitting neatly beside you, her arms still folded over her chest. The similar position makes you drop yours immediately, your teeth grazing at your lip.

“I know you wouldn’t.” She nods, you can see it with the corner of your eye: she nods softly, her head low, her gaze fixed on her feet. “Not at first, at least, not before one of those heroic, classic speeches that go like ‘I’d rather die than speak’,” she says, mocking a random high-pitched voice, “but then, in the end, with the people I know-” She scoffs, the ghost of a bittersweet smile blooming on her mouth, “Death will be the only thing you’ll wish for.”

You watch her, trying to decide whether she’s completely sincere now or it’s just another of those rehearsed phrases she intends to feed you. There’s a part of you that wants so desperately to believe her, but the other just can’t envisage an actual criminal organization wanting to get to you, torture you only to get information about... you don't fucking know about what, like in the movies. It’s just too wild. Miranda’s universe is fucked up, you’re there by chance and you decided to stay because… whatever the reason, you refuse to be part of that grander design.

It has nothing to do with you.

You agreed to stay with her, not that world of hers that would hardly ever reach you, confined in that New York building, far from any human contact.

“Are you trying to scare me?”

The harsh noise of her hand colliding with the sofa into a resonant slap makes you jerk. Your heart shoots in your throat, pounding loudly in your temples.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Miranda is looking directly at you, her eyes flaming in blue tongues of fire and you can’t do anything but stare back, your breath catching and feeling all the blood drain from your veins. “This is not a fucking game!” She glares, points blindly at the window. “It is really that awful out there!”

Unconsciously, you notice you’ve pulled your knees against your chest, curling up into a ball on the couch. Miranda notices as well, you don’t know why she sighs, but she does, the anger slowly but steadily leaving her eyes.

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry.” You mumble, at least grateful she has decided not to leash out on you - not yet.

Maybe those anger management tapes she listens to in her room at night are giving some results. She doesn’t know you know, of course, and imagine she’d be embarrassed, so you keep the secret.

“Like it or not, you chose to enter my world the day you decided to stay.” She says, voice incredibly flat.

“I get it.” You assure, slightly annoyed. How can you ever forget that when she keeps reminding you? Sometimes you feel like she’s trying to make you regret your choice of staying. “But let’s assume your enemies were to catch me,” you’re barely aware of the dramatic eye roll, but the fact that she’s not clawing at your throat yet, encourages you to keep going, “they will probably think I know something and torture me or whatever shit you’re afraid they’ll do to me anyway, so you might as well just tell me what we’re doing. Right?” You’re not exactly sure when you’ve started rambling, but when you realize that perhaps that stream of thoughts hardly makes sense to someone outside your head, you sigh and worry at your lip.

Slowly, you turn your head to the side, wincing innocently when Miranda glares at you with narrowed eyes.

“Nice try.” She replies dryly, then a throaty, disbelieved chuckle erupts from her lips.

It’s kinda nice to know that she still finds you amusing, sometimes, after getting so much on her nerves. A couple of months ago, she would have you killed for much less.

Without much warning, you see her hand flaring up in a calculated move. You think she’ll deliver something harsh - a slap, a grip on your neck, a fistful of hair - instead she loops her fingers in the collar of your shirt and pulls you in for a kiss. Startled and taken aback, you return it without closing your eyes, brow furrowing at the unexpected softness of the contact. Because it’s always about her, you yelp when she bites into your bottom lip, making you taste copper on your tongue, but that doesn’t surprise you.

She wipes at the small drop of blood on her own mouth with the back of her hand and clicks her tongue, crocking her lips into an amused and yet dangerous smirk.

“One of these days I need to teach you to do what you’re told without making annoying questions.” She whispers. There are a lot of implications in that statement and you feel a shiver run up your spine. “Off to bed.”

When she slaps your exposed thigh, the stinging sensation crawling and spreading onto your skin brings you suddenly to yourself again. You’re alert, but you’re back to be puzzled and irritated. You lower your feet to the carpet, yet you don’t make any effort to stand up and leave.

Instead, you take in a shaky breath, her taste still lingers in your mouth, and you unfold and fold your arms on your chest, squirm lightly on the padded seat. You should leave, obey - you don’t want to.

“Well?” She inquires curiosity, cocking an eyebrow.

She’s calm now, she’s just kissed you, slapped you playfully - although a little harshly - on your thigh… you can try again. You can dare.

“Come with me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. You didn’t like to sound so needy or clingy, but it’s too late now: your voice has betrayed you.

Miranda blinks and, in her heartbeat, her eyes have changed their light: one glimpse at her face, and you know her mood has shifted again.

“Stop asking.” She exhales, falling into the seatback, shoulders slouching.

“Miranda you just can’t keep doing this.” It’s your turn to slap your hand flat on the couch. You didn’t mean to snap, but it’s too late for that too.

“Careful kitten, I'd suggest withdrawing your claws.”

“I-” Your breath hitches when you watch her scoot closer.

There’s still a gap between the two of you, but she’s there, ready to jump - she is the cat, the feral one, done with the cuddles and yearning for blood. You know she’s going to, so - fuck it - better to just pull it out and get over with it. “It’s just that- you’re close, then you’re distant, you’re kind and nice one moment and a real bitch the next. It’s confusing.”

You try to suffocate the yelp when her hand comes to fist at your hair, but it’s too sudden. Instinctively, you reach up and grab at her wrist to lessen her pull, but you’re helpless and soon you find yourself following her, stumbling on the furniture and on your own feet as she hoists you up effortlessly and drags you into the other side of the apartment.

“I’ll make it simple for you simple, then.” She snarls sharply behind clenched teeth. “Let me remind you that the sole fact that you’re still alive and breathing is a miracle.”

You know better than to ask for mercy: you called this upon yourself, you had it coming, so begging and pleading won’t serve you much. You clench your jaw and hope for the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes to not fall down so soon; however, when the iron door of your old cell comes to sight, it’s impossible to stop their advance.

She’s flushed behind you, her chest pressed on your back. The hand that fists your hair yanks your head backward until her lips are ghosting over your cheek, the other arm wrapped around your waist keeping you still. You can only stare at the vault in front of you.

“You want to go back in there?” She asks, her voice saccharine and warm against your skin.

“No.” You whimper.

“No.” She mocks.

Smacking a kiss on the apple of your cheeks, she’s back at tugging. She pulls you up to the door of the apartment, its white surface a few inches from your nose while she takes her previous position.

“You want to leave and never come back?”

“No.”

“No.” She echoes. This time, she kisses you properly, then bites until you yelp and try to squirm away.

When she pushes you into your room, you almost fall onto your knees, but luckily you manage to stay upright. You turn abruptly on your heels, you stare at her, swallow when she lifts her forefinger, and point it at you.

Her gaze is firm, owning you completely.

“Listen to my advice, m’eudail: take what you can and live with it. I learned it a long ago, it’s time you learn it too.”

[98prilla]

Seeking Oblivion

Next

Previous

AO3

...

It was midday when Janus came thundering up the stairs, startling Virgil, who was on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, trying to get rid of the final vestiges of jitters from the unbelievable, endless, panic attack from the day before.

 “Jesus, Jan. Warn a side.” That was enough to freeze him in place, the casualness with which Virgil addressed him, using not only his name but his old nickname.

 “you… are we… what?” He stammered, not sure if he’d just wandered into the twilight zone or some alternate reality.

 “look. You… helped me out, yesterday, and I appreciated you checking in, knowing how anxious I must be. Especially… especially since nobody else did.” Virgil’s lips twisted in a small, bitter smile, as he looked away, pulling on his hoodie strings.

 “Virgil-“

 “It’s fine. Everyone… everyone else was busy with their own meltdowns, and it sounded like I wouldn’t have wanted to be there, anyway. Giant frog monster Pat? Yeah, no thanks.” Virgil shuddered, a small smile flashing across Janus’s face.

 “so. Thanks. I guess. Both for helping me, and… and protecting Thomas. You’re really… helpful, when you’re not being an arrogant ass.” Virgil mumbled, and Janus let out a small laugh, softening, accepting Virgil’s olive branch for what it was.

 “We didn’t leave things on the best of terms, so, I get it if we’re not cool. But, um, can we try? To… work together?” Virgil’s voice was a squeak, and Janus smiled, just a bit.

 “Yes. I would like that. You can start with this.” He said, sitting on the couch next to Virgil, seriousness coming back as he remembered why he came up here in the first place, passing the note to Virgil.

“What… is this from Princey?” Virgil mumbled, reading it slowly, eyes widening as he came to the end.

 “What does he mean? Janus, what does he mean ‘I’m sorry and tell Remus I know he’ll be more than I ever was?’ What…” His hands were gripping the paper hard, face paling.

 “It was left on my desk. Roman… he apologizes, for making fun of my name, for calling me the villain and his general attitude towards me, for siding against me with Patton, telling me I was right about all the self care I was preaching, that he hopes everyone takes my advice and takes some time. And he hopes,” his voice cracks for a second, his worry clogging his throat, “he hopes he gets to see everyone once again. I was hoping any of you had seen him since yesterday’s events, I’m… worried.” Virgil shook his head.

 “No, no, we haven’t, we thought… I thought, he was just in his room, cooling down, or upset, or off in the imagination, beating shit up. But that… that doesn’t sound like him. Not ok him. Patton! Lo!”

 Logan rose up first, adjusting his glasses, Patton following shortly after, though he looked slightly more disheveled than Logan, smiling weakly at Janus.

 “Has anyone seen Roman?” Virgil asked, Logan shaking his head, Patton frowning.

 “No, I thought we should give the kiddo some space.” Virgil muttered a curse under his breath, looking to Janus for permission, before passing the note to Logan. He read it with a furrowed brow, Patton peeking over his shoulder, hand flying to cover his mouth as he got to the end.

 “We should check on him. Immediately. I… the tone of this letter is extremely concerning.” Logan, voice shaking just a tad. Without further encouragement, Patton nodded, taking off down the hallway towards Roman’s room, the others not far behind.

 “Roman? Kiddo, you in there?” Patton called, knocking on the door, frowning as he heard nothing in response. “I know you might not wanna talk right now, but can you just let me know you’re ok in there?” He tried again, met once more with only silence. He took a deep breath before trying the handle, a bit relieved to find the room unlocked.

 “Roman?” Logan called hesitantly, stepping past Patton and into the room, eyes widening at the state of it.

 It should have been messy. There should have been playbills from every show they'd been in or attended framed on the walls, a myriad of posters interspersed amongst them. Light should have been shining down from the large, stained glass ceiling, notebooks and loose papers filled with sketches and ideas should have been scattered about every inch of the floor. It should be a chaotic, colorful, clashing, mess.

 Instead…

 Instead it was clean, tidy… empty. Nothing on the pale cream walls, the posters gone, presumably packed into the neat pile of boxes stacked against one wall, each one labeled. Posters, notebooks, clothes, art supplies, all packed away, as if Roman was moving.

 “what the…” Patton passed Logan, pulling the white sheet off the standing mirror, Roman's portal to the imagination, blanching instantly.

 Usually, the portal showed the other side, green fields or a distant castle, magical forests, whatever Roman had conjured. Now it reflected nothing but a light, swirling mist. Carefully, he reached out, gasping as he laid a palm flat against the glass, instead of simply passing through it. His portal was… broken?

 Virgil inhaled sharply, face paling suddenly, and Janus had to wrap an arm around his shoulders to keep him steady as he stumbled.

 “Vee?” he asked.

 “It’s cracked. H-his mirror. It’s breaking. Roman's… roman's fading.”

 “No. No he can’t… he hasn’t ducked out! We would know, if he’d ducked out.” Patton answered, unable to take his eyes off the glass, seeing now the small, hairline breaks in the surface, tracing them lightly with his finger.

 “That's not the only thing that could lead to him fading. If he isn’t here, he must be in the imagination.” Janus replied.

 “And given that his portal is no longer working, that leaves us with one option. Remus!” Logan called, not flinching as he instantly popped into existence, so close to his face their noses were touching.

 “Lolo! I’m surprised you called. Finally letting loose? Time for some roleplay? I've always wanted to be the school girl. I’ve been bad professor, surely there's some way I could earn extra credit?” Remus asked in a high falsetto that was also somehow husky. Patton winced, and Logan heard Virgil's faint ‘gross', but he didn’t back away or back down.

 “Fortunately, no. We need passage through the imagination. You are the side to call, are you not?” He asked evenly, Remus backing away with a scowl. He never could get a rise out of Logan.

 “Of course. But you don’t need me for that. You’ve got goody two shoes disney prince. You don’t need me." Remus pouted sourly, pacing away, hands fidgeting wildly.

 “Remus. Look around. Where do you think we are right now?” Logan asked. Remus spun around, glaring at the plain walls, plain floors, plain ceiling, a few hours and some blood, he could make a masterpiece!

 Then his gaze drifted, and he shoved past Logan, barely noticing Patton letting out a squeak and just barely avoiding getting barreled through as his eyes flitted over the mirror.

 He let out a low growl, pressing his palm to the surface, demanding to see, demanding to be let in, demanding it show him.

 Gray. Nothing. Silence.

 He stumbled back, clutching at his chest, eyes wide as he stared at the glass, the cracks ever so slightly longer.

 “oh no no no no. That’s not right. That’s not right at all.”

 “Remus? What is it?” Patton, hesitant.

 “Nothing. It… there was nothing.” Remus gathered himself, spinning on his heel, passing Virgil and Janus as he stalked out the door. “Well? Are you coming or not?” The group glanced at each other, before following Remus back down the stairs.

 He was muttering and mumbling to himself the whole time as he walked, hand clenching and unclenching as he stalked to his own room, shoving open the door, not caring if the others had followed or not as he strode through his mirror, aiming for the border of the kingdom closest to Roman's.

 “are… are we sure about this?” Patton squeaked outside of Remus's room, more than a little intimidated by whatever would be inside his imagination.

 “Yes. If we wish to stop whatever is happening from developing further, we need to follow." Logan replied, not hesitating as he, too, vanished through the mirror.

 “It’ll be ok, Pat. He's… wild, but he’d never do any lasting damage to one of us.” Virgil reassured lowly, taking a breath before stepping through himself.

 “Patton?” Janus slipped his hand into Patton's, summoning all his sincerity as he met the moral side's eyes.

 “you can do this." Patton took a shaky breath, shooting Janus a small, lopsided smile.

 “Ok. Let's go.” Patton whispered, squeezing his hand once before squaring his shoulders and walking through the glass, hand in hand with Janus.

…

 Remus stopped in his tracks as soon as he looked up after crossing the mirror, frozen to the spot.

 This… this was wrong. This was wrong.

 It had let him out on a crag, overlooking Roman's side. Usually it was magical forests and herds of unicorns far as the eye could see, Roman's colorful story book castle rising up in the distance. Maybe a few sparkling gem colored dragons circling the air. The sun gently shining, fluffy white clouds, the perfect image of the perfect day.

 Now, all of that was gone.

 It was eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that meant all life had fled, the kind of quiet that stilled the air, the entire world holding its breath.

 A light, gray mist covered the entire plain, though it didn’t smell like rain, like wet earth, like mist should. It was just… there, slowly covering everything. Huge, twisting vines covered in sharp thorns grew from the ground like trees, twisting over and across each other in arches and knots.

 And there, far in the distance, a gray spire of stone, the only thing breaking the monotony of the endless vines, a tower.

 That’s where Roman was. He could feel it. But he couldn’t feel anything else. Him and Roman were linked, to an almost telepathic level at times, and at some level he always knew vaguely what Roman was feeling, the more he concentrated, the more precise he became.

 He was using all his focus now, trying to pull at that link, trying to pull anything from Roman, only to be met again and again by that terrifying blankness of nothing.

 He was barely aware that the other sides had joined him in staring out into the distance, he felt ten degrees removed from his body as he realized what, exactly, was happening. The mist wasn’t just covering everything, it wasn’t a conscious aesthetic choice on Roman’s part, and neither were the vines. They were taking over. They were all that was left, they were slowly but surely destroying Roman’s imagination. And he was in the middle of it.  

 He heard sharp inhales and shocked gasps, dimly realizing he must have spoken aloud, cotton still filling his ears as he refused to take his eyes off the tower.

 Roman.

 He hated Roman.

 He loved Roman.

 He couldn’t live without Roman.

 “Remus.” Suddenly Janus was before him, close, and he snapped his attention to him, despair filling him as he met those gold and brown eyes. “Breathe. We will get him back.”

 “promise?” He whispered, feeling tears pricking his eyes, and god, if Roman did come back from this, he was going to murder him all over again.

 “promise. We need you to show us the way.” He shook his head.

 “I don’t know. I can still conjure over there, sure, but I can’t change the landscape, I can’t get us any closer than this! We’d have to walk it and that would take days, and by that time, the mist will have swallowed up everything, and there’ll be nothing left, including us, and then Thomas will be no better than a potato!” He yelled, arms flailing above his head as he ranted, pacing restlessly, everything in him screaming to move.

 “We have longer than you are estimating, Remus. Roman has been a central part of Thomas for nigh on three decades. It is therefore unlikely that he would fade quite so quickly, especially since he has not ducked out. He is in the imagination, where he is arguably strongest. And… he is not trying to fade, based on his letter. We have time, as much as it feels otherwise. We have time to fix this.” Logan interjected, his science tempered with his nervous tone, though his eyes, too, were fixed on the horizon.

 “We won’t fix anything just standing around here all day. Are we going, or not?” Virgil asked, glaring out at the vines, a glare nearly strong enough to make them wilt on his face, as he turned to Remus.

 “You can at least make stairs to get us down there, right?” Remus nodded, a snap of his fingers and a winding stairway was cut into the stone. Virgil gave a sharp nod in thanks, starting down the pathway, down towards the mist, down towards Roman.

 Logan gave his shoulder a squeeze as he passed, a small sign of reassurance and solidarity. Janus softly bumped his shoulder as he made his way to the stairs. And Patton… Patton slipped his hand into his, nearly making him jump at the sign of affection, from Patton, of all people.

 “come on, kiddo. Let’s go.”